So Long At the Fair (34 page)

‘Oh, yes – yes, of course!’ Abbie turned on the spot for a second, directionless in her sudden panic. ‘How is she? Is she badly hurt?’

‘I don’t rightly know how bad, miss.’ He paused, then added, ‘The other maid – Mary – she told me Iris was insensible.’

‘Oh, God.’ Briefly Abbie put her head in her hands. Raising her eyes to the young man again she said, ‘I’ll just get my coat and put a couple of things in a bag. I’ll only be a minute.’

‘Right, miss. While I’m waiting I’d be glad of a drop of water – for meself and the horse. It’s hot work, driving in this heat.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Abbie directed him to the pump in the schoolyard and then, in case he should have need of it, the water closet at the end of the small cottage garden.

As she entered the kitchen a few moments later her mother looked at her from her chair. ‘You’ve been gone a long time,’ she said. The level of the brandy in the bottle, Abbie vaguely noticed, had sunk considerably. She was not concerned about it now, however.

‘Mother,’ she said, ‘I have to leave. I’ve got to go to Radstock. Iris has had an accident and Mrs Pinnock has sent her man to fetch me.’

‘What kind of an accident?’ Mrs Morris’s voice, affected by the alcohol, was a little too loud, as if she had difficulty in controlling it.

‘Apparently she fell down the stairs,’ Abbie said. ‘I must go to her.’

‘Iris sent for you.’ Now Mrs Morris’s tone sounded rather aggrieved.

‘What?’ Abbie frowned, preoccupied.

‘Iris – she sent word for you to go to her?’

‘I don’t think Iris is in any fit state to send for anybody. Apparently she’s unconscious. It would be her employer, Mrs Pinnock. Anyway, what difference does it make?’ She took from a cupboard her little travelling bag – not used since her trip to London. ‘Mother,’ she said, ‘why don’t you come with me?’

‘To Radstock?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh . . .’ Mrs Morris frowned, shook her head. ‘It’s such a long way.’

‘But Mrs Pinnock’s carriage is outside. And it’ll bring us back – the young man said.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ Mrs Morris shook her head again. ‘It’s too far for me, Abbie, all that distance – and the way I’m feeling. Besides, what if we don’t come back tonight? Where should we sleep?’

‘I don’t know but – oh, there’d be a hotel or something. We’d be all right.’

A silent moment, then Mrs Morris said, ‘D’you think Iris would be that keen to see me?’

Abbie sighed. ‘Listen, Mother, you’ve got to put all that behind you. Come with me. Let Iris know you care about her.’

Mrs Morris took a little sip of the brandy. ‘She doesn’t care about me. Not a fig. She made that clear enough.’

‘Oh, Mother – for God’s sake . . .’

‘She doesn’t. She chose to spend her summer holiday with Lizzie and that husband of hers.’

‘His name is Adam.’

‘She could have come here, but she chose not to. And for the simple reason that she didn’t want to see me.’ She shrugged. ‘Well, if that’s the way she wants it.’

‘Mother, this isn’t the time for these old – enmities. Come with me. Make it up with her.’

‘No.’ Mrs Morris took another sip from her glass. ‘No, you go. I’m sure she’ll be happier with just you there. And I’m sure you’ll care for her as well as anyone can.’

‘Mother –’

‘I mean it. You go on alone.’

Abbie stood a moment longer, then turned and went into the hall and up the stairs to her bedroom. Since she had made the decision to stay in Flaxdown instead of moving to London, the sleeping arrangements in the cottage had been altered. She had borrowed a spare bed from Eddie and set it up in the front parlour, where her mother now chose to sleep. Abbie had been pleased, for it meant that she had her bedroom back again.

When she had finished packing her valise she went back downstairs and put on her cape.

‘I’m going now,’ she said. ‘I expect to be back later today. Will you be all right while I’m gone?’

‘Don’t worry about me.’ A little pause. ‘Can you leave me a little money? Just a few pence – in case I need anything while you’re gone.’

Abbie took a florin from her purse, put it on the table beside her mother’s glass and moved to the door. There she stood helplessly for a moment, then murmured a goodbye and went into the hall.

The young coachman was waiting beside the horse. As Abbie got to his side he took her valise from her and helped her up into the trap.

‘I must just call and leave a message for my brother,’ Abbie said. ‘His house is not far away.’

The young man nodded. ‘Right, miss, you just tell me where to go.’

With Abbie directing him to Green Lane they set off, a few minutes later coming to a stop outside Eddie’s cottage. Eddie was, of course, out at work, but Abbie left a message for him with Violet to the effect that she was going to Radstock to see Iris. A few moments later, with Violet standing watching at the open door with Sarah in her arms, Abbie was back in the trap and starting away again.

