So Long At the Fair Read online

  Glancing at the clock, Abbie saw that it was ten minutes to eight. She was eager for her father to return, eager for his news.

  Taking up his hat, Eddie moved to the door. ‘I must go or I’ll be late,’ he said. In another moment he was gone.

  Abbie sat motionless for a minute two, then got back to the task before her. She had just finished writing a letter to Lizzie and was now completing one to Iris. Her two younger sisters were also living away from home. Lizzie was fifteen and had been in service for two years. Having spent her first, petty, year in Trowbridge, she was now fairly happily settled as housemaid with a family in Radstock, some dozen miles away. Iris, fourteen, was still with her first employers, closer to home, in Frome. Both girls had only recently returned to their work after being at home for their annual summer holidays.

  Abbie finished the letter – she had written to Iris much as she had written to Lizzie – and put it in an envelope. Now she prepared to begin one to Beatie.

  Beatie had turned twenty-three that past March and, because of her wish to remain near Tom Greening, was still with the Callardines in Lullington.

  The past six years of Beatie’s relationship with Tom had not been all happiness and there had been a couple of occasions when she had feared that it would end. Now, though, any unhappiness she had known seemed to be in the past, for in June of this year, 1868, she and Tom had become engaged to be married. Whatever their past reservations, Tom’s parents had either seen them as invalid, or had been won over by Beatie, for after Tom had agreed to wait for a time before marrying, his parents had at last given the couple their blessing. The wedding would take place late in October, Beatie remaining at her place in Lullington until a week or so before it, when she would return to Flaxdown to prepare for the big day and spend a last holiday with her family.

  Taking up her pen, Abbie wrote:

  Flaxdown

  Friday, 7 August 1868

  My dear Beatie,

  Thank you for yours of the 5th. It’s wonderful that everything is so well with you and Tom, and I’m not in the least surprised that Mr and Mrs Greening have been ‘pleasantness itself’ to you, as you put it – though I don’t know what you’ve got to be nervous about, I’m sure. I know there have been times when you feared that things might not work out, but they have, and those doubtful times are now all in the past. You’re both going to be very happy, I’m sure of it. I can believe you when you say that the time seems to be moving so slowly. But it will pass, and October will soon be here, and then all at once you’ll find you’ve got a million things to do and not enough time to do them in.

  It’s well over a week now since Lizzie and Iris went back to their places. It was lovely to have them both home, and so nice that their holidays coincided so they could be together again for a while. The time they were here went by so fast; before we knew it they were both off again. Still, I hope it won’t be long before they’re back once more, at least on one or other of their free Sunday afternoons.

  Father is in good health, you’ll be glad to hear, and has got over his twinges. It’s so nice when he can get work close by and is able to live at home all week. At present, working only a couple of miles away on the house in Corsley Heath, he’s back home every evening well before half past six – and without being so awfully tired from having to travel a long distance. He’s able to spend a bit of time on the allotment too, making the most of his opportunities and the long evenings – though they won’t last for much longer; autumn will soon be here. You’d be amazed at the amount of work he’s managed to get done over the past few months; we certainly shouldn’t be short of vegetables for a while yet, anyway . . .

  She paused in her writing, tapping the end of the pen against her white, even teeth. Usually her father would have been out on the allotment in such fine weather as this. This evening, though, after he had finished his tea he had changed into his best clothes and set off for the vicarage to see the Revd Hilldew – to discuss with him the question of Abbie’s future. He had left the house at seven fifteen. It was now almost half past eight.

  Laying down her pen she got up, filled the kettle and put it on to boil. Moving to her right she stood before the mirror, took a couple of loose pins from her hair and fastened the heavy chestnut braids about the crown of her head more securely. She was eighteen years old now and her reflection was not unpleasing. She had a fine, straight nose; a wide, full-lipped mouth and arched brows. Her skin was soft and clear, and her dark eyes bright. Also – and to her relief – she had grown considerably during the past three years – so much so that on Jane’s last visit to Flaxdown they had discovered that they were almost the same height.

  As she turned from the glass she was aware of the quietness of the cottage; the only sound was the ticking of the clock. The appearance of the room had changed in the six years since her mother had left, it now reflecting only the lives and likes of those who were left. Nowadays there were nearly always flowers on the table. On the walls hung several prints – cheap but attractive – chosen by Abbie and framed for her by Eddie. Another frame held a drawing by Iris, who had a talent with her pencil; another an exquisitely wrought little sampler – ‘Old Friends Are the Best Friends’ – from Lizzie. There, too, were her father’s books on the shelves he had built – books that he had previously kept upstairs. And beside them were Abbie’s, the collection growing; books picked up at markets or given to her by various people.

  Her books were a part of her work now, and she turned to them every day once her chores around the cottage were done. It had been her father’s suggestion, made within a few weeks of their mother’s going. ‘It’s your opportunity,’ he had said. Now she could continue with her studies as he had wanted her to do; she could work at home and he would give her whatever help he could. Then later, he had said, when they felt she was ready and the time was right, they would apply for her to be interviewed by the Board of School Governors, with a view to being accepted as a teacher.

