So Long At the Fair (36 page)

At last she reached the house of Dr Parrish, and hurried up the drive, and rang the bell. To her dismay the maid who opened the door told her that the doctor and Mrs Parrish were out and were not expected back until later that evening. ‘But if it’s really urgent, miss,’ the maid added, ‘you best go and call on Dr Mason. He usually stands in for Dr Parrish. You know where ’e lives, don’t you?’

‘Yes – on the Warminster Road.’ Abbie had never met Dr Mason; had only heard of him – that he was a dour, impatient man – but with Dr Parrish being out she had no choice. She thanked the girl and turned away. The rain was falling more strongly now. At the gate she turned towards the east, in the direction of Warminster, but when she came to Tomkins Row she ran and knocked sharply on the door of number three.

A few moments later it was opened and Mrs Carroll was there.

‘Abbie,’ she said, frowning, taking in Abbie’s expression, ‘what’s up? What’s ‘appened?’

‘It’s Mother,’ Abbie said, gasping and breathless. ‘Oh, Mrs Carroll, she’s so ill. She’s having trouble breathing, and she keeps being sick. D’you think you could go round and stay with her for a while, please? Dr Parrish is out and I’ve got to get Dr Mason from the Warminster Road. I’m sorry to come running to you, but I don’t know who else to ask. Violet’s got the baby and now Iris as well to look after.’

Mrs Carroll did not hesitate. ‘Of course, my dear.’

As the two left the cottage Mrs Carroll buttoned her coat and raised an old umbrella over their heads. ‘You ought to have a hat,’ she said. ‘You’ll catch cold in this.’

‘I’m all right.’

‘How are you going to get to Dr Mason’s?’

‘I’ll go to Barton’s stables and get a fly.’ Abbie was already hurrying ahead. ‘Please tell Mother I’ll be back with the doctor as soon as I can.’

‘Here –’ Mrs Carroll said, ‘take the umbrella. I don’t have far to go.’

‘No, thank you,’ Abbie cried, and with a wave of her hand was dashing away.

Just past the Harp and Horses she went to the stables owned by the fly proprietor, Mr Barton. She found him just driving the fly out of the yard, and seeing her he brought the horse and carriage to a stop. He was a lean, short-sighted man in his early sixties, well-known to Abbie from her childhood.

‘It’s Abbie, is it?’ he said peering down at her.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Oh, Mr Barton, I’ve got to get to Dr Mason’s on the Warminster Road. Can you take me there, please?’

‘Well, I would, my dear, certainly,’ he said, ‘but I’m going to pick up a passenger from Frome station. I’m just off this very minute.’

‘Oh, please – can’t you help me? My mother is ill.’

‘Well, I’m sorry to hear that, my dear, but I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do. I’m already late.’

She groaned, shaking her head distractedly. She would just have to walk; there was nothing else for it. She started to move away, stopped, then turned back. ‘Mr Barton,’ she said, ‘could I ride with you to Frome?’

‘But you just said you wanted to go out Warminster way.’

‘I’ve changed my mind. I’ll pay you, of course.’ As she spoke she realized that she had come out without her purse. ‘When I get home again – I’ll pay you then.’

‘That don’t matter,’ he said, ‘I’ve got to go to Frome anyway.’ He beckoned to her. ‘Come on – get in afore you gets drownded.’

A little less than half an hour later Abbie had reached Frome and was hurrying to Louis’s house. The rain had eased during the journey, and now came to a stop as she ran up the drive to the front door and rang the bell. The young maid who answered told her yes, Dr Randolph was in, then showed her into the library, took her name and went away. Abbie glanced at the clock and saw that it was a little after six.

How, she wondered, would Louis receive her? They had not seen one another since their meeting on the train on her journey back from London. That had been just after Christmas. Due to her lack of transport he had then brought her back to Flaxdown in his carriage. And not very long after his departure her mother had appeared on the doorstep.

Now, months later, here was Abbie, again seeking his help.

She heard footsteps in the hall, and then all at once Louis was entering the room. ‘Abbie!’ he said, smiling. ‘Well, this is a surprise. You’re the last person I expected to see.’ Having taken in her somewhat damp appearance he added, ‘But what brings you out here on such a miserable afternoon?’