At last they came to Radstock, some ten miles to the north-west of Flaxdown. The house of Iris’s employers, Mr and Mrs Pinnock, was situated on the northern edge of the town centre. Reaching it, the driver drove the trap into the yard, and even as it came to a halt Abbie was snatching at her valise and climbing down.

Mrs Pinnock herself answered the door to Abbie’s ring. She was a small, stout woman with spectacles and a brisk but warm manner. After taking Abbie’s cape and bag she led the way at once to the stairs.

‘It was a very bad fall, I have to tell you,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘The poor girl had just started down from the top landing, carrying a tray’ – she gestured upwards – ‘and missed her footing. The stairs are quite steep.’ They had reached the first landing now. Mrs Pinnock turned to Abbie. ‘Anyway, the doctor came – I called him at once, of course. Iris has wrenched her ankle badly, and she’s also severely bruised but fortunately there are no bones broken.’

In spite of her words, however, there was an anxious tone in her voice. Abbie said, ‘Your driver told me she was unconscious.’

‘Yes – I’m afraid that’s true.’

‘And now?’

Mrs Pinnock shook her head. ‘I’m sorry to say there’s been no change.’

‘You mean she’s still like it?’ Abbie groaned. ‘Oh, God . . .’

‘Poor Iris,’ the older woman said. ‘She’s such a good girl. Such a sweet, obliging little thing.’ She hovered for a moment, then turned again towards the stairs ahead. ‘Anyway – let me take you to her.’

They continued on up a third flight of stairs. Reaching the top floor Mrs Pinnock led the way along a narrow landing to a door at the end. Stopping before it she turned to Abbie and said, ‘Iris shares this room with my other maid, Mary – who’s sitting with her right now. I’ve arranged for Mary to sleep in another room for the time being and I’ve had another bed brought in here.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘Well – I thought that if you wanted to stay overnight with Iris then you could. And sleeping in the other bed you won’t disturb her.’

Abbie thanked her. Mrs Pinnock softly opened the door and tiptoed in, Abbie close behind. The curtains had been closed against the summer light and the dimness of the room was relieved only by a small oil lamp. As they entered, a young girl of fourteen or fifteen got up from a chair beside the bed. Mrs Pinnock nodded to her and whispered, ‘Mary, this is Miss Morris, Iris’s sister. She’s going to sit with Iris for a while now.’

‘Yes, mum,’ said the girl, giving Abbie a curious glance.

‘Has there been any change?’ Mrs Pinnock asked her.

‘No, mum. She’s about the same.’

Mrs Pinnock sighed, then said, ‘Perhaps you’ll go down to the kitchen and get Miss Morris some tea, will you?’

‘Yes, mum.’

As the girl went from the room Abbie moved towards the bed.

With the bedclothes drawn up to her chin, Iris lay on her side in the double bed, her face away from the light of the lamp. She lay quite still, eyes closed, her knees drawn up. The sight of her injured face gave Abbie a clear indication of the violence of her fall. Her chin was bruised and grazed, added to which her right eye was discoloured and swollen.

‘Oh, Iris . . .’ Abbie breathed. Afraid to touch her, she bent lower. ‘Ms . . . Iris, it’s me, Abbie . . .’

There was no response. Abbie tried again to rouse her, repeating her name several times. And then after a little while Ms stirred and opened her eyes. Abbie’s spirits rose, and she bent to her again. ‘Iris . . . Ms, it’s me, Abbie. Wake up, Iris, my dear. Oh, please wake up.’

Iris frowned, looked unfocusing into Abbie’s face and then closed her eyes again.

‘Iris,’ Abbie persisted. ‘Iris, wake up, do.’ Again Iris opened her eyes. She muttered something in an irritable tone and then closed her eyes and drifted off once more. Abbie straightened up, the tears running down her cheeks.

Mrs Pinnock said, ‘I’m afraid she’s been like this most of the time. It’s possible to rouse her now and again, just briefly, but there’s no getting any sense out of her.’

‘What time did it happen – her accident?’

‘Just after seven this morning.’

‘And she’s been like this ever since?’

Mrs Pinnock spread her hands in her helplessness. ‘Dr Hinton says there’s very little anyone can do except wait. He says to keep her in a darkened room – that and lay cold compresses on her head. Otherwise it’s really just a matter of time. He says she’s sustained a severe concussion to the back of her head. Though he doesn’t believe there’s any fracture. He thinks she’ll be all right in time. Give it a little while, he says, and he thinks she’ll come round all right.’

