So Long At the Fair Read online

  As the days went by – still without success for Eddie, who spent most of his evenings searching for the men – Beatie recovered from her physical injuries. Her other hurts, though, were not to be easily healed.

  For some days she remained in the bedroom, lying in or on the bed or sitting by the window. And although her father, brother and sister tried to persuade her to come downstairs she would not. She said nothing further of her ordeal, and after a little time nothing more was asked of her.

  It wasn’t until the Thursday following the assault, as Abbie was working in the kitchen, that Beatie finally came downstairs and into the room. Abbie made tea and they sat drinking it at the table. Over the rim of her cup Abbie looked at her sister. Wearing one of Abbie’s frocks, and with her hair neatly braided, Beatie, despite her bruised face, looked a good deal better. There was no life, though, in her expression. She sat with her lips set, eyes downcast. Reaching out, Abbie laid her hand on Beatie’s as it rested beside her cup.

  Beatie looked up. ‘Oh, Abbie,’ she said, ‘how are you? All these days I’ve only been thinking of myself. I’ve given no thought to you. And look at you – your poor face.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ Abbie said, putting a hand to her bruised mouth. ‘Don’t worry about me.’ She pressed Beatie’s hand. ‘Everything will be all right, Beatie. I know what you must be going through. But in time it will pass. It will all pass.’

  Sudden tears glistened in Beatie’s eyes. ‘I wish I could believe that.’

  ‘It’s true. And in a while you won’t have time to think about it. The wedding’ll be here soon and there won’t be time to think about anything else.’

  ‘Oh, Abbie,’ Beatie said, ‘how can I get wed now?’

  Abbie leaned across the table. ‘Beatie, look at me.’

  Beatie raised her head and looked into Abbie’s earnest eyes.

  ‘What’s happened isn’t going to change anything,’ Abbie said. ‘Why should it?’

  Beatie looked away again. ‘D’you think Tom will still want me now?’

  ‘What? How can you say that? Of course he’ll still want you. Why shouldn’t he? You haven’t done anything. Dear God, after what you’ve been through I should think the man would love you all the more.’

  ‘I – I suppose he has to be told.’

  ‘That’s up to you to decide. Though even if you don’t tell him I should think that at some time he’s bound to find out.’

  ‘Why?’ Beatie said sharply. ‘How should he find out?’

  ‘Well,’ Abbie shrugged, ‘what with Father and Eddie going off looking for the men – and getting others to help . . . We’ve got to face it, Beatie, word will soon get about. I wish it were not so, but I’m afraid it’s bound to happen.’

  Beatie bent her head and buried her face in her hands. ‘Oh, God,’ she murmured, ‘that’s part of it – the shame that everybody has to hear of it.’ She raised her head after a few moments, then added, ‘If Tom has to know then it’s best he’s told properly. Before he hears it as gossip, I mean.’

  Abbie nodded. ‘Perhaps so.’

  ‘Oh, but, Abbie, how can I tell him? I can’t. I couldn’t bear to.’

  A little silence, then Abbie said, ‘Would you like me to tell him?’

  ‘Yes. Oh, yes. If he has to know then let it come from you.’

  Abbie got to her feet. ‘All right. I’ll go and see him. I’ll go and see him today.’

  Keeping to the roads, Abbie reached Lullington just after three o’clock. She went at once to the Leaping Hare public house and, going round to the side door, rang the bell. The door was opened by a maid. When Abbie said she wanted to see Mr Thomas Greening she was asked in.

  The maid showed her into a large drawing room, somewhat overfilled with furniture and bric-a-brac. Abbie sat down on the sofa while the maid went away and after a few minutes the door opened and Tom came in. Abbie rose from her seat and went towards him. He smiled gravely at her, took the hand she offered and urged her to be seated again. He sat down in a chair facing her.

  ‘You got my letter, did you?’ Abbie said.

  ‘Yes. How is Beatie now?’

  ‘Better, thank you. Much better.’

  Silence in the room but for the ticking of the clock. He was too quiet, she thought, and furthermore he had made no comment on her bruised face. She realized that he already knew what had happened.

