So Long At the Fair (7 page)

It was their father who broke the news to Lizzie and Iris. Their mother had had to go away, he told them, and might not be back for a time. They had wept till their eyes were red and swollen, always asking the same questions: Where did she go? When would she come back? Abbie and her father and brother had no answers for them.

Beatie heard the news from her father who wrote to her that weekend. Abbie wrote a couple of days later. From her mother Beatie heard nothing. Much distressed, she tearfully confided in her mistress, who did what she could to comfort her and told her that she should go home to see her family. She could go in the trap on Saturday with the groom and he would call for her the following day.

Beatie arrived in Flaxdown early that Saturday afternoon, and was met outside by Lizzie and Iiris. ‘Mam’s gone away,’ Lizzie said dolefully, to which Beatie replied that she knew. Then, while the trap driver set off for the Harp and Horses, she followed the two girls indoors where Abbie was awaiting her arrival. A few minutes later, when the girls had gone out to play again, she and Abbie sat at the table drinking tea.

‘What about the people in the village?’ Beatie asked. ‘Do they know about it?’

‘They must do,’ Abbie replied. ‘And what they don’t know for certain they’ll get by putting two and two together. Everybody must know she’s gone – and that Mr Pattison’s gone too. It won’t be hard for people to work it out.’

‘Have you seen Mrs Pattison?’

‘No – and I feel right sorry for her too. She’s a funny, pathetic little woman, but well-meaning enough. Still, she must be managing. At least the post office is still open.’

Later their father arrived from Bath, then Eddie came in from the farm. Beatie and Abbie had prepared supper, and afterwards they spent the evening together, all six of them.

Abbie knew that her father was crushed by their mother’s departure, while her brother, she quickly realized, nursed a bitterness towards her; she could see it in his set mouth and in his reluctance to speak of her. As he had never been one for staying about the house, but was usually off with his friends, Abbie had thought that he might be less affected by their mother’s going. But she was wrong; he was clearly very affected by her desertion.

That night, Abbie and Beatie lay together in bed. In the other bed, Lizzie and Iris were already asleep.

‘What about your Tom?’ Abbie whispered into the dark. ‘Does he know you’ve come here?’

‘Yes, I sent him a note. I told him I had to come.’

‘Did you say why?’

‘No.’ There was silence for a moment, then Beatie added, ‘I’m afraid of what’ll happen when he finds out about Mam. More particularly when his parents find out. What will they think?’

‘What
can
they think? What are you talking about?’

Beatie sighed. ‘Everything’s been going so well lately with Tom and me. I know his folks don’t think I’m good enough for him, but now that I’ve met them a couple of times things have been getting better. But now this has happened – our mam going off with some man from the village. They won’t want him courting a girl whose mother’s done that. They won’t want scandal brought into the family.’

‘Perhaps they won’t find out about it.’

‘Oh, they will. Scandal like that. They probably know about it already.’

‘But they’ll know it don’t make any difference to what
you
are. It don’t change
you
. Whatever our mam’s done it don’t make you into a different person.’

‘Well,
I
know that and
you
know that – but I’m afraid they won’t see it that way.’

‘I’m sure they will. But what about Tom? He’s a grown man. He’s got some say in what happens to him.’

‘Yes, of course, but . . . well, he’ll only go against them so far. Stands to reason. Oh, Abbie, I love him. I couldn’t bear it if anything should go wrong.’

‘Nothing’s going to go wrong. And if Tom loves you as he says he does it won’t make any difference.’

Beatie returned to her duties the following day and on the Wednesday Abbie received a letter from her. It was full of hope and happiness. She and Tom had talked, Beatie wrote, and everything was going to be all right. Although Tom had already learned about their mother’s departure he did not appear to be unduly perturbed by the knowledge. And as for his parents, although they were unhappy about it he was sure that in time their doubts would pass.

Abbie sighed with relief on reading Beatie’s letter. It had been a lingering concern in connection with her mother’s leaving. But now it was over and Beatie, like the rest of them, could start to get on with her life again.

PART TWO

Chapter Five

‘D’you realize what today is?’ Abbie asked, looking up from the table where she sat writing a letter.

Eddie, standing at the mirror, gave a nod. ‘It’s Friday.’

‘I don’t mean the day. I mean the date.’

He turned, gazed at her blankly for a second then said, ‘It’s the seventh, is it?’

‘Yes. Six years tonight since Mother went.’

They spoke of their mother only rarely and when they did it was as if they were speaking of some distant relative, or some acquaintance who had once touched their lives but was no longer a part of them. In all those six years they had heard not one single word from her beyond the three letters she had left behind on the night of her going.

And neither had they had much word
of
her. All they knew was that she was no longer with Jack Pattison. Not long after the two of them had left the village Pattison’s wife had given up the post office and moved to Bath to live with her mother. A year or so later, Eddie came to Abbie with the news that Pattison had returned to his wife and that they were once again living together.

For a little while Eddie had considered going to Bath to find Pattison, to ‘teach him a lesson’, but after consideration he had decided against it. Perhaps, Abbie had thought, having never forgiven their mother for her action, he no longer cared that much about her.

Eddie, now showing no interest in the anniversary of their mother’s going, turned back to the glass. Abbie watched him as he smoothed a palm over his hair. Nearly twenty, he was a good-looking young man, straight, broad in the shoulders and already taller than their father. He looked very fit with his smooth skin bronzed by the sun, which had also bleached the crown of his fair hair a pale shade of yellow. Abbie studied him, taking in his wide-set grey eyes, his straight, perfectly shaped nose. Tonight he was wearing his best jacket, his new corduroy trousers and his best shirt. He stepped back for a final appraisal, then moved to the vase of flowers that stood in the centre of the table and selected a pink rose, its bud just half opened. Turning back to the glass, he tried the flower against his jacket, then, satisfied, cut the stem with his pocket knife and pinned it into his buttonhole.

‘And very fetching indeed,’ Abbie said approvingly. ‘I’m sure Violet will be most taken with you.’

He shot a glance of suspicion at her, which she met with eyes of innocence. Smiling, she said, ‘No, Eddie, it looks very nice. Truly.’

‘Yeh?’

‘Yes, really.’

Apart from his maturing he had not changed that much over the years, she thought. He was still the same warm-hearted, exuberant rough diamond. It was just that now some of his interests were different. Whereas in earlier days he had spent his leisure time in boisterous pursuits with his friends, he now preferred, when it was possible, to spend it with one Violet Neville, the third daughter in a family of eight who lived on the other side of the green. Violet, seventeen years old and very pretty, was away in service in Devizes for most of the year, so Eddie’s meetings with her were few and far between. At present, however, she was back home in Flaxdown for her annual summer holiday, and she and Eddie met as often as they could.

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:

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.