So Long At the Fair (35 page)

‘Is this the way she’s been?’ the doctor asked.

Mrs Pinnock replied, ‘Yes, it is,’ to which Abbie added, ‘She wakes like that from time to time if I try to rouse her. Sometimes she speaks. Though nothing she says makes much sense. Also when she wakes she’s usually rather irritable.’

The doctor nodded. ‘The symptoms are typical.’

‘How long is it likely to last?’ Abbie asked.

He gave a shake of his head. ‘I’m afraid there’s no knowing. Sometimes a few hours; sometimes days. In some cases it can go on for weeks.’ He was picking up his bag again. ‘You can only wait – that’s all.’

Throughout the rest of the evening Abbie sat at Iris’s side, periodically speaking to her and refreshing the cold compress on her head. At one point Mrs Pinnock came in accompanied by her husband who had just returned from his work. Abbie recalled Iris saying he owned a large draper’s shop in the town centre. He was a stout, balding little man with a kind and solicitous manner, and was clearly concerned about Iris. The three of them conversed for a while in hushed voices, and then Abbie was left alone again. Later, after she had eaten a simple supper, she got undressed and put on her nightdress. She lit the nightlight on the chest of drawers, turned out the oil lamp and climbed into the narrow bed that had been placed a yard from where Iris lay.

It was strange lying there in the unfamiliar, dimly-lit room. From Iris’s bed there was no sound, no movement. Head turned sideways on the pillow, Abbie gazed at the shadowy form of her sister. After a time she fell asleep.

Immediately upon waking, awareness of the situation came back to Abbie and she sat up and looked across at the other bed. Iris still lay on her side, her knees drawn up. Abbie got out of bed and moved towards her.

‘Iris . . . ?’

As before, Iris briefly surfaced, opening her eyes and looking vaguely into Abbie’s face. She spoke some words that made no sense, then closed her eyes again.

Abbie bowed her head in despair. The thought came to her once more – what if Iris should never waken? She had read of people injured in accidents, people who had been rendered unconscious and never recovered. Without ever waking they had gradually declined and died. She pushed the thought aside.

After renewing the compress on Iris’s brow, Abbie moved to the window, drew back the curtain a fraction and gazed out over the sunlit front garden. She thought of Eddie and her mother in Flaxdown. Perhaps she should send Eddie a wire. But there was nothing she could say that would bring any encouragement or cheer. Yet she could not leave things as they were for much longer; sooner or later she would have to send Eddie word. And her mother too. And another thing – what was to happen about Iris and herself? They could not stay indefinitely in the Pinnock household. As kind as Mrs Pinnock had shown herself to be, there would be a limit to her kindness. If Iris remained as she was for any length of time, dependent upon her mistress, there was bound to be a strain upon such goodwill. Abbie sighed. She did not know what to do. Closing the curtains she drew back from the window. And as she did so she heard Iris’s voice.

‘Abbie . . . ?’

Swiftly Abbie looked round. Iris had turned in the bed and was squinting at her in the gloom. In another moment Abbie was at her side, bending to her, laying one hand gently on her shoulder. ‘Oh, Iris – my dear . . . !’

Iris raised a hand from beneath the bedcovers and touched her mouth weakly. ‘I’m thirsty, Abbie,’ she said. ‘Can I have some water, please?’

When Dr Hinton called later that morning he expressed great relief and satisfaction. He was sure, he told Abbie, that Iris would make good progress now. Abbie went with him out on to the landing and there, in answer to her enquiries, was told that it would be possible for Iris to be taken home to Flaxdown within a few days. When the doctor had gone Abbie re-entered the room and went to the bed where Iris lay.

‘Iris . . . ?’

At Abbie’s voice Iris opened her eyes.

‘I’m taking you home,’ Abbie said. ‘The doctor says that in a few days you’ll be well enough to travel.’

That afternoon Abbie sat in the Pinnocks’ library and wrote letters to Eddie and her mother, telling them that Iris was showing sure signs of recovery and would probably be well enough to travel back to Flaxdown later in the week. In her letter to Eddie she also suggested that as their mother was alone he might wish to go and call upon her. She did not, however, hold out much hope for such a move. When the letters were finished she went out to post them. Back in the bedroom she took off her cape and bonnet and sat down at Iris’s side. Iris was awake again.

‘I’ve just written to Eddie,’ Abbie said. ‘I told him I’ll soon be bringing you home.’