  After a few moments she said, ‘I don’t know whether you might have heard something, Tom. We all know how gossip spreads. But – it’s not the influenza that’s keeping Beatie at home.’

  He said nothing, but looked away, avoiding her eyes.

  ‘Something – happened,’ she said. ‘Last Sunday night, when Beatie and I were coming home from the fair at Old Ford.’

  Still he did not speak.

  ‘She asked me to come and tell you,’ Abbie went on, ‘because she’s afraid to tell you herself.’ She paused. ‘Last Sunday, when we left the fair we –’ She came to a stop, then, with a sad little smile, said, ‘I don’t need to tell you, Tom, do I?’

  ‘I – I did hear something,’ he said after a moment.

  ‘What did you hear?’

  ‘As you said yourself, gossip spreads.’ Still he did not meet her eyes. ‘We were bound to know. My mother was told – and she told my father. I heard about it from him.’

  ‘Oh, God.’ Abbie gave a groan. ‘How dreadful that you should learn like that. I was hoping to be able to tell you first. What exactly did you hear?’

  He shook his head, sighed. ‘Is it necessary to –’

  ‘Please,’ she broke in, ‘tell me.’

  ‘I was told that some men – two men – oh, I don’t want to talk about it.’

  After a while Abbie said, ‘It would be good for Beatie to see you, Tom.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’

  ‘I can’t tell you what this has done to her. She’s in a bad way.’

  He nodded. ‘It must have been the most . . . awful ordeal.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you say she’s recovering from it now.’

  ‘Slowly, yes.’

  ‘That’s good. I’m very glad to hear that.’

  ‘But she’ll need time, and support.’

  ‘Of course.’ He paused. ‘Have they . . . caught the men?’

  ‘No. Eddie and Father have been searching, but they haven’t found them. They won’t now.’

  ‘It’s a dreadful thing,’ he said. ‘Dreadful.’

  ‘Yes, it is. But Beatie will get over it in time.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘When did you hear? When did your father tell you?’

  ‘Yesterday morning.’

  ‘Yesterday morning? Oh, Tom, why didn’t you get in touch with Beatie right away? She needs you so.’

  ‘I was going to,’ he said. ‘I was going to write to her today.’

  ‘Write? You were going to write to her? Tom, she doesn’t need letters. She needs to see you. She needs for you to be there at a time like this.’

  He looked slightly affronted at her words. ‘Abbie,’ he said stiffly, ‘I know you mean well, but this is something that Beatie and I have to sort out for ourselves.’

  ‘Sort out?’ she said. ‘What do you mean, sort out? What is there to sort out?’ She waited for him to turn his face, to look at her, but he did not. ‘Tom please,’ she said, ‘you’re not going to let this come between you, are you?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘A dreadful thing has happened, but Beatie was the victim, not the perpetrator.’

  ‘You think I don’t know that?’ He looked at her now, but only for a moment, then his glance moved to the clock. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘please don’t think me rude, but I shall have to go. I’m working with my father in the cellar and he’ll be wondering what’s happened to me.’ He got up from the chair. Abbie rose too and followed him out into the hall. At the front door he turned back to her.

  ‘Please,’ he said, ‘tell Beatie how terribly sorry I am. And t
ell her I hope she’ll soon be feeling much better.’

  ‘I will.’ Abbie waited for him to go on. ‘Are you coming to see her?’ she asked. No part of the enterprise was turning out the way she had hoped.

  ‘Yes, of course. Just as soon as I can get away.’

  ‘I’ll tell her that. May I tell her when she can expect you . . . ?’

  ‘Very soon, tell her. Over the next couple of days.’

  ‘When? Tomorrow? Saturday?’

  ‘Well – Saturday, yes. Tell her I’ll be there on Saturday.’

  ‘When? In the morning? In the afternoon? She’ll want to know.’

  ‘In the afternoon. As soon as I can after midday dinner.’

  Abbie nodded. ‘Is there anything else I should tell her? Any other message?’

  ‘Tell her – I’m thinking of her. And tell her not to worry.’