Quickly she told him something of the condition in which she had found her mother. ‘And our local doctor is away,’ she finished. ‘So rather than go for the locum I came here – for you. I hope you don’t mind.’

‘Of course not. Wait here a minute and I’ll get my coat and hitch up the horse. I’ve haven’t long been back myself.’ As he moved to the door he said over his shoulder, ‘I’ll get Lily to bring you a towel.’

He went from the room and a minute later the maid was coming to her with a towel. Abbie thanked her and dabbed at her face and hair. After a little while Louis returned, now wearing his coat and hat and carrying his bag.

‘All right,’ he said, ‘let’s be on our way.’

The rain had turned much of the road to mud, but nevertheless the horse and carriage made fairly good progress. As they rode, Abbie told Louis some of what had happened since their meeting in December. She spoke briefly of how her mother had come back into her life and had since been living with her. She then spoke of Iris’s accident, of how she had gone to Radstock to see her and had returned home to find her mother prostrate and vomiting. Looking up into his grave face, she said earnestly, ‘Can you help her? You can, can’t you?’

‘I’ll do whatever I can – you can be sure of that. In the meantime, try not to worry too much.’

At last they came to Flaxdown and the schoolhouse, and even as Louis was reining in the horse, Abbie was getting down from the carriage and hurrying to the front door. As she reached out her hand for the latch the door opened and Mrs Carroll stood there pale-faced and obviously very distressed.

‘It’s all right, Mrs Carroll,’ Abbie said reassuringly. ‘Dr Randolph is here, and –’

‘Oh, Abbie, my dear.’ Mrs Carroll said, breaking in on Abbie’s words. ‘You’re too late. Your mother – she died just a few minutes ago.’

Chapter Twenty-Four

It was August. Although Abbie enjoyed the annual school summer holidays, nevertheless there were times when she found herself looking forward to being back at her desk in the classroom again. Now, in these days of high summer her pupils were in all probability occupied with their usual seasonal employment – working in the fields to bring in the harvest. She looked from the window at the small, sun-drenched front garden, and beyond it to the lane, then turned back to the looking-glass and ran a smoothing hand over her hair. She was expecting Louis to call at any moment. He had written to say he had to be in the area, and that if she was not otherwise engaged he would like to see her.

If she was not otherwise engaged
. No, that was not the case, and indeed was not likely to be. Turning from the glass she once again glanced along the lane. She felt strangely restless. She wondered at it, but told herself it was due to her absence from the schoolroom – and also to the loss of her mother.

A month had passed since her mother’s death. On the day of the funeral Abbie, Eddie, Lizzie and Iris had gathered at the schoolhouse from where their mother’s coffin was borne. Abbie and her sisters had wept. Perhaps, if truth were told, not so much for their mother’s passing as at regret that they had never been close to her. Eddie – who was there mostly for appearances’ sake – had remained dry-eyed.

After the funeral he had returned to the contentment of his family life with Violet and daughter Sarah, Lizzie back to her husband in Lullington to await the birth of their baby – due in mid-September – and Iris to her employment with the Pinnock family in Radstock. Abbie, whose life had been more strongly touched by their mother’s return, was the most affected by her death.

Movement caught her eye, and looking further along the lane she saw Louis’s tall figure coming towards the schoolhouse. Moments later there came his knock on the door and she moved to open it.

As he entered, taking off his hat, she said, ‘I saw you walking along the lane. Didn’t you come by carriage?’

‘It’s with the smith for repair,’ he said. ‘I had to take a fly.’ He stood before her and gave a little – almost imperceptible – nod of approval. ‘I must say you look very nice, Abbie.’

‘Well – thank you.’ She felt herself colouring slightly under his glance. Then, quickly, turning, without purpose, she gestured towards the window. ‘Shall we walk, or would you like to stay in and have some tea?’

‘Why can’t we do both?’ he said. ‘Let’s walk and then come back for tea.’ He smiled. ‘There’s plenty of time – and after all, it’s Sunday. I’m allowed the occasional time of rest.’

Abbie nodded. ‘Absolutely – I agree. Have you finished your business in the village?’

‘Yes, it didn’t take long. So – shall we go for a walk?’

