So Long At the Fair (32 page)

‘Why? Because I can’t stand to see the girl make a wreck of her life. It’s time somebody talked some sense around here.’

‘All right, she might have made a mistake, but it doesn’t help to berate her. You could have made a difference for the good. You could have helped her.’

Mrs Morris looked at Abbie with contempt. ‘It’s not my way to say things just to make folk feel good. I speak my mind, offend or please.’ She got up from the chair again. ‘I’m going up to bed.’

Abbie got up and stepped towards her. ‘Mother, where did you get the money from – to buy liquor?’

Mrs Morris hesitated a moment, turned challenging eyes to her, then said, ‘I’m not standing here to be questioned by my own daughter.’

With her words she passed through into the hall and closed the door behind her.

After the sound of her mother’s footsteps had faded on the stairs Abbie went to her purse. In her hurry to go after Lizzie and Iris she had left it behind. On examining its contents she saw that some of her money was missing.

Chapter Twenty-One

Abbie set a bowl of potatoes on the kitchen table and sat down. As she took up her vegetable knife the bright July sun reflected off the blade. She glanced over to her mother where she sat, as was her wont, beside the range. Mrs Morris was still wearing her nightdress over which, despite the warm day, she had thrown her old coat.

‘Mother,’ Abbie said gently, ‘why don’t you get dressed. You’d be much more comfortable.’

‘Abigail,’ Mrs Morris said, ‘will you just leave me alone. You do whatever you want to do, but just leave me alone. That’s all I ask.’

Abbie silently got back to peeling the potatoes. After a minute her mother rose and went out of the room. Abbie heard her footsteps ascending the stairs. A few minutes later Mrs Morris reappeared in the doorway, crossed to her chair and sat down again. Seeing that she was still wearing her nightdress and coat, Abbie realized at once the purpose for her temporary absence. She was, Abbie said to herself, starting earlier than usual today.

After a few moments Mrs Morris took a bottle from her coat pocket and poured a little brandy into a glass. Catching Abbie’s gaze, she turned to her with a long-suffering sigh. ‘Don’t go gawping at me with that critical expression. I know what you’re thinking.’

‘But you promised. You promised you wouldn’t drink any more.’

‘I need this.’

‘You don’t need it – and you’ll only make yourself ill again.’

Her voice taking on a whine of self-pity, Mrs Morris said, ‘For God’s sake, do you begrudge me what little comfort I can get? Lord knows there’s precious little else.’

‘Are you really so hard done by?’ Abbie said, irritated by the words. ‘It seems to me you’ve got a great deal more than many people.’

‘Really? Perhaps you’d be kind enough to tell me in what way I’m so well off.’

‘What? Well, in case it’s escaped your notice, you’ve got a home, and also –’

‘Oh, yes, of course – a home. And by the good grace of my loving daughter.’ She gazed around in mock-admiration. ‘How could I not take account of such luxury.’

Stung by the injustice of her mother’s complaining, Abbie said sharply, ‘And also by the good grace of the School Board. And it may not be the epitome of comfort, Mother, but it’s better than nothing.’

‘How kind of you to remind me,’ her mother said sarcastically. She gazed at her daughter for a moment in silence then added, ‘You could have had everything. We could have been living in comfort – for the rest of our lives.’

‘Please, let’s not get on to that again.’

‘I never thought you could be such a fool. You’re even more stupid than Lizzie. At least she made her mistake by not giving any thought to her actions. You made yours after careful deliberation. We could have been really happy. But you chose to throw it all away. You won’t get a chance like that again.’

‘I’d rather not discuss it.’

‘You never want to discuss it. But why did you do it? Why did you send him away like that? Why won’t you tell me your reasons?’

Still silent, Abbie resumed her task of peeling the potatoes.

‘Is it that you were you ashamed of me?’ her mother said.

‘Please – don’t be foolish.’

‘I’m not being foolish.’

‘I don’t want to quarrel with you, Mother,’ Abbie said shortly. ‘There’s been more than enough quarrelling already.’