Iris’s smile of relief changed to a frown of concern. ‘But – where shall I stay?’

‘With Eddie and Violet. Eddie gave me strict instructions.’ She bent lower and lightly kissed Iris’s bruised face. ‘You’re not to worry about anything, all right? We’ll take good care of you.’

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Pinnocks’ young groom-cum-coachman was named Alfred – known as Alfie – Timson, and late Friday morning he came up to the attic, lifted Iris up in his arms and carried her down the stairs and out into the air. Abbie and Mrs Pinnock followed close behind. Having watched the young man negotiate the narrow, bending stair, Abbie said to him as they reached the waiting carriage, ‘You did that wonderfully well, Alfie. Thank you.’

He smiled. ‘Aw, it wasn’t any trouble, miss. She don’t weigh no more’n a butterfly.’

Mrs Pinnock had had a little feather mattress and some cushions placed in the carriage, and Alfie gently laid Iris down upon them. Mrs Pinnock handed a parasol to Abbie saying, ‘You’ll probably need this – to keep the sun off her face. The doctor said the light will continue to bother her.’

Abbie thanked her, checked that Iris was comfortable, then turned back to the woman. ‘Mrs Pinnock – I don’t know how to thank you for all you’ve done.’

‘I’ve done nothing, my dear.’

‘Oh, you’ve done so much.’

Mrs Pinnock put out her hand. As Abbie took it she said, ‘When Dr Hinton sends you his bill, please send it on to me.’

‘Well, we’ll see,’ Mrs Pinnock said. ‘Now you take Iris home. And remember that as soon as she’s well again her position will be open for her.’ She looked into the carriage. ‘Did you hear that, Iris?’

Iris smiled faintly. ‘Yes, mum – thank you.’

Abbie thanked Mrs Pinnock once more and Alfie helped her up into the carriage. As she settled herself at Iris’s side he took up the reins and a few moments later they were starting away on the road to Flaxdown.

In order to avoid jarring Iris more than was absolutely necessary, the young coachman drove without haste. For a little while Iris talked with Abbie, but she soon lapsed into silence and lay back with her eyes closed. Abbie, sitting beside her, did her best to ensure that Iris’s face was kept in the shade and soon, with the rhythmic jogging of the carriage, Iris fell asleep. While she slept, neither Abbie nor the coachman spoke.

Iris awoke again a while later, saying that she was thirsty, and Abbie poured into a mug some of the water that Mrs Pinnock had provided in a bottle. Iris drank a little then settled back against the cushions. Seeing that she was not sleeping, but merely resting, Abbie turned her attention to the young driver. She was curious about him, and after making reference to his accent, asked where he was from. Obviously, she said, he was not originally from Radstock. No, he told her, he had worked for a London employer and accompanied him to Wiltshire to his country residence. Later, when his employer had planned to return to London, he, Alfie, had decided to stay.

‘What was the attraction?’ Abbie asked him. ‘Why did you stay in this part of the world?’

‘Well, for one thing, I got involved with the village band.’

‘You play in a band?’

He turned in his seat and grinned. ‘Yeh, I play the cornet. And the trumpet too on occasion.’

‘Well,’ Abbie said, ‘I’m impressed.’ She turned to Iris. ‘Did you know that, Iris? Mr Timson is a musician.’

‘Yes.’ Still with her eyes closed, Iris smiled. ‘I know.’

‘Have you heard him play?’

‘Yes. He’s very good.’

‘You hear that, Alfie?’ Abbie said to the young man’s back. ‘You’re getting some praise.’

‘Well, that’s good to hear.’ She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘A bit of praise is always welcome.’ He gave a short laugh, ‘Specially when it’s deserved.’

Abbie laughed. ‘Oh, and he’s modest too. You hear that, Iris?’

‘Yes.’ Iris smiled. ‘I heard it.’

‘So,’ Abbie said, turning again to the young man, ‘what’s your other reason for staying?’

‘My other reason?’ He didn’t turn but kept his eyes on the road ahead.

‘When I asked why you’d stayed, you said that for one thing you’d got involved in the band. So obviously there were other reasons.’

He nodded. ‘Well, yeh, I suppose there are.’

‘And . . . ?’

