So Long At the Fair (13 page)

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘and I’m going to see you safely home.’

‘Really?’ It was clear that Beatie was not averse to the notion. Out of politeness, though, she protested. ‘Oh, but ‘It’s so far out of your way.’

‘It’s no trouble. And I’d like to.’

Abbie still could not meet his eyes. What did he think of her, after she had permitted such liberties so soon after their meeting? ‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘but it’s not necessary. It won’t take us long to skip across the fields.’

‘Maybe not, but I’d feel better about it if you’d let me come with you.’

‘No, no. We shall be all right, shan’t we, Beatie?’ Then before Beatie could answer, she added, ‘No, really, we couldn’t hear of it. All that way to Flaxdown and then another three miles on to Frome.’ She had put a little firmness into her voice now, trying to distance herself from him and the memory of what had taken place.

‘It’s not so far,’ he said.

‘What about your friends?’ Beatie asked, ‘– won’t they be waiting for you?’

‘I told them I’d be making my own way back.’ He looked from one to the other, his glance lingering on Abbie’s averted eyes. ‘Well?’

‘Thank you, really,’ Abbie said, forcing herself to look at him, ‘but we’ll be fine.’ She linked an arm through Beatie’s, preparing to move on.

‘Well – all right, then.’ He nodded. ‘In that case I’ll say goodnight.’

‘Goodnight,’ Beatie said, then added, ‘And thank you so much for my wedding present.’

‘It was my pleasure. May it bring you joy.’

‘Oh, it will. I shall treasure it always.’ Briefly smiling, she looked down at the box holding the teaset, then, looking up again, asked, ‘What about
your
prize?’

‘My prize?’

‘You won a coconut, didn’t you?’

He clapped a hand to his forehead. ‘Oh, good Lord – I’ve lost it.’

Beatie laughed. ‘How could you lose a coconut?’

He shrugged, spread his hands. ‘I – I must have put it down somewhere – and forgotten it.’ As he finished speaking he flicked a glance at Abbie and she lowered her eyes and turned away. In her mind’s eye she could see him beside the stream, dropping the coconut into the grass . . .

‘Let me wish,’ he was saying now to Beatie, ‘that you find all the happiness you want in your marriage.’

‘Thank you. Thank you.’

He turned back to Abbie. ‘And you, Miss Abigail – I was wondering – I’m thinking of coming round Flaxdown way in the near future . . .’

Beatie said quickly, a little mischievously, ‘Then you must come to number four Green Lane.’ She flicked a smiling glance at her sister. ‘I’m sure Abbie’d be only too glad to give you a cup of tea.’

‘Is that so?’ he said to Abbie.

Abbie shrugged. Was he sincere? She didn’t know what to think. ‘Well,’ she said, her smile only just there, ‘I’ve never been known to refuse anyone who’s in need.’

‘Oh, I’d be in need right enough.’

Briefly searching his face for some hidden meaning to his words, she could read nothing there. She pressed Beatie’s arm. ‘Beatie we must go.’

‘Well,’ Louis said, ‘–goodnight again.’

‘Goodnight,’ said Abbie.

‘Goodnight,’ said Beatie. ‘And thank you again.’

They turned from him, stepped onto the road and set their feet in the direction of Flaxdown. Reaching a bend in the road they turned and saw the dark shape of him standing against the lights of the fair, saw him lift his hat to them in salute. Moments later and yards further on and he was gone from their sight.

‘Well,’ Beatie said, ‘you certainly made a hit there. You’ve got an admirer, sure enough. Anybody could see that. But why wouldn’t you let him see us home? He wanted to.’

Abbie did not answer.

‘Anyway,’ Beatie said, ‘you’ve got an admirer, whatever you say.’ She smiled. ‘Yes, you’ve got an admirer, and I’ve got the most beautiful teaset in the world.’

Chapter Eight

‘We shouldn’t have stayed so long,’ Beatie said, switching the box holding her teaset from one arm to the other.

‘It was my fault,’ Abbie said. ‘But with so much happening you don’t realize how fast the time’s going by.’

The girls had left the road and were making their way along a footpath across a field. The remaining light from the sinking sun had all but gone now, while the clouded moon was rising in the sky.