A few minutes later the two of them left the schoolhouse and set off along the lane, their steps taking them away from the village and into the deeper peace and quiet of the surrounding countryside. After following a meandering footpath through meadows they made their way onto the heath and there followed a rough track that skirted a small lake where willows grew along the water’s edge. From across the water came the ringing sound of voices as a few of the village children swam and splashed in the sun-warmed shallows.

The day was very warm, the sun beating down out of a cloudless sky. Coming upon the remains of a fallen tree in a secluded spot in the shade of a willow, Louis suggested that they sit for a while. Abbie, glad to rest out of the sunlight, agreed with relief.

Taking off his jacket, Louis placed it on the fallen tree trunk and Abbie sat down on it. With his hat beside him, Louis sat on the tree trunk some few feet away while Abbie took off her bonnet and ran a cooling hand through her hair.

The two had met on more than one occasion since she had called upon him in the rain to minister to her mother. A couple of times since that day he had come to the schoolhouse without notice, and she had invited him in and given him tea. On two other occasions he had, as in this instance, written to suggest that they meet. In all of their meetings, however, nothing of any great importance had been said, but following her mother’s passing she had found his company a great comfort, and was glad of his visits.

To a degree she had blamed herself for her mother’s death, but Louis had insisted that she could not be held in any way responsible. The seeds of the tragedy had been sown long before her mother’s return to Flaxdown, he had said. Specifically, he explained to her that her mother’s death had been due to haemorrhage of the stomach lining, brought about by prolonged intake of alcohol. Dr Parrish had concurred in the opinion, and Mrs Morris’s death certificate had been so endorsed.

Now, taking his handkerchief from his pocket, Louis dabbed at the back of his neck and his forehead. Nodding out towards the sound of the children’s voices, he said, ‘I could envy them at a time like this.’

‘Ah, yes. I know what you mean.’ Abbie nodded. ‘Jane and I used to come here and swim. They were lovely times. And so far away now.’

He turned to look more closely at her. ‘It will get better, Abbie. Believe me, it will. It will get easier.’

‘What do you mean?’ she said.

‘I thought you sounded rather melancholy – and because of your mother. Is it not that?’

‘No. It’s not that at all.’ She smiled. ‘I didn’t mean to sound so down. I don’t know; perhaps it’s this particular time of the year – when the school is closed and all the children are away. One gets so accustomed to the routine; it’s hard to get used to the difference. And with mother being gone . . . well, I suppose I’m being thrown more and more onto my own resources.’ She gave an ironic little chuckle. ‘And obviously those resources are being found to be lacking, wouldn’t you say?’

‘No, not at all. I think it’s quite understandable that you’re at – well, at something of a loss. Your life has changed in the past weeks. It’s bound to make a difference.’ He put out his hand and patted hers as it rested on the tree trunk. Although his touch was brief, she could still somehow feel it on the back of her hand. The water, the fallen tree trunk – for Abbie they conjured up a picture of the two of them together that day beside the stream, when they had strayed from the fairground. She thrust the images away; that time was long past.

‘Abbie,’ Louis was saying, ‘you mustn’t be hard on yourself. You’ve been through a difficult time.’

He went on to ask after her brother and two sisters, and they spoke also of his work and of more mundane matters. And then, after a short pause in their conversation, he asked, letting his question fall like a stone into the still lake before them:

‘And what about your Mr Gilmore?’

‘What?’ She had been looking out over the water, but now turned to him and saw the expression on his face, a look of gravity relieved only slightly by the trace of a smile.

‘Didn’t you hear me?’ he said. ‘Mr Arthur Gilmore.’

‘What – what about him?’ She felt somewhat flustered, discomfited by his question, and looked away again, back over the water.

‘When we met on the train just after Christmas you said you had been to spend some time with him in London. That you were engaged to be married. You were to be married at Easter, you told me.’

She nodded. ‘Yes. Yes . . .’ A shrug. ‘Unfortunately – things happen. Plans change.’

‘I see. I think. Your plans changing – was this due to your mother’s return?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you – postponed your wedding.’

A pause before she answered. ‘Not quite. There’s not going to be a wedding.’ She turned to him at this. ‘I couldn’t do anything else. With my mother living with me and in the state she was in . . . I didn’t know what else to do.’