So Long At the Fair (21 page)

His smile as he came closer showed that he in turn had recognized her. ‘Well, hello,’ he said, touching his hat.

She got down from the stile and smilingly returned his greeting.

He climbed over and stood facing her. ‘It’s Miss Morris, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ She gave a shake of her head. ‘But I’m afraid I don’t remember your name – forgive me.’

‘Gilmore. Arthur Gilmore.’

‘Ah – yes.’

‘Are you well?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, quite well, thank you. And you?’

‘Oh, well enough. Are you on your way to Keyford?’

‘No, I was just about to go back to Flaxdown. I only came out for a stroll to get a little air.’

‘Good. Perhaps we can walk together. If you’ve no objection.’

She nodded – she could do nothing but acquiesce – and together they set off.

‘You’re bound for Flaxdown, are you?’ Abbie said.

‘Yes, I have an errand to do.’

‘And no carriage today?’

‘It’s not my carriage. It belongs to my landlord. He kindly allows me to use it on occasion.’

They walked on. After a while he said, ‘I’m so pleased to chance upon you like this. I was hoping to meet you again at some time.’ He paused. ‘I heard about your father. I’m so sorry.’

Looking up, she saw sympathy in his dark eyes. She nodded her thanks.

‘Were you – close to your father?’ he asked.

‘Yes . . .’

‘I’m sure you must miss him dreadfully.’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘I know how you must feel – what you’re going through. My mother died three years ago. I understand, believe me.’

They emerged from the thicket onto the path that led beside the cornfield.

‘You’ve got brothers and sisters, haven’t you?’ he added.

‘An older brother and two younger sisters. My brother’s married and lives in Flaxdown. My sisters are away in service.’ She added after a moment, ‘I have to be honest and say that I don’t envy them their work.’

‘I’m sure you don’t.’

‘No. I consider myself very fortunate to have the job I have.’

He nodded. ‘You’ll be busy again soon with the new school term starting.’

‘Just a couple more weeks.’

‘Are you looking forward to it?’

‘Yes, I am. It’s hard work but I like to be busy. What about you? Is your work going well?’

‘Oh, well enough. I didn’t expect to be staying here so long. And now there’s talk of my remaining for a year or more.’

‘How do you feel about that?’

‘I don’t mind the idea.’

Having left the cornfield behind them, they started along the path across the cattle pasture. They were close to Flaxdown now.

‘Have you heard from your friend Jane since she returned to London?’ he said.

‘Yes, I’ve heard from her. She’s well.’

They had reached the stile where the footpath emerged onto the lane, and Arthur Gilmore moved ahead of her and, murmuring ‘Allow me . . .’ stepped over the stile and reached out to help her over. She climbed up, took his outstretched hand and stepped down on the other side.

‘Where are you off to now?’ he asked as he released her. ‘Back home?’ They were heading now for School Lane.

‘Yes. But please don’t come out of your way,’ Abbie said.

‘I’ve got plenty of time.’

A few minutes later they came to the gate of the little schoolhouse. They stood in silence for a moment or two, then Arthur said, ‘I was wondering whether you would care to come out with me some day soon.’

‘Oh,’ Abbie said doubtfully, ‘I’m afraid I tend not to go out a great deal.’

‘Then it might make a nice change for you. It’s Sunday tomorrow. Perhaps I could call on you in the afternoon.’

‘Well – I’m not sure about tomorrow.’ She avoided his glance.

‘You already have an engagement?’

‘Well, no, but . . .’

‘Then let me call for you tomorrow. May I? If I can get the carriage we could go for a little drive – if you’d care to.’

She said nothing, though she knew that with her silence she was committing herself.

‘Three o’clock, then – all right?’ he said. ‘I’ll be here at three.’

The following afternoon Abbie put on her best dress and best straw bonnet, the former of dark-blue velvet, the latter trimmed with matching silk ribbon. She was so unaccustomed to dressing up, that although the garments were more than three years old she regarded them as new. When she opened the door to Arthur at three o’clock he greeted her with a smile and what was unmistakably a little nod of approval.

