So Long At the Fair (22 page)

‘What? Oh, yes – yes, of course I shall.’

Arthur considered her rather matter-of-fact tone, then said with a shrug, ‘Ah, well . . .’

‘What does that mean?’

He smiled. ‘I’d hoped that you would react . . . a little differently.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She felt awkward. ‘I don’t understand. I just –’

‘Oh, Abbie,’ he said, ‘for weeks now I’ve been calling on you. And I know that you’ve been pleased to see me, but –’

‘I have,’ she broke in. ‘I have been pleased to see you.’

‘Yes, but you’ve given me no encouragement, have you?’

‘Encouragement . . . ?’

‘I don’t want to be just a friend to you, Abbie. I’ve been hoping for more than that.’

She looked at him in confusion. Her emotions were in turmoil.

‘Surely you’ve realized that?’ he said.

She sighed. ‘Oh, Arthur, I didn’t. I didn’t realize. I truly didn’t. I’ve been selfish. I’m sorry. I’ve been so happy to see you. I’ve so enjoyed our conversations, our meetings. But – well – I was never looking for anything more.’

‘I understand that now,’ he said. Then with a shrug he added, ‘So perhaps it’s just as well that I’m leaving.’

‘I don’t know what to say. I feel that I’ve been leading you on.’

‘No, you haven’t,’ he said. ‘The fault is mine. As I said just now, you never gave me the slightest encouragement, or any reason to believe that I should expect more from our relationship than friendship.’

‘I’m sorry . . .’

‘It’s all right.’ He glanced towards the window. ‘The sky’s beginning to look very heavy. I think perhaps we ought to start back to the station, don’t you?’

On the train they kept the conversation on safe ground, talking of mundane matters while the rain lashed at the windows. When they got to Frome Arthur hired a fly to take them to Flaxdown. After a journey during which their conversation was desultory and self-conscious, they came at last to the village. At the entrance to School Lane Arthur asked the driver to wait and then walked with Abbie to the schoolhouse. The rain had stopped and the last of the dull daylight was fading. In the doorway of the cottage Arthur looked down into Abbie’s eyes.

‘It’s such a shame,’ he said. ‘I had great hopes for us.’

She said nothing.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I must go. I’d like to kiss you goodnight – but I must think of your reputation.’ He added wryly, ‘And also of the possibility that you might not care for me to do so.’ Briefly his hand came up, his fingertips lightly at her chin. ‘Thank you for spending the day with me.’

Without another word he turned and stepped along the path to the gate. Abbie stood, watching his dark, shadowed figure as he walked along the lane. Just before he moved out of sight he stopped, turned and raised his hat. Next moment he had moved on and was gone from her sight.

Chapter Fifteen

Seated at her desk, Abbie glanced through the window at the grey afternoon sky, then turned her attention back to the children who sat working at their desks. There were twenty-four in the class, their ages ranging from seven to ten years. The older ones, Abbie knew, would probably not remain beyond the end of the autumn term. As it was, she could never be sure how many of them would be present on any particular day. Nearly all her pupils were the offspring of farmers or farm labourers, and when there was a conflict of priorities – the children’s school work or helping their parents in the home or on the farm – it was always the school work that came second. Perhaps there would come a day, she thought, when education was compulsory for all children. At present, though, such a hope seemed to have little chance of becoming reality.

The sounds in the room were composed of the ticking of the clock, the scrape of the children’s chalks on their slates and the occasional whisper or sniff. At the moment they were working on some simple arithmetical problems that Abbie had written up on the blackboard. In ten minutes or so, at two thirty, she would bring the arithmetic lesson to an end and they would start work on their history studies.

She sighed. There was a strange feeling of melancholy upon her today. Was it because of Arthur? She had half expected that he would call on her yesterday, Sunday, the day following their outing to Trowbridge, but he had not. Although, she said to herself, she could not really blame him; he now probably saw their whole relationship as having been a complete waste of time. Perhaps she would never see him again. She felt a pang of regret at the notion. Oh, why, she wondered, did things have to get so complicated? Why could they not simply have continued as they were?