Reaching the far side of the field, they crossed over the stile and continued on across another meadow. Beyond this their path led them beside a wood, deep in shadow. As they walked, Beatie reached out and took Abbie’s hand. ‘We should have kept to the roads,’ she said. ‘I’d feel a lot safer.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Abbie said. ‘This way is much quicker and it won’t be long before we’re home.’

They were still walking with the dark bank of the woods on their left when they heard the voices.

Abbie came to a stop, fingers pressing into Beatie’s hand. Beatie stopped beside her. ‘Listen,’ Abbie murmured.

They stood side by side on the footpath, listening. At first they heard nothing, but then came the brief sound of a voice, a man’s voice, whispering, startlingly close at hand. As one, the heads of the two girls moved in the direction of the noise. Silence again. No sound at all but the creaking of the branches of the trees and the distant hoot of an owl.

Abbie leaned her head closer to Beatie’s. ‘It could be our Eddie,’ she whispered, ‘trying to scare us.’ Beatie said nothing. The girls remained standing there for some moments longer, then turned and began to move on, hastening their steps. Almost immediately they heard from their left the sounds of something moving through the wood, as if keeping pace with them. Their steps quickened even more.

All of a sudden, with a violent rustling of the foliage just ahead, a figure sprang out from the darkness of the trees and stood before them. Giving little cries of fright, the girls came to an abrupt halt.

The light of the moon shone behind the form of a tall man so that he stood in silhouette, a dark, unfamiliar shape. Abbie and Beatie moved closer to one another. As they did so they heard further sounds from the trees on their left and saw another shape detach itself from the dark mass and move to stand near the first. Both men wore hats pulled low on their foreheads.

For some seconds no words were spoken, then Abbie said, her voice seeming loud in the quiet of the night: ‘What do you want?’

The first of the two men, the taller, took a step forward. ‘We’re not going to ’urt you,’ he said. His words were slurred, as if from drinking.

Although he had moved in closer, Abbie still could not see his face in the darkness, though she was sure she had never met him before. ‘What do you want?’ she asked again, taking a small step back.

‘Why’re you in such a hurry,’ the shorter man said. ‘We only want to pass the time of day. We don’t mean you no ’arm.’ Like that of his companion, his voice gave evidence of his having been drinking.

‘Well,’ Abbie said nervously, ‘I’m afraid we can’t stop. It’s late and we’ve got to get home.’

She gripped Beatie’s hand more tightly. Damp with sweat, it trembled in her own. Abbie did not know what to do – to remain and try to get out of the situation with diplomacy, or make a run for it – though the latter course, she knew, would have little chance of success.

‘Did you ’ave a good time at the fair?’ asked the shorter man.

The girls remained silent.

‘We saw you there,’ he said. ‘We saw you dancing.’

‘Yes,’ said the taller man, and then sang quietly, his voice soft and chilling in the stillness, ‘We wander, darling, hand in hand, and dream love’s golden dream.’ His voice cracked on the high note and he gave a drunken little laugh at his inadequacy.

‘Ah, it’s a very nice little song, that,’ his companion said and added, ‘Yes, you looked as if you were ’aving a really nice time. Were you?’

Abbie nodded, not speaking. Her heart was thudding against her ribs. Desperately she looked about her. If only someone else would come by, on their way home from the fair. There was no one.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked the shorter man. ‘Can’t you talk? Cat got your tongue, has he?’

‘Please.’ Abbie said, her voice shaking, ‘Let us go. Don’t hurt us. Let us go.’

‘I told you we don’t mean you no ’arm.’

‘Do you want money?’ Abbie said. ‘We’ve only got a little. A few pence, that’s all.’

He shook his head. ‘We don’t want your money. We’re only asking you to be sociable. We only want a bit of fun.’

‘That’s right,’ said the other. ‘Just a bit of fun, that’s all.’

‘What’s that you’ve got there?’ the shorter man asked, gesturing to the package beneath Beatie’s arm.

