So Long At the Fair (42 page)

‘Oh, Abbie, please – for God’s sake –’

‘Yes, it was for you, Arthur. That’s why I took the post of governess in Balham.’ Tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. She turned back to him. ‘Oh, Arthur, I can make you happy if you’ll give me the chance. I know I can.’

‘Abbie,’ he said, ‘it’s too late for all that. I love Jane. And she loves me. We’re going to be married.’ He paused, then added, ‘Soon. Very soon.’

‘Married.’ She gave a little nod. ‘And when exactly is the great day to be?’

‘In just a few weeks.’

‘So soon.’ She studied him for a moment, then said, ‘And when do you expect the happy event?’

‘The happy –’

‘The baby, of course.’

His silent glance told her that she had been right. It could make no difference now, the fact that she had told him she loved him. She had played her last card. She sat there, the tears streaming from her eyes. Apart from her sense of humiliation she felt abandoned, discarded. She felt purposeless, directionless. She had invested all her last hopes in this meeting and it had been a disaster. If Jane was expecting his child, then she, Abbie, did not have a chance.

‘You’re making a mistake, Arthur,’ she said brokenly. ‘And someday you’ll realize it.’

Snatching up her bag, she got to her feet, turned from him and hurried away.

As she emerged onto the rainswept street she realized that she had left her umbrella behind. She could not go back for it. With the rain beating down she ran for the station where to her relief she found a train standing at the platform. Just before she got on board she turned and looked back to see whether Arthur had come in pursuit of her. There was no sign of him. She got into the carriage and sat down, and seconds later the train was starting away.

Abbie sat in her room, waiting.

Three months had passed since her meeting with Arthur, and now it was midsummer. She had no tuition duties on this July Thursday, nor would she have for the next nine days or so. Florence and Mabel had left on Saturday to spend a fortnight’s holiday with their aunt in Brighton, Abbie and Mrs Hayward escorting them there on the train and returning to London the following day. Without the girls the house was quiet.

Following the recent weather pattern the summer day had been very warm. But now in the early evening a little breeze had sprung up and the air had grown cooler. Abbie, sitting near the window, was glad of the change. She was awaiting the arrival of a visitor. Louis Randolph was due to call at the house to see her.

In spite of her belief that she and Louis would have no further communication she had heard from him on two or three occasions since her departure from Flaxdown. In a recent reply to one of his letters, Abbie had written that while the girls were away she would be taking the few days’ holiday that were due to her, and Louis had at once written back to say that he had to come to London about the same time – to take care of some business and also to visit his father. So, he had suggested, it might be a good opportunity for them to meet again. She had readily agreed, since which time she had found herself looking forward to his visit. Inwardly remarking on her surprising happiness at the prospect of their meeting again, she told herself that it would be a welcome interruption of the monotony of her present dull existence, and would lift her out of her depression and general sense of unhappiness.

Adding to that unhappiness Jane had written to invite Abbie to her wedding in Flaxdown. In her letter she had gone on to ask Abbie for her understanding and her blessing, saying:

Abbie had not replied to Jane’s letter, but had torn it up and thrown away the pieces.

Jane and Arthur’s wedding had duly taken place at St Peter’s church in Flaxdown, the couple then leaving for a honeymoon in France. Eddie’s wife Violet had attended the marriage service, and had afterwards stood at the lych-gate watching as the pair had emerged from the church. Unaware of Abbie’s frustrated aspirations, Violet had later written telling Abbie about it.

And, Abbie wondered now, would Louis also know of the wedding? It was possible. She thought of his words to her at Easter just before her departure from Flaxdown, when he had asked whether Arthur had anything to do with her moving to London. His question had made her angry. Well, if he had suspected her motives at that time he might also now guess at her present humiliation.

Interrupting her thoughts a knock came at the door. Abbie called, ‘Come in,’ and Mrs Hayward entered.

‘No sign of him yet?’ the woman asked.

‘Not yet.’

