So Long At the Fair (15 page)

‘I’m just making some tea,’ Abbie whispered.

Mrs Carroll got up from her chair. ‘Good. I could do with a cup, and I think she’ll be all right to be left for a while.’

In the kitchen Abbie and Mrs Carroll sat drinking tea at the table. ‘Will you tell the police what happened?’ Mrs Carroll asked.

Abbie sighed. ‘I don’t know. If you do that, then everybody’ll get to know about it. And that’s the last thing Beatie would want.’ She was silent for a moment, then she added, ‘I hope Father and Eddie don’t find those men. There’ll be bloodshed if they do. I’d like them punished for what they did, but even if they are it won’t undo what’s done. Nothing’s going to make it right again.’

Mrs Carroll left an hour or so later, soon after which Frank Morris and Eddie returned. It was too dark, they said; they would start out again when it was light. And when the time came they did so, returning just before noon, again despondent at their lack of success. This time, they told Abbie, they had gone to the fairground at Old Ford.

‘But they’d ’alf of ’em packed up and moved out,’ Eddie said. ‘We ’ad a good look round but we didn’t see anybody like you described.’

‘Weren’t you afraid?’ Abbie asked. ‘Going into that place alone? All those gypsies?’

‘We wusn’t alone,’ Eddie said. ‘We ’ad Mike Taggart and ’is son with us, and Manny from the farm.’

Abbie’s heart sank. ‘So people in the village know of it now.’

Eddie and her father did not speak for a moment, then Frank Morris said, ‘It can’t be helped, Abbie. People can’t just sit back and let such things happen.’

It was quite apparent that Beatie would not be in any fit state to return to her work at Lullington for a while, and Abbie wasted no time in writing a letter to Mrs Callardine, saying that Beatie was ill and would be unable to return to her duties for a time.

What should be done about Tom, however, Abbie did not know. It would not be long before he learned that Beatie had not returned to Lullington, and he would have to be given a reason for her absence. Upstairs in their bedroom, Abbie said to Beatie, ‘I’ll write to him, too. He’ll learn from Mrs Callardine that you haven’t returned and he’ll be expecting to hear. We don’t have to say what’s happened, but he’ll have to be given some reason for your staying on here.’

Getting no response from Beatie, who merely turned her face away, Abbie went back downstairs and wrote a letter to Tom telling him that Beatie had come down with the influenza and would be returning to Lullington as soon as she was well enough.

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 tell 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.