  He put out his hand and Abbie briefly took it in her own. Then he opened the door and she passed through onto the front step.

  ‘Tom,’ she said, turning back to him, ‘I’m not interfering; please don’t think that. But Beatie is my sister and her happiness is very dear to me. She’s a good, kind, sweet girl – as you well know. It would be the most dreadful thing if she were made even more unhappy over this. She’s suffering enough as it is.’

  ‘I’m sure. I can imagine what she must be going through.’

  He said nothing more. Abbie stood looking up at him for a moment longer, murmured a goodbye, then turned and started away.

  Back in Green Lane in Flaxdown, Abbie had opened the front gate and was moving up the path when she heard a voice call to her.

  ‘Miss Abigail . . . ? Abbie?’

  She turned and to her great surprise saw the tall figure of Louis Randolph striding along the lane towards her. After a moment’s hesitation she moved back to the gate and waited, seeing again his wide smile, the warmth in his gaze. To her surprise she became all at once aware of the beating of her heart. She could scarcely believe it. She had thought never to see him again, but here he was.

  ‘Abbie . . .’ He lifted his cap as he came to a halt before her on the other side of the gate. She thought how fine he looked, how white his teeth against the tan of his cheek. Nervously, uncertainly, she returned his smile, murmured a greeting and shook his outstretched hand.

  ‘Well, what luck,’ he said, ‘catching you here. How are you? Are you well?’

  ‘– Yes, I’m very well, thank you. And you?’

  ‘I’m very well.’ He eyed the bruises on her face. ‘But you look as if you’ve been in the wars.’

  ‘Oh – that. A little accident, that’s all.’ She dismissed it with a wave of her hand. ‘So – what brings you to Flaxdown?’

  He shook his head in a gesture of mock disappointment. ‘Ah, how soon you forget. I told you I planned to come down this way. Don’t you remember?’

  ‘Oh – yes.’ She remembered it very well, though she had not thought it would happen.

  ‘I went back to London the morning after the fair,’ he said, ‘and I returned here late last night.’ He grinned. ‘And it’s been a thirsty walk from Frome this morning, I don’t mind telling you. Still, it was worth it – seeing you again.’

  ‘You came from Frome to see me?’ she said.

  ‘I came from London to see you.’

  ‘Really?’ She could hardly believe it. She had told herself that his words at the fair had meant nothing, that he would have forgotten them as soon as she had gone out of his sight.

  She became highly conscious of the closed gate between them, conscious that he must be aware of it too. But she could not invite him in. How could she, with Beatie as she was. ‘Are you staying in Frome?’ she asked him.

  ‘Yes – but at an inn there. My friend’s away.’ He was waiting to be invited indoors to be given tea. Her mind was in turmoil.

  A little silence fell between them, then he said, ‘I was so pleased to meet you at the fair. So glad.’

  ‘Oh . . .’ No words would come to her.

  Silence again. Then he said with a little laugh, as if trying to ease the moment, ‘I left my prize behind, you know.’

  ‘Your prize?’ She had no idea what he was talking about.

  He chuckled. ‘The coconut I won. I left it behind, by the stream.’

  ‘Oh – that’s a shame.’ Through her brain flashed pictures of the two of them together beside the brook, the lights of the fairground twinkling in the falling dusk.

  ‘Is your sister well?’ His voice broke into her thoughts.

  Clearly he had no idea of what happened. ‘Yes,’ she lied. ‘She’s quite well, thank you.’ She paused briefly, awkwardly, then said, her words coming out in a rush, ‘I’m sorry – but I can’t ask you in. I’d like to but – it’s just not possible right now.’

  The disappointment was clear in his face. ‘Oh, well, now, that’s a pity. But I should have written first, I know.’ Then he smiled. ‘But – perhaps we could take a little walk. Just for a while. Have a chat.’

  She said nothing, only stood there.

  ‘I don’t have to go back to London right away,’ he said. ‘I can stay for a day or two.’ He waited. ‘No?’

  ‘I’m sorry, it’s just that . . .’

  His smile faded. ‘Me? Is it me?’