Mrs Hayward’s question was an irritation, as was her presence. Since leaving Florence and Mabel in Brighton Abbie seemed to have had barely a minute to herself. Mrs Hayward was constantly calling on her, asking her to do some task or other, which more often than not was merely an excuse to get Abbie’s company. The promise of the diversion of Louis’s visit, therefore, was doubly welcome.

‘Perhaps he won’t come,’ Mrs Hayward said with a doleful sigh. ‘Men can be so unreliable. That’s one thing I’ve learned from life.’

Not allowing her irritation to show, Abbie said, ‘Oh, he’ll be here.’

‘Well, I hope so, dear.’

Abbie was by no means convinced of the sincerity of the sentiment. On the contrary, she could not escape the feeling that Mrs Hayward would be mightily if secretly pleased if Louis failed to arrive. Abbie was convinced that her employer, determined as she was to find so little pleasure in her own life, was reluctant to see it in the lives of others.

Mrs Hayward had given instructions that when Abbie’s friend arrived he should be shown into the library. Abbie knew that Mrs Hayward was impressed by the fact that Louis was a doctor – though slightly disapproving in other ways, for it was not quite in the order of things for a mere governess to make friendships above her station. At the same time this did not prevent Mrs Hayward from enquiring as to any possible marriage plans. Abbie had brushed aside the idea. ‘Dr Randolph is an old friend,’ she had said. ‘I’ve known him for many years and there’s nothing at all between us of a – a romantic nature. Nor is there ever likely to be.’ Disappointed or relieved, Mrs Hayward had had to be content with that.

When Louis arrived just after six thirty, he came not by carriage but on foot, walking up the hill from the station. As he turned in at the gates Mrs Hayward, looking from the window, said, ‘Here he comes now.’ Then she added, ‘You didn’t mention that he was so tall – nor that he was so handsome.’

Mrs Hayward left her then, and after a few moments the parlourmaid appeared to tell Abbie that her guest was waiting in the library. Abbie pinned her hat in place, took up her cape and went downstairs. On entering the library she found Louis in conversation with Mrs Hayward. Louis smiled warmly at Abbie, and came forward and embraced her. And for a brief moment as his arms encircled her she felt once again those old familiar warring emotions: the comfort of his touch, and at the same time a strange reluctance to be close. It did not last more than a moment before they broke apart and Mrs Hayward, clearly eager to keep him there, was pressing him to take some refreshment. He graciously declined her offer, however, and after having helped Abbie with her cape they said their goodbyes and left the house.

In the pleasant air they made their way up the hill and onto the common where horsemen rode, children played and people walked their dogs. Louis told her that he had arrived in London the evening before, and was staying at a small hotel in Paddington. He intended, he reiterated, to attend to some business matters in London and then to travel out to Gravesend in Kent to see his father, whom he had not seen for some time.

‘So,’ he said, ‘how does it feel to be free of your charges for a while?’ They had now wandered into the wide area of woodland that stretched as far as the railway line.

‘It’s good,’ Abbie said. ‘And if I could be free of their mother too I’d be happier still.’ She shook her head. ‘Be thankful that you don’t have an employer. Particularly one like mine. I’ve never known anyone to fuss so much. With her the merest problem becomes a crisis. There’s no calm in the house. It’s no wonder her husband’s never home.’

‘Perhaps his absence is the cause of it.’

‘I doubt it. Though whatever it is, it’s hard to live with.’

‘Perhaps you need a vacation.’

‘Not much chance of that, I’m afraid.’

‘Have you seen your friend lately? Jane, isn’t that her name?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘I believe she recently got married, in Flaxdown. Somebody told me, I forget who.’

Abbie, silent, did not look at him and was relieved when he returned to the former subject.

‘If you’re unhappy where you are,’ he said, ‘why don’t you look for another post?’

‘I intend to. Though Mrs Hayward will have a fit when I do. She’s already told me that the previous governesses had no sense of loyalty. It seems none of them stayed long. And I can’t say I blame them.’

They ate a rather mediocre dinner in the restaurant of a hotel near Streatham Hill railway station. At the end of the meal Louis pushed aside his empty coffee cup and said apologetically, ‘I’m sorry it wasn’t better.’

‘It was fine. It was very nice.’