‘And that’s my fault, is it?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Abbie got to her feet, throwing the vegetable knife with a splash into the potato pan. ‘There’s nothing I can say to please you. Whatever I say it’s bound to be wrong. Why are you always so disagreeable? Can’t you even make an effort to be pleasant? To be happy?’

‘Happy,’ her mother repeated with a sardonic smile. ‘I’m not sure I know the meaning of the word.’

‘You think you’re the only one with difficulties in this life. Don’t you ever spare a thought for anyone else?’

‘Why should I? Who ever spared a thought for me?’

Abbie shook her head. ‘I can’t believe you can say such things. What about your family? Have you forgotten them? You had a husband and five children – who all loved you. But it was not enough for you. You always wanted more.’

Her mother looked down into the contents of her glass. ‘Love,’ she said contemptuously. ‘What good does love do? All the so-called love that’s supposed to have come my way has done me no good at all.’ She raised her eyes again to Abbie. ‘What use is love if you end up alone?’

‘You’re not alone. There are many who are, but you are not.’

‘I’m not alone?’ Her mother’s eyes widened in assumed surprise. ‘Tell me how I’m not alone. Are you talking about my children? Are you talking about my son who lives half a mile distant and refuses to acknowledge me? Are you talking about my two younger daughters who won’t come anywhere near me any more?’

Abbie said quickly, ‘You’re not blaming Lizzie and Iris for that, are you? It was your doing.’

Her mother ignored this. ‘Or perhaps you have in mind my other daughter – who begrudges me any pleasure – and never stops reminding me how generous she’s been to me.’

Abbie stood there for a moment longer, then without a word moved to the door, went through the hall and let herself out into the bright summer air.

At the front gate she turned right along the lane and walked past the silent schoolyard – the children were all on their summer holidays – and, continuing on, let her steps take her to a footpath where she turned her back on the village and set off across the meadows. After several days of rain the weather had turned fine, and now the sun shone down out of an almost cloudless sky. Following the path, beside which cows contentedly grazed, she eventually came to the copse, at the far side of which was the stile. Here it was, last August, eleven months ago, that she had met Arthur as he was walking to the village from Keyford. How long ago it all seemed now, and how little she had to show for the intervening time. It had been almost seven months since she had seen him; seven months since that bitter January evening when she had told him that they could not wed; that she must remain in Flaxdown to care for her mother. A few days afterwards had come his letter in which he had written that he still believed that one day they would be together. When she had written back she had expressed her deep regret at the heartache she had caused him, and at the same time had returned to him the ring that he had given her. It was her returning of the ring that had made it final. Since that time there had been no communication between them.

And now, at times such as this, she found herself looking back and wondering at her decision to break off her engagement. At the time it had seemed the right thing to do, but now . . . She sighed deeply. The growing deterioration of her relationship with her mother continually brought up similar doubts, more questions. With Arthur she would have been free of all such worries. Not only would her mother have been cared for, but living in a fine London house she would have been a happier person – though given her mother’s character, there could of course be no certainty about such a thing. But surely, Abbie thought, she herself would have been happier. She thought back to her brief time in Arthur’s London house – and there was not only the comfort of the dwelling itself, with its large rooms and fine furnishings, but the added luxury of servants. Everything about it would surely have made her life a better one. And there was London itself. It was like a different world from this small village of Flaxdown. She thought briefly of some recent letters from Jane, in which Jane had spoken of this or that event that had taken place in the capital, and of the places she had visited at various times. All of it only served to point up the excitement offered by life in such a place and the dullness and predictability of her present surroundings. What was even more depressing was that, as things stood, she could not see any way out of the situation; she had made her bed and now she must lie on it.

Faintly on the breeze came the distant sound of a church bell, calling the villagers of Flaxdown to morning service. Abbie had not been to church in some months now. She had, she realized, lost the desire to attend even for the sake of appearances.