Fifteen minutes later she had just got her pupils started on their history lesson when the door opened and to her surprise and dismay the school inspector, Mr Carstairs, entered. Her low spirits sank even lower. During her years at the school he had frequently made unannounced visits to the classroom, and always, she was sure, with the sole hope of finding some fault with her lessons. She had no doubt at all that this was his purpose today. As always, however, she was determined to give him no cause for complaint.

Now, as she and the children got to their feet, Mr Carstairs gave her a brief nod, his thin lips moving in a cold smile. With a curt wave of his hand to the children he instructed them to go on with their lessons, while to Abbie he added that it was not his wish to cause any disruption.

A chair was brought for him by one of the pupils and he took off his overcoat and sat down. The children, as awed and intimidated by his presence as ever, were on their best behaviour, so Abbie had no concerns in that respect. However, his very presence as he sat watching her every move and listening to her every word put her into an acute state of self-consciousness, and she was greatly relieved when he at last put on his coat, wished her a curt good day and left the room.

Five minutes later, when the children too had gone home, Abbie remained sitting at her desk. It was so unjust, she said to herself. She was good at her job, and she worked hard at it, yet for all her efforts she met only antipathy from the likes of Carstairs, and she was quite sure that as long as he held his post of school inspector her grasp on her own position would remain as tenuous as ever. How could it be otherwise when he was just waiting for her to put a foot wrong?

She sighed. She could feel the pricking of tears and only with an effort managed to keep them back. Impatient with herself, she got up from her chair and, after checking that the windows were closed and the stove was safe, she let herself out of the building, locked the door behind her and set off across the yard.

She passed a restless evening. She had intended to go and visit Eddie and Violet to see the new baby again, but she did not and remained alone. At nine thirty she put aside her book for the third time. She was trying to read Thomas Hardy’s new novel
Desperate Remedies
, but she was finding it impossible to concentrate. She would do a little sewing for half an hour and then go to bed.

As she got up to get her sewing basket there came a knock at the door. When she opened it a moment later she saw Arthur standing on the step.

‘Hello, Abbie.’

She returned his smile, aware of how very pleased she was to see him. ‘Well – this is an unexpected pleasure.’

‘Are you busy right now?’ he asked.

‘No, not particularly . . .’

‘I’m sorry to call so late,’ he said after a moment’s hesitation, ‘but I had to see you. I wanted to tell you that I’m leaving the day after tomorrow. I’m going back to London.’

‘Oh . . .’ Abbie knew she sounded disappointed. ‘So soon.’

‘I’m afraid so. I was expecting it, as you know. It’s just happening a little earlier than I anticipated. I learned of it just this morning.’

Conscious of her position not only as a single woman but also as the village schoolmistress, she hesitated about asking him in without a chaperone present. However it was too cold and too late for them to stand talking on the step or to go out walking. She glanced about her then stood aside. ‘Please – come into the warm.’

He stepped inside and she closed the door behind him.

‘How did you get here?’ she asked as she put the kettle on to boil.

‘I got a cab.’ He set his lantern on the kitchen table, took off his coat and sat down on the sofa.

‘So,’ she said, as she busied herself with the cups and saucers, ‘you’re leaving on Wednesday.’

‘Yes.’

Without looking at him, she said, ‘I shall miss you. I’ve enjoyed our times together; our walks, our talks.’

‘I shall miss you too. Very much.’

Suddenly as she stood at the table the tears that had threatened earlier came brimming over. Quickly he got up and moved to her side. ‘Abbie, what is it?’

‘Oh – it’s just that everything seems to be going wrong,’ she said. ‘I’ve had a bad day at school and now you come to tell me you’re going away.’ Dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief she added, ‘Listen to me – making such a fuss. I’m sorry.’ When Arthur took one of her hands in his she made no attempt to resist, only glad of the comfort she felt at his touch.

‘Tell me what happened today at school,’ he said.

She told him of Carstairs’s visit that afternoon, of the way he had sat in critical observance of her.

Arthur listened in silent sympathy, and when she had finished said, ‘Abbie, I didn’t come here tonight simply to tell you that I’m leaving. After our conversation on Saturday I thought everything had been said and that I might go off without seeing you again. But I realized I couldn’t.’ He appeared uncertain of how to frame his words. ‘I want to ask you to think again on what I said to you – that I had hoped to be more to you than just a friend. I still want that. I still hope for that.’

She said nothing.