When she did not answer he stepped forward and moved to take it from her. With a little cry, she swung away from him, dodging his clutching hands and at the same time swinging out her free hand to ward him off. Her flapping hand accidentally caught him on the mouth. Violently knocking her hand aside, he said angrily, ‘Don’t you try to play rough with me,’ and reached out and snatched the box from her grasp. In seconds he had it open and was holding up one of the little rose-patterned cups, squinting at it in the gloom. ‘Well, now, ain’t that pretty.’ He held the cup out for his companion to see. ‘Look at that. Really pretty, that is.’ He tossed the cup into the air, and as it fell he swung at it with his foot, shattering it with the toe of his boot. Beatie turned her head, burying her face against Abbie’s neck. The man watched her reaction, then drew back his arm and hurled the box as hard as he could against the bank of trees beside them. It struck the trunk of a tree with a shattering sound. He laughed again, adding in a tone of mock distress, ‘Oh, my, it sounds as if something’s broke. What a shame.’ He stepped towards Beatie. ‘Don’t you fret about some bit of china,’ he said. ‘I’ve got something here that you’re going to like a lot more.’ As he spoke he pressed a hand to his crutch. Then with his other hand he reached out and snatched at her arm.

With a scream, Beatie shrank away, while at the same time Abbie stepped forward to try to ward him off. ‘Leave her alone!’ she cried. ‘Leave her alone!’

‘Shut it. Just shut up.’ The shorter man abruptly turned his attention to her now and, stepping forward, drew back his arm and swung. The back of his hand connected with her jaw, the blow sending her staggering backwards. Her head spun, pinpoints of light danced before her eyes, and she could taste her blood in her mouth. Then, while she fought to regain her balance, the man was upon her.

As she struggled in his grasp she was aware that Beatie, beside her, was being held by the taller man and was fighting desperately to get away. The next moment, in a flurry of billowing skirts, and whimpering like a creature in pain, Beatie had somehow wrenched herself from her captor’s hold and was turning, dashing back along the path.

‘Run, Beatie, run!’ Abbie screamed. ‘Run! Run!’ And then a hand came down on her mouth, mashing her lips against her teeth and cutting off her cries. The next moment she was falling, the man falling with her. As she fought, his weight on top of her, she heard from a distance a muffled shout from the other man, followed by Beatie’s high-pitched squeal of terror.

Against Abbie’s cries of fear, desperation and protest came the rough, muttered words of her attacker as he struggled to hold her down. He lay full length on top of her. He was not a lot taller than she and it took much of his strength to keep her writhing, pitching form pinned beneath him. He succeeded, though, no matter how she tried to push him off. Smelling his beer- and gin-heavy breath as he lowered his face to hers, she desperately wrenched her head aside in an effort to avoid his mouth, but his hands came up and gripped the sides of her head, holding her still.

‘What are you putting up such a struggle for?’ he said grimly. ‘All I want is what you give that other fellow at the fair.’

Hearing his words, she realized that she and Louis had been observed as they had lain together in the grass.

‘You weren’t playing hard to get with him,’ the man said. ‘Why should you be so difficult now? I doubt it’s anything new to you or your friend.’

And then his mouth was on hers, wet with his saliva, his tongue probing against her tightly-clamped lips. At the same time one of his hands left her head and wrenched at her skirts, pulling them up around her thighs.

Unable to hold her breath any longer, she opened her lips to gasp for air and at once his tongue was inside her mouth. She bit down, and he cried out in pain, and she tasted his warm blood with her own. The man pulled back from her, clapping a hand to his mouth and in the same moment she wrenched her body to one side so that he was momentarily off-balance. It was enough. Using all her strength, she forced herself upwards and, with a heave of all the weight of her body, toppled him into the grass. A moment later she had struggled to her feet and was dashing away.

‘You bitch,’ he cried after her as she fled. ‘You bitch, I’ll kill you for this.’

Holding up her skirts, she ran as fast as she could, heading in no particular direction, only desperate to escape from her pursuer, yet knowing that she could not get far. After running along the path for a short distance she suddenly swerved, dashing off into the dark of the wood. As she did so she was aware that the man had taken up the chase and was not far behind.

With the sharp thorns of brambles tearing at her skirt, and low, overhanging branches and twigs scratching her face and snagging at her bonnet, she dashed on, her breath coming in gasps of exertion and terror. The man was now so close that she could hear his muttered oaths as the foliage scraped at his flesh.

All at once she was faced by a great bank of bramble. She hesitated, swung away to her right, and in the next moment found her wrist caught roughly in the man’s grasp. Pulled up short, she was violently yanked around and flung back so that she staggered against the slender trunk of a tree. Her arm free of his grip, she half sank to her knees, the breath knocked out of her body.