‘He
thinks
,’ Abbie said. ‘Doesn’t he know?’

Mrs Pinnock frowned and said a little stiffly, ‘Miss Morris, we’re doing all we can for your sister. But we can only rely on what Dr Hinton tells us.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Abbie said. ‘It’s just that I’m so – so worried.’

‘I know you are. Of course you are.’ Mrs Pinnock put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Listen – you sit down and rest for a while. Mary will bring you your tea. I’m sure you’ll be glad of a cup after your long drive.’

‘Yes, I would – thank you.’

‘I’ll be about the house if you should need me. And Mary’s always available to sit with Iris if you should want her to.’

‘Thank you.’

Mrs Pinnock moved to the washstand and took up the jug. ‘I’ll get Mary to bring up some fresh cold water for the compress.’

Abbie murmured her thanks again. When Mrs Pinnock had gone she sat down on the chair that Mary had vacated, turned to the bed and gazed down again at Iris’s bruised face.

‘Iris . . .’ she whispered close to Iris’s ear. ‘Iris, my dear . . .’

There was no response. With a deep sigh of sadness Abbie sat back in the chair. She continued to gaze down at Iris’s unmoving face for some minutes and then, raising her head, took in the room.

So this was where Iris lived. This plain, simply furnished little room was now the closest thing to home that Iris knew. The bed on which she lay unconscious was where in better times – sharing the space with her workmate, Mary – she rested after her long day’s work and dreamed her dreams.

The small room held the other, narrow bed that Mrs Pinnock had spoken of. There was also a chest of drawers and a small wardrobe. On top of the wardrobe sat Iris’s box. Seeing it, Abbie remembered the day when Iris had left Flaxdown to go to her first place of employment. That would have been in sixty-six. Iris had been twelve years old. Eddie had walked with her to the station at Frome, her box on his shoulder. Abbie recalled how Iris had wept at their parting – at the pain of leaving home and from anxiety at what might lie ahead. Abbie had stood at the gate watching as they had set out that July morning. Iris, wearing her best clothes, had looked so small and vulnerable.

Twelve years old. It was too young, Abbie thought, too young to have to go out and fend for oneself. She remembered how she and Jane had gone off to Eversleigh looking for a petty place when they had been the same age. In the event, Fate had decided against such a course for Abbie herself and she had had to stay at home to care for the rest of the family. It had been easier for her – not having to go out and face the world. Not like Iris and Lizzie, nor Jane; nor those countless other girls and boys who were sent away into service at such tender ages.

And now more than six years had passed since Iris had left Flaxdown to make her own way. Those six years had gone by so fast. During that time Iris had, as was the custom, changed her place of employment several times, each move having been made with the notion of betterment in mind. Betterment. The word was like a bad joke. How had Iris bettered herself? How, when for those six years of hard work she had nothing to show beyond a few possessions that would fit into her little wooden travelling box? Perhaps, the thought suddenly came to Abbie, it was this that had lain at the base of their mother’s anger . . .

There came a soft little tap at the door. It opened and the young maid, Mary, entered, carrying the pitcher filled with fresh, cold water. As she set it down on the washstand she said, ‘I’ll be bringing up your tea now, miss.’

Abbie thanked her. When Mary had left the room Abbie poured some of the water into the bowl, dipped the compress in it, wrung it out and applied it gently to Iris’s head.

After a little while Mary was back, now carrying a tray bearing tea and a plate with a slice of fruit cake on it. She set the tray on the chest of drawers. ‘Can I get you anything else, miss?’

‘No, thank you. The tea will be fine.’ She added as Mary moved back across the room, ‘Mary, have you been here long?’

‘Since last summer, miss.’

‘Are you and Iris good friends?’

‘Oh, yes, miss. She looked after me when I come ’ere.’

Abbie nodded. Yes, Iris would do that, she thought.

Just after seven o’clock Mary brought up another tray to Abbie. It held a bowl of vegetable soup and a covered plate of roast lamb, potatoes and beans. Holding the tray on her lap, Abbie ate most of the food. As she put down her knife and fork Mary entered again with a little dish of rhubarb and custard. Abbie thanked her but said she had eaten enough. Soon afterwards Dr Hinton called once more. He was a short, bearded, middle-aged man with a bluff manner and a strong smell of tobacco about him. Mrs Pinnock accompanied him into the room and introduced him to Abbie. While Abbie looked on, he bent over Iris, lifting one of her eyelids and speaking her name. At his insistent voice Iris stirred, opened her eyes for a few seconds, muttered some unintelligible words in a fretful tone and then drifted off into unconsciousness again.