At this he turned around in his seat and looked at her, a half-smile on his face. Abbie was about to speak again, but his glance quickly moved on and settled briefly upon Iris. Abbie, turning to her sister, saw that her eyes were still closed. Abbie grinned at him and gave a nod. Then, bending close to Iris’s ear she whispered, ‘You, Iris Morris, are a dark horse.’

Iris was not sleeping. After a moment, her eyes still closed, she smiled again.

A few minutes after entering Flaxdown they were coming to a halt outside Eddie and Violet’s cottage in Green Lane, and almost at once Violet was there, coming out to welcome them. They had received Abbie’s letter telling them that Iris would be coming home, she said, and in preparation had made up a bed for her in the parlour.

Alfie gathered Iris up in his arms again, followed Violet into the cottage and in the parlour gently laid Iris down. Abbie drew the curtains against the light and got Iris settled while Violet took the young coachman into the kitchen and gave him some bread and cheese, a large slice of apple pie and some tea. By the time he was ready to leave again Iris was fast asleep. Briefly he looked in on her still, peaceful form and then Abbie followed him outside to wish him goodbye, to shake his hand and thank him for all his trouble.

‘No.’ He shook his head and nodded towards the cottage. ‘Nothing’s trouble where she’s concerned.’

‘Well – thank you anyway – for everything.’

‘Don’t mention it.’ He swung up into the driver’s seat. ‘Say goodbye to her for me, will you?’

‘I will.’

‘She’s going to be all right, is she?’

‘Yes, she is. The doctor said the worst is now behind her. With complete rest, he said, he’s sure she’ll make a full recovery.’

‘Good. That’s good.’ He smiled down at Abbie. ‘Well, you just see she gets back to Radstock soon, all right?’

She returned his smile. ‘Don’t worry, Alfie, we shall do our best.’

Returning to the parlour with Violet she saw that Iris was still sleeping and together they crept from the room. Violet wanted Abbie to stay and drink some tea with her, but Abbie declined. ‘I must get back home,’ she said, then added, ‘I don’t suppose Eddie called on Mother while I’ve been gone. I suggested he might.’

Violet shook her head. ‘No, he didn’t.’ She shrugged. ‘But you know your brother as well as I do.’

The church clock was striking four as Abbie, carrying her valise, made her way along School Lane. She was looking forward to getting back indoors, into the comfort – such as it was these days – of her own home; to be once again among familiar things.

Looking up at the sky she saw that dark clouds were gathering and she quickened her step a little. She felt dusty and grimy, and also drained of energy. The anxiety over Iris’s accident had taken its toll, added to which she still felt rather stiff from the long, slow journey. Nevertheless, she was aware of the most enormous sense of relief. Iris was going to be all right; that was the important thing.

As Abbie turned in at the gate of the schoolhouse she untied her bonnet and took it off. She wondered what kind of reception she would get from her mother. And how, she wondered, had her mother coped with being on her own for the past five days?

Going round the side of the house she let herself in at the back door. As she entered the kitchen from the scullery she opened her mouth to frame a greeting and then stopped in her tracks, her words freezing on her lips. The next moment she was letting fall her valise and bonnet, and hurrying forward.

‘Mother . . .’

Mrs Morris lay sprawled on the sofa. Her face was deathly pale and there were dark stains over her bodice and skirt. Abbie bent over her. Her mother’s breathing was harsh, her breath foetid. The stains were not only on her dress but on the sofa and the floor.

‘Oh, Mother,’ Abbie muttered distractedly, ‘how long have you been in this state?’ She raised a hand to her mother’s pale cheek, and at the touch her mother’s eyelids fluttered open, her lips moving as she struggled to speak. Abbie could just make out the words.

‘I – I can’t breathe . . .’

‘Here – try to sit up a little.’ Abbie put her arms around her and tried to pull her into a more upright position, putting cushions behind her back for support. Her mother’s head lolled on her neck as she gasped for air.

Abbie fetched a little water and held it to her mother’s mouth. Mrs Morris took a sip, but a moment later vomited, bringing up a heavy blackish fluid. Abbie straightened, frantic. ‘Mother,’ she said, ‘I’m going for the doctor.’

‘No . . .’ The protest came in a faint, breathless groan.

‘I’ve got to.’ Abbie moved towards the door. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

She did not want to leave her mother, but she had no choice. Her cape flying out behind her, she ran from the cottage and down the lane. As she crossed the green towards the western side of the village the threatened rain began to fall and she realised she had come out without her bonnet.