He had been unable to acquire his landlord’s carriage that day and so they walked, wandering leisurely along the lanes. During this time Abbie learned that he was twenty-eight years old, the son of a clergyman, now dead, whose parish had been in Clerkenwell, London. His late mother had, before her marriage, been a governess in Brighton.

In addition to Arthur’s agreeable appearance – no one could have denied that he was good-looking – Abbie found that he was well-informed and well-read, and they discovered much to discuss when the talk turned to topical matters or to various works of literature. He was interested in the theatre, too, and in the opera, and appeared to be well-travelled. Abbie, who had journeyed barely twenty miles beyond Flaxdown, listened with fascination as he spoke not only of his years in London, but also of trips to Edinburgh and Paris.

Later that day, after he had accompanied her back to the schoolhouse and left her to make his return to Keyford, she realized that in spite of any doubts she had harboured she had greatly enjoyed the excursion.

As summer gave way to autumn the new school term began and Abbie found herself once again immersed in her work. And she and Arthur continued to meet. Although he was away for much of the time in the course of his duties, travelling to various factories over the surrounding areas, when he returned he would make the two-mile journey from Keyford to Flaxdown, and he and Abbie would go walking or driving. She welcomed his visits and found herself enjoying his company. For a while she had wondered why he had not married – he was obviously an attractive marriage proposition – but then during one of their meetings he revealed that in the past he had had a relationship with a young woman in London which had ended when she turned to another. He spoke little about it, however, giving the impression that it was well and truly over, and rarely referred to it afterwards. On those occasions when he had to go away in connection with his work he kept in touch by writing to Abbie, sending her short missives with brief comments on his employment and his surroundings, and occasionally enclosing a cutting from a newspaper in which he thought she would be interested.

After Abbie had written to tell Jane of her renewed acquaintance with Arthur, Jane demanded to be informed of its progress. Abbie wrote that there was nothing to report; she and Arthur, she insisted, were merely good friends and nothing more. In spite of Abbie’s protests, though, it was clear that Jane saw the relationship as the beginning of a romance – ‘For which you should thank God,’ she wrote. ‘Eligible men as handsome and charming as Mr Gilmore are scarcer than hens’ teeth.’ Abbie laughed over Jane’s words; she and Jane, she silently observed, wanted different things from life; it was as simple as that.

On the 19th of November Violet’s baby was born, a daughter whom her proud parents named Sarah. Abbie, watching Eddie as he clucked and cooed over the baby, remarked that one would think that no man had ever been a father before. Eddie, laughing, told Abbie that for all her book learning she didn’t know everything, but that one day, with luck, she would perhaps learn and understand a little more. Abbie found it a touching sight to see her brother with his small daughter in his arms; his large labourer’s hands holding her with such sure tenderness and his usual loud, boisterous voice reduced to the gentlest of tones. At such times all of Eddie’s accustomed roughness vanished as if it had never been.

Arthur, who had been away in London for almost two weeks, returned to Keyford the following Friday. The next morning he drove over to Flaxdown in the borrowed carriage, picked up Abbie from the schoolhouse and drove her back to Keyford with him. From there they walked to the nearby railway station at Frome and took a train for Trowbridge.

In the town Abbie bought a rattle for the baby. Afterwards, the late-November day being unusually cold, they were glad to retreat to the warmth and shelter of an inn where they ordered a simple meal of game pie and vegetables. With it Arthur asked for ale for himself and tea for Abbie. As they ate, facing one another at the scrubbed-wood table, the air filled with the clinking of pewter and china, and the chatter of voices, Arthur told her of his visit to Her Majesty’s Theatre in London the week before when he had seen a production of Verdi’s
Don Carlos
, the composer’s latest opera to be seen in London.

‘The music is just magnificent,’ he said. ‘It’s so stirring. And the costumes and the spectacle . . . Oh, Abbie, you would have loved it.’ Doubtless she would have, Abbie thought, though her chances of getting an opportunity to do so were so slim as to be non-existent. The nearest she had ever come to hearing an opera was at a concert given in Warminster when an over-large, throaty soprano and a rather short tenor had sung arias from French and Italian operas.