  She had worked hard in preparation for such an eventuality, and not only as regards academic learning. She had been working, too, on her speech. She knew that were she to speak to the members of the Board in the vernacular and accents of the village she would be doomed before she had a chance to show what learning she had acquired. She had suffered a good deal of teasing from Eddie to begin with, but she was persevering. Now when she spoke there was not a dropped aitch to be heard.

  And now, after all her work, she was of the opinion, as was her father, that she was ready to meet the Board – which was the reason for his visit to the Revd Hilldew, who was the Board’s chairman.

  Abbie moved to the window and looked along the lane. There was no sign of her father. Turning back to the table she sat down, took up her pen again and continued with her letter to Beatie:

  Eddie has just gone out for the evening – to see his Violet, of course. Though no shrinking violet she, as I know you also think. Still, he’s very taken with her, so it’s not for us to put in our two pennyworth. If he is making a mistake let’s hope he finds it out before it goes on too long. He’s a sensible enough chap, as we know, but how good his judgement is of females I’m not sure. Perhaps he thinks they’re all as gracious and loving as his sisters! Ha ha!

  This week I received a letter from Jane. She continues to do well. She seems very happy at Trowbridge so far, and is looking forward to going up to London in the autumn with her new employers, who have a house there. She tells me in her letter that she’s coming to Flaxdown for her holidays in September before they all go off. Her mother, whom I saw yesterday, can hardly wait.

  There’s not a lot more to tell you right now and I shall have to stop as Father will soon be coming in. I am well, as ever, and getting on with my studies – but more of that another day. For now, goodbye from

  Your loving sister

  Abbie

  She read the letter through, folded it, sealed it in an envelope and, along with those to Lizzie and Iris, put it on the mantelpiec
e. She was just about to put her writing materials away when her father entered.

  ‘I’m just making tea,’ she said as he took off his hat. ‘I wondered where you’d got to.’

  He hung up his jacket and sat down, and in silence Abbie pulled off his boots and brought him his slippers. When she had poured and handed him his tea she sat facing him from the chair opposite. ‘Well?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘Well, I saw the vicar. And he was very sympathetic and understanding.’ He took a swallow from his cup. ‘But of course the fact that you left school at twelve doesn’t exactly help your case.’

  ‘Did you tell him I’ve been studying?’

  ‘Of course. And I said you were doing extremely well, and that you’re a very clever young woman.’

  ‘What did he say to that?’

  ‘Nothing much; it was what he’d expect me to say. Anyway, he says you must write him a formal letter of application. Then he’ll consider speaking to the other members of the Board to see about them giving you an interview.’

  ‘Oh, Father, that’s wonderful! Did he say when the interview might be – if I get one, that is?’

  ‘As soon as the Board meets, which will be next month, so he said.’

  ‘Oh, it’s a terrifying prospect – but all the same I wish I didn’t have to wait.’

  ‘It’s all to the good,’ he said. ‘It means you’ll have time to prepare.’

  Sitting down at the table again, she wrote at once to the Revd Hilldew, making her application. When she had finished the letter she read it aloud to her father, who nodded his approval, and signed it. After sealing the letter in an envelope, she turned in her chair and regarded him in the soft glow of the lamp. She could almost feel his belief in her. She would do well; she was determined. And she knew that by doing so, by succeeding, she would be helping him to fulfil himself.

  Since her mother’s departure she had grown even closer to her father – as, she realized, had her brother and sisters.

  ‘Do you miss her, Father?’ she asked after a moment.

  He looked at her in surprise. ‘Your mother,’ he said; a statement.

  Abbie nodded.

  ‘What brought that question on?’

  She shrugged. ‘Sometimes I’ve wondered.’

  A moment of hesitation, then: ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Do – do you think about her?’

  He frowned. ‘Oh, Abbie, that’s all in the past. Have we got to talk about such melancholy things?’

  She said nothing. After a second or two he went on, ‘Yes – I think about her now and then. But I don’t miss her.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ Abbie said. ‘And I wouldn’t want her back. Not now.’ She paused. ‘But you loved her once.’

  ‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘Oh, she was a beautiful girl, your mother. And I thought she was so sophisticated – the way she dressed, the way she spoke. I was determined to have her if I possibly could.’ He sighed. ‘And I did. Though I’m afraid she married me as an escape.’

  ‘An escape?’

  ‘I came to realize it later. She hated her work. She was never cut out to be a governess – being patient with other people’s children. And there I was – a young man with no ties. One of the few single men in the village who could read and write. I suppose she thought that together we – we’d amount to something.’ He smiled, shaking his head. ‘But it didn’t happen like that. We had children. And as a result she felt trapped. Oh, I knew long before she went that she didn’t love me. I’d got used to living with that idea.’