‘You’re not happy here now, Abbie, I know that. You’re not, are you?’

‘Well – not at present, no . . .’

‘No. You’re alone now that your father’s gone, besides the fact that you’re having these frustrating difficulties with your work . . .’ He paused. ‘You don’t have to stay here, you know.’

‘I realize that. I could try to find a position at a different school. Go somewhere else.’

‘Well, yes, you could. But that isn’t what I meant.’ He hesitated, the moment stretching out, then added: ‘You could marry me.’

She did not know what to say. In the silence the ticking of the clock was suddenly loud in the room.

‘Truly,’ Arthur said. ‘Oh, Abbie – we get on so well. I’ve loved the times I’ve spent with you. Why shouldn’t they continue? We could be so good together. We could build a new life for the two of us, a good life. I would look after you – you must know that – and you would never need to fear people like Carstairs ever again. Give it up, all of it. Marry me.’

He waited for her to speak; when she still did not he went on, ‘I know how you value your independence and I realize too that you don’t seem to set great store by marriage. But Abbie, you mustn’t judge every marriage by those that have failed. There are so many that are truly happy. And we could be, I know we could.’ He gazed at her intently. ‘Oh, Abbie, tell me you’ll marry me. Tell me you will.’

She did not know what to say. Her thoughts were in turmoil. She could not tell – how could she tell? – was it love she felt for him? This deep affection and respect – did they add up to love? But in any case, was love so vital to happiness? Her father had loved and it had brought him only misery in his marriage. Beatrice, too, had loved. And what had that love brought her? Perhaps love was not necessary. Liking, respect, understanding – perhaps other qualities mattered equally in the long run. Perhaps they mattered even more. She looked at him as he stood before her, tall and straight, an anxious, slightly eager expression on his handsome face.

‘I didn’t know you cared for me in that way,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know you cared so – so deeply.’

‘Oh, I do, Abbie. I think you’re such a grand young woman. And I know we could be so happy together.’

After a moment she gave a nod, then heard her voice as if from a long way off: ‘Yes, Arthur – I will.’

‘Oh, Abbie.’ He stepped to her side, drew her to him and put his arms around her. ‘You won’t regret it. I promise you’ll never regret it.’

It was nearly midnight. The two hours since Abbie had accepted Arthur’s proposal had flown by. She had made tea and served a simple supper of bread, cheese and pickles, and as they had eaten and drunk they had talked of their future together.

Now it was time for him to go, and with a taper lighted from the fire he lit his lantern again, picked up his hat and moved to the front door. Abbie followed close behind him.

‘I suppose,’ Arthur said, ‘I ought to go and see your brother; ask his permission; do the right thing. I’ll go and see him tomorrow.’

Abbie smiled. ‘He’ll be so relieved. He’s had visions of me remaining here for ever – his old maid sister the schoolmistress, getting more eccentric by the year.’

During their discussions it had been decided that they would marry in Flaxdown in the spring, at Easter time, Abbie being wed from Eddie’s home. In the meantime she would formally give notice that she would be leaving her teaching post at Easter on the termination of the winter term.

‘And then,’ Arthur had said, ‘after our honeymoon I’ll take you back to London with me – to your new home. I should get a promotion soon. But even without that I can promise you a good life. My father left me fairly comfortable, financially. I’m sure you’ll like the house too.’

‘Is it a big house?’

‘Well, not so big, compared with other houses. It has twelve rooms.’

‘Twelve rooms!’ Abbie said. ‘Not so big? That’s enormous.’

Arthur laughed. ‘Anyway, you won’t have the work of cleaning it. You’ll have maids. And a cook, too.’

‘Maids and a cook? What shall I do with my time?’

‘It won’t hurt you to have a little less to do. I don’t want to see you working as hard as you do now. Besides, there’ll be plenty to keep you occupied. But whatever you do, you’re not going to have any more of these problems. There’ll be no worrying in case your pupils don’t pass their school tests and the Board docks your wages. Nor whether Carstairs is coming round to check up on you. No more wondering whether you’ll still have a job come the next school term.’ He took her hands. ‘Abbie, I know we shall be happy. I know it. Our interests are so in tune. How could we not be happy together?’ He sighed, a sound of pleasure. ‘I can’t wait to bring you to London.’