Careless of her skirt, she hoisted herself onto the top bar of the stile and sat there looking around at the summer scene. In the grass, now rich and lush after the recent rain, two blackbird chicks followed their father, begging for food. She could smell the clover blossom. There was peace everywhere about her, but within her there was nothing but turmoil. She would like to stay outside, she thought – stay out and never have to go back. But it couldn’t be; soon she must return to the house – to that unhappy place that was daily becoming more and more like a prison.

She pictured her mother, sitting morose and discontented in the kitchen. After the initial bout of drinking in January when Abbie had called in Dr Parrish, her mother had vowed that she would never again touch alcohol. But following the visit from Lizzie and Iris she had begun drinking once more – and it had grown worse. On one occasion Abbie had returned from school to find her prostrate on the floor, a near-empty brandy bottle beside her. And she had been vomiting again – not undigested food, but the dark-coloured viscous fluid that she had brought up on the first occasion. As before, the situation had alarmed Abbie greatly and she had considered going for Dr Parrish. She had been reluctant to do so, however. She had never had occasion to summon him since that first time and there was a chance he would have concluded that her mother’s drinking problem was over. Reluctant to revive it all, to reveal to him that her mother was no better but was in fact in an even worse condition, she had shrunk from informing him – not only because of the shame it would bring but also because of her very real fear that it would result in her losing her position at the school and, with it, her occupancy of the house. It was a very real possibility, she knew. On the other hand, if her mother was really ill then it was not something that could be ignored.

In the event it had not proved necessary to send for the doctor. Helping her mother to the sofa, Abbie had made her comfortable and generally cared for her. And as the hours had gone by Mrs Morris had begun to recover, and Abbie had realized that the worst was over and that she would be all right. The next day her mother had tearfully promised once more to be strong and to abstain. But as before the vows had not lasted – which was not so surprising, Abbie thought: there was little so fragile as a promise broken and remade.

And yet, she considered, perhaps she herself was partly to blame for what had happened. With the knowledge of Abbie’s engagement, her mother had set her heart upon leaving Flaxdown for ever, had looked forward to living a comfortable life in London. But Abbie had broken her engagement and shattered the dream. And now her mother had nothing to look forward to.

With a sigh, Abbie let herself down from the stile and slowly set off back the way she had come. On reaching the village, however, she turned not towards School Lane but in the direction of Tomkins Row. A few minutes later she was knocking on the door of number three, and Jane’s mother was inviting her in.

Seeing that Mrs Carroll had been busy at her lace-making, Abbie protested that she was interrupting her work, but Mrs Carroll brushed aside her protests. ‘It’s no matter. I was wanting an excuse to stop. Besides, it’s nice to see you. It’s been several weeks.’

Mrs Carroll made tea and they sat facing one another over the kitchen table.

‘I meant to come round and see you before now,’ Abbie said, ‘but – well, what with one thing and another . . .’

‘Oh, you must be very busy, I’m sure of that,’ Mrs Carroll said, ‘what with your teaching and everything. But you’re on holiday now, right?’

‘Yes, thank heaven.’

‘I heard from Jane in the week,’ Mrs Carroll said. ‘You know she’s a lady’s maid now?’

‘Yes, she wrote and told me. I’m afraid I owe her a letter. When you write do please tell her I’ll be in touch very soon.’

‘I will.’

Abbie gave a sigh and glanced from the window. ‘I’ve just been for a little walk over the fields. It’s such a beautiful day.’ Turning back to Mrs Carroll, she added, ‘Did you know that Violet’s expecting again?’

‘No, I didn’t Well, that’s nice. I’m sure Eddie makes a good father, doesn’t he?’

‘Yes.’ Abbie smiled. ‘Perhaps surprisingly, but he does.’

‘It’s amazing what fatherhood does for some men. It can be a great calming influence.’ She paused. ‘And how is Lizzie? She and her young husband going on all right?’

‘Yes, they’re fine. She and Adam have got a tied cottage now. She’s still working for her same employers, but going in daily instead of living in. She’ll keep on with her work as long as she can, she says.’

‘Well, that’s sensible.’

‘Which won’t be for much longer, though. Her baby’s due in a couple of months.’