  ‘What? Oh, no. No.’

  ‘Are you sure? I know that – that when we met you must have thought me very . . .’ He had difficulty finding the right word. ‘I know I didn’t behave as I should have and I –’

  ‘No,’ she broke in, ‘it’s not that.’ She spoke quickly; she didn’t want to be reminded of that time. ‘Look, I have to go in. I’m sorry . . .’

  He didn’t move as she took a step back from the gate.

  ‘I could write to you,’ he said. ‘Is there any point in my doing that?’

  She stopped, turned to face him again. ‘Yes.’ She gave a slow nod. ‘Write to me.’

  ‘And if I do will you answer?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Oh, I’m so sorry about today. I can’t explain but . . .’ She let her words trail off.

  ‘It’s all right. I told you – I should have written first.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right.’ He was looking at her intensely. ‘You know – whatever you might have thought – I meant what I said just now. I was so happy to meet you at the fair. It meant so much to me.’

  Briefly, amid all the inner turmoil, she felt her heart swell with happiness at his words, and then heard herself saying, ‘Yes – I too.’

  ‘Truly?’

  She gave a nod.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘I can see I’ve caught you at an awkward time. I mustn’t keep you.’

  Forcing a smile, she stepped back towards him and put out her hand.

  Taking it, he said, ‘You’re sure you’ll answer if I write?’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘You promise?’

  ‘I promise.’

  His smile was back. ‘Fine. Goodbye, then – Abbie.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  She moved up the path, then turned to make her way round the side of the house. Just before she passed the corner of the building she glanced back over her shoulder. He had moved onto the green, had come to a stop and was looking back at her.

  He waved. She returned his wave and entered the cottage.

  Now she had to see Beatie. Tell her of her meeting with Tom.

  Chapter Ten

  Louis’s promised letter arrived on Saturday morning. Standing in the kitchen, Abbie unfolded the notepaper. Beneath his London address and the date, he had written:

  Dear Abbie,

  I am sitting down to write this immediately upon returning to my lodgings. I had so hoped to have the chance to talk to you in Flaxdown, but obviously I did not choose my time well. Still, having had your assurance that it was nothing personal, I am telling myself that only my timing was at fault. I’ll try not to make such a mistake again. I have to say, however, that y
ou did appear somewhat preoccupied, and whatever caused it – assuming that it was not my presence – I hope it is past.

  I am somewhat at a loss as to what to say next. If I were with you it would perhaps be easier, but faced merely with this sheet of notepaper I find it difficult to put my thoughts before you. Let me just say that I cannot get you out of my head and that I am so looking forward to seeing you again. I have never stopped thinking about you since our first meeting.

  Please write back as soon as you can and reassure me – as lack of certainty makes me so full of doubts. I need to hear from you and to see again something of the girl I met at the fair. She was hardly evident in Flaxdown.

  I shall leave it up to you, and I shall wait and hope for a letter. If you write, as I hope you will, I can arrange to come and visit again. In the meantime I shall remain,

  Yours,

  Louis Randolph

  Abbie read the letter through three times. He had meant what he had said. She was so afraid that he had been toying with her, or that, once back in London again, he would forget. Though, she told herself, the fact that he had travelled all the way from London to Flaxdown for the sole purpose of seeing her – that, surely, was proof of his feelings. She felt a strange, embracing warmth. She was so glad, so very very glad that he had written.

  She folded the letter, returned it to the envelope and put it on the mantelpiece. She would answer it soon. For the time being she must give all her attention and consideration to Beatie.

  Beatie was ready long before the time of Tom’s expected visit and by noon, having dressed with the greatest care, she was almost pacing the floor in her anxiety to see him. She ate little of the food that Abbie put before her, only eager to get away from the table again, as if by doing so she could somehow bring forward the moment of his arrival.

  But the hours passed, and Abbie knew that he would not come.

  At five o’clock Beatie rose from her seat at the window and went upstairs. Abbie followed a few moments later and found her lying on the bed, gazing dully at the wall.

  ‘Perhaps something happened to detain him, or prevent his coming,’ Abbie said.