  Into the silence that fell in the room Abbie said, ‘Sometimes I almost hate her.’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘you don’t mean that. Some women are just not cut out to be mothers. Motherhood comes naturally to most of them – but not to all’ He got up from his chair and put his empty cup on the table. Then, stepping to her side, he gently touched a hand to her hair. ‘Don’t be too quick to judge her, Abbie. It’s like I said – I was probably equally to blame. And I was luckier – I didn’t have to run away to find what I wanted. I had it here – in my children. I didn’t need anything else.’

  Chapter Six

  Abbie stood back from the glass and looked at her reflection, while Jane, at her side, studied her equally judiciously. Jane had recently arrived back in Flaxdown for her annual summer leave. From now on it would be more difficult for her to visit, for once she returned to her post – she was now situated in Trowbridge – she would be accompanying her employers to London where they were to take up permanent residence. So she and Abbie were making the most of their time together, going off on jaunts to the market, taking leisurely walks, or on occasion, when the weather was fine enough, swimming in the river or the old clay pit. Swimming was one of their favourite means of relaxation on warm days, and whenever the rare opportunity arose they took it.

  Today, however, was not a day for relaxation. Today was the day of Abbie’s interview with the Board of School Governors, and Jane had come to give her moral support and help her get ready.

  To her brown voile dress Abbie had attached a beautifully wrought lace collar lent to her by Jane’s mother. It was a perfect foil for the plainness of her dress and she now looked almost elegant. Her hair, dressed by Jane, had been carefully fashioned into a chignon.

  When she had put on her bonnet and cape – and gloves borrowed from Jane – she was ready to leave. Jane walked with her to the vicarage, wished her good luck and left her. Abbie watched until Jane had gone out of sight beyond the privet hedge, then walked up the drive to the front door and rang the bell. The door was opened by a maid who took her cape and showed her into the front parlour.

  After a few minutes the Revd Hilldew came in. ‘Ah, Miss Abigail.’ He came towards her and she got to her feet and briefly took the soft handshake he offered. A short man in his late forties, he had a stocky build that gave no indication of frugality or self-denial. Abbie had always found him pleasant enough, however, notwithstanding that his sermons were overlong and inclined to ramble. ‘The other members of the Board are here,’ the vicar said. ‘We have just one or two other matters of business to get through, then I’ll call you in. We’ll try not to keep you waiting too long.’

  Twenty minutes later Abbie was ushered into the dining room where she found herself faced by the five members of the Board. They were seated around an oval dining table which was covered with a green velvet cloth. She sat down and the Revd Hilldew introduced her to the men, who in turn murmured brief, formal words of greeting. She knew all the faces there, including that of Mr Carstairs, the school inspector. He sat on the left, a short, thin man with spectacles. She could well remember from when she was at school the fear he had instilled into the hearts of students and teacher alike when he came into the classroom to carry out his annual inspections. Seeing him now, with his cold eyes and wide, unsmiling slit of a mouth, she felt that old fear reawaken.

  Beside Mr Carstairs sat Mr Bradfield, the squire and local magistrate. A large man, in both girth and height, he dwarfed Carstairs, and the Revd Hilldew who sat on his other side. For all his physical stature and social elevation, however, Abbie had no fear of him. She had encountered him at a distance frequently over the years – when she and Jane had watched him and his friends riding in the hunt, or when he had presided at fêtes in the grounds of the Manor House or visited village fairs and other social gatherings. He had always appeared to be genial and considerate, and as far as the gentry were held in any kind of affection by the villagers he could claim to be among that small, privileged number.

  The man who sat on the immediate right of the Revd Hilldew was the obligatory representative of the nonconformist church, Mr Yates, the local Baptist minister. He was even thinner than Mr Carstairs and, with his pink, clean-shaven face and fine, delicate hands, looked untouched by life and experience. His expression was unreadable; whether he was well- or ill-disposed towards her, Abbie could not tell.

  On the far right sat the fifth member of the Board, Dr Pa
rrish. He, in his mid-thirties and easily the youngest, was a rather good-looking man of medium stature with dark, thinning hair. He was fairly new to the area, though Abbie had seen him from time to time going about the village on his calls.

  ‘We have your letter here,’ said the Reverend, glancing down at it. ‘One difficulty, of course, as I told your father, is that your own schooling finished when you were only twelve years old and it isn’t usual for the School Governors to employ schoolteachers who have had so little formal training. Our teachers are usually taken from among those young women who have remained on at school and served an apprenticeship by helping incumbent teachers.’

  At this the school inspector opened his thin lips and murmured, ‘Quite.’

  ‘However,’ went on the Reverend, ‘you and your father tell us that you have been studying in your own time. Would you like to tell us a little of what you’ve been doing in this respect?’

  Abbie was so nervous that as she went to speak she found her mouth so dry that the inside of her upper lip adhered briefly to her gum. She wet her lip, swallowed, took a breath and said, ‘I’ve been studying history, sir – and geography and English – and arithmetic.’

  The five men looked at her, obviously waiting for her to amplify her answer. When she did not, the squire said, a faint smile lifting his red cheeks, ‘And you obviously consider yourself qualified to teach, my dear.’