He shrugged. ‘Anyway – I hope there’ll be other times. When do your little charges get back from the coast?’

‘Saturday the 25th. We’re to go to Brighton to collect them – that’s if Mrs Hayward isn’t having the vapours. If she is I’ll be going alone.’

‘So you still have a few days of relative freedom before they get back.’

‘Relative is the word.’

‘Perhaps we can meet again while I’m here.’

‘How long will you be here?’

‘Till the weekend. I must get back to Frome by Sunday at the latest, or my patients will think I’ve forsaken them.’ He paused. ‘So that leaves just two days. Are you busy tomorrow?’

‘Mrs Hayward has asked me to go shopping with her in the morning. I’d better go to keep her sweet.’

‘Then perhaps we could meet in the evening. I could try to get tickets to the theatre or the opera or something.’

‘Thank you. Yes, I’d like that.’

‘Good.’ He gave a nod of satisfaction. ‘On Saturday I want to go to Gravesend to see my father. Why don’t you come with me?’

Abbie looked doubtful. ‘Oh – well – I don’t know . . .’

‘We could go down by train and if the weather’s fine we could come back by steamer on the river. It could be a lovely day out.’

‘But your father won’t be expecting me.’

‘I shall write to him at once. He’ll get my letter on Saturday morning. Please say yes. He’ll love to meet you. And I know you’ll like him, too.’ He paused. ‘Will you come?’

‘Well – if you’re sure it’ll be all right.’

‘Of course it’ll be all right. Good. That’s settled, then. Now’ – he raised a hand to summon the waiter – ‘I’ll pay the bill and take you home.’

It rained for a short while the following morning, only lightly, yet enough for Mrs Hayward to postpone the shopping trip. ‘Oh, dear,’ she cried, hands fluttering, ‘everything conspires against me, I swear it does!’ Abbie, who had not looked forward to the excursion, was relieved at the reprieve. Not for long, however, for in the afternoon Mrs Hayward announced that they would after all set out.

So – and most reluctantly – Abbie accompanied her to the Army and Navy department stores in Victoria. And as the time wore on she found herself growing more and more anxious; Louis was due to call for her at six o’clock and she was afraid that she would be late getting back. Mrs Hayward, however, seemed intent on dawdling over every possible purchase and to be quite incapable of making up her mind over the most trivial thing. Abbie felt her anxiety and irritation growing, and eventually Mrs Hayward turned to her with wide, uncomprehending eyes and said, ‘Miss Morris, why do you keep sighing so? And this constant shifting from one foot to another . . . Are you ill? Have you got St Vitus’s dance or something?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Abbie replied, ‘but I’m getting anxious about the time. As you know, Dr Randolph is calling for me at six.’

‘Well, didn’t you tell him you were coming shopping with me today?’

‘I did, yes – but your original plan was to come out this morning.’

‘So?’ Mrs Hayward’s eyes widened in an overdone expression of surprise. ‘You saw the weather, didn’t you? It was raining. I can’t control the weather, can I?’

From that moment on Mrs Hayward seemed to take as much time as she could to make her purchases, at the same time appearing to mock Abbie’s anxiety by asking her views on particular colours and designs. By the time they emerged from the store – with far fewer purchases than could warrant the time spent within – Abbie was seething.

It was five thirty-five when they got back to the house, and Louis arrived promptly at six. By the time he and Abbie left again it was six twenty.

With great good luck he had managed to get tickets for the opera at Covent Garden. It was the last night of the season, and a special benefit performance of Bellini’s
I Puritani
was to be given, with Emma Albani as Elvira. Madame Albani had made her debut there in 1872 and had since become a much admired prima donna. Abbie and Louis arrived at the Royal Italian Opera House with little time to spare. As they waited for the performance to begin Abbie could not help but think back to her visit to Arthur that Christmas when he had taken her to the opera, and also the concert at the Royal Albert Hall. But now, here, the curtains were parting, and as the performance began she was at once caught up in the music, the colour, and the beauty of the singing. At the end, after the lovers were reunited and the curtain fell, she joined in the rapturous applause that greeted the many curtain calls of the principals.