‘What are you thinking about?’

As Arthur’s voice broke into her thoughts she smiled at him. ‘Oh, nothing in particular.’

‘Truly? Sometimes you’re so far away, and I wonder what’s going on in your mind.’ He put his head on one side, studying her. ‘Are you content with your lot, Abbie?’

She gave a little laugh. ‘Content? Well, I’m a lot better off than many other people, I’m sure of that.’ She paused. ‘Though I could sometimes wish I felt a little more . . . secure.’

‘Secure? In what way?’

‘In my situation. At the school. If truth be told I have to admit that I’m not there with the unanimous blessing of the School Governors. There are one or two who wouldn’t be sorry to see me gone.’

‘Why is that?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps because I’ve refused to be awed by them.’

‘But having employed you in the post for four years, surely they can’t still have doubts about your suitability. You must have proved yourself long since.’

‘You think so?’ She gave an ironic smile. ‘Not everyone sees it that way. I have no doubt but that certain members of the Board are just waiting for me to make a mistake. But until I do there’s nothing much they can do to me. So – I have to be careful and watch my step.’

‘And – how would you feel if you should have to leave?’

She frowned. ‘Well – I would be very sorry to find myself without work, without means of supporting myself.’

‘Yes, I’m sure. And apart from that?’

She sighed. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I suppose if I’m honest I just have to admit that it hasn’t turned out the way I had hoped – the way I anticipated. It’s wonderful to be able to teach children to read and write – when so many of their parents, having had no schooling whatsoever, are illiterate. But I’m so constrained. I have to be so careful all the time – not to impart any ideas of my own. “Make sure that you keep always to the three Rs, Miss Morris. It’s what the results are counted upon.”’ She shook her head. ‘It’s not easy.’

‘Perhaps you hoped for too much.’

‘Oh, I’ve no doubt that I did. As I recall, I promised the vicar not to try to change the world from my classroom – but perhaps in reality I hoped that I could. I must have had my head in the clouds.’

‘So what do you want out of life, Abbie?’

‘What do I want out of life?’ She put down her knife and fork, and pushed aside her plate. ‘You sound like my father.’

‘Do I? But what do you want? I thought you were happy in your work – but I find today that you’re not as content as I supposed. I’ve known you now for about three months. In that time I’ve learned what your interests are; I’ve learned about your political views; I know what kind of books you read and which artists you admire. But sometimes I feel I know nothing about what’s going on inside you – in your mind and in your heart.’

Abbie gave an awkward little laugh. ‘In my heart?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, in your heart.’

‘Oh, Arthur –’

‘I’m curious,’ he said. ‘Do you want what other women want?’

‘What’s that? Marriage? Children?’

‘Is there something wrong with such things?’

‘No, of course not. I’m not sure they’re for me, that’s all.’

‘How can you say that?’

‘It’s what I feel.’

‘Then where does your happiness lie?’

‘I don’t know. It might be in my teaching.’ It was as if in some way a nerve had been touched and she was aware that she was slightly irritated by the questions. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘I might not be totally content in my work at the moment, but that doesn’t mean to say that I shall not be in the future. I don’t have to stay at the Flaxdown school.’

‘Well, my work wouldn’t be enough for me, I know that,’ he said. ‘I want more out of life than that.’ He paused. ‘A home, a wife, children . . .’

Abbie said nothing. While all around them the common sounds continued, she became aware of a strange little fluttering of panic. Then into the quiet between them Arthur said, ‘I think I shall be leaving soon.’

‘Leaving? You mean leaving Keyford?’

‘Yes. I think they’ve found a permanent replacement for me down here. I believe I’m to be based in London again before long. I’ll know for sure in the next few days.’

‘Does that mean you won’t ever return here?’

‘Not to work, anyway. I’ll have no reason to come here where work is concerned.’

She gave a little nod. ‘Oh.’

Arthur looked at her with an ironic smile. ‘“Oh?”’ he said. ‘Is that all?’

‘Well . . .’ She did not know what to say.

After a little hesitation he asked, ‘Will you miss me, Abbie?’