So Long At the Fair (44 page)

‘I know that your staying here was more convenient with regard to my being at Balham, but didn’t it make for difficulties with your business in London?’

He did not answer at once, then he said, ‘I had no business in London, Abbie.’

‘You didn’t? But you said –’

He broke in: ‘It was a pretence. I came up to London to see you.’

She did not speak. In the silence the bird went on singing.

‘Has it meant anything to you, Abbie, my being here?’ he said. Then immediately he had spoken he shook his head and waved a dismissing hand. ‘Don’t answer that. I have no right to ask you such a thing.’

‘Oh, Louis, it’s meant a lot to me to see you again – to have spent this time with you.’ And even as she spoke she realized that her words were nothing less than the truth. She had so enjoyed these hours in his company. ‘It’s been wonderful,’ she added.

He looked at her for an instant, and then his arms came around her, drawing her to him. For a moment she was moved to pull away, but she did not. She was aware of the strength of his arms and also of how good it felt to be held, to feel safe again after so long. Another second and he was bending his head and his lips were pressing on hers.

Some feeling within her made her begin to draw back, briefly, quickly, away from him. But he would not brook her resistance and his mouth was there, still there, warm and persistent upon her own. After a moment or two she found herself letting go and giving herself up to his kiss, his touch. And while a part of her mind protested, she found herself returning his kiss and with a passion that she had not known in so long. She was revelling in the warmth and softness of his mouth on hers, the strength of his arms that held her.

‘Abbie . . .’ He drew back only long enough to speak her name, then kissed her again. After holding her for a moment longer he drew back once more. The sound that came from his mouth was a little laugh touched with a sigh of relief – like a man who had thirsted and been given water. ‘Oh, dear God, Abbie,’ he said, smiling down into her eyes, ‘you can’t know how I’ve wanted to do that.’

She did not know what to say. No words would come; she was only aware of his arms still around her and strange feelings and thoughts that warred in her mind and her heart. He held her closer and kissed her again, then looked into her eyes in the pale light and said:

‘I love you, Abbie. I love you.’

‘No, no,’ she said, the words tumbling from her lips. ‘Don’t speak like this.’

‘No?’ He gave a little laugh. ‘Why not? I want everyone to know. I love you. And I’m so proud of it.’

She looked up at him, even through the shadow seeing the tenderness and the joy in his expression, his darkened eyes.

‘Oh, Abbie,’ he said, ‘I think you must have got into my blood that first day – that day at the fair. I’ve met a number of women so far in my life, but somehow you were always there. You’ll always be there now.’ He looked at her as if waiting for her to speak. When she did not, he went on, ‘At Easter, when you said you were leaving Flaxdown, I was miserable. We’d just made contact again and then out of the blue you told me you were going away. I couldn’t believe it.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘I was angry too. I had the idea you were leaving because of your friend Gilmore . . . I’m sorry I said that when you were going away. About him. I was jealous. Of course I know now that I was wrong. When I heard not so long ago that he and your friend Jane had got married I realized I’d been barking up the wrong tree where you and he were concerned.’

Abbie kept her eyes lowered.

A little silence, then he said, ‘You know, I shall be thirty next month.’

‘Poor old man.’ She grasped at the opportunity to try to make the conversation light.

‘How old are you, Abbie?’

‘I was twenty-four just over a week ago.’

‘Really? Just over a week ago?’

‘July the 3rd.’

‘I wish I’d known. But I shall remember from now on.’ He reached down, lifted her right hand and clasped it between his own. ‘I want to marry you,’ he said.

‘Oh – Louis . . .’ She could not marry him, of course she could not. In spite of the passion she had known just moments ago, she knew that it was not right. Such an idea was out of the question. He was not the right one for her; he never could be. But how could she tell him? She frowned, searching for words that would not come.

‘Don’t say anything for a minute,’ he said, as if sensing that she was about to refuse him. ‘Hear me out.’ He went on after a moment, ‘I won’t ask if you love me, as I’m afraid I mightn’t like your answer. Though I should prepare myself for that too, I suppose.’ He looked at her, studying her. ‘Without false modesty, Abbie, I consider myself a good man. And while I might never be rich, I can offer you a comfortable life. You’d never want for anything for the rest of your days, I promise you that. And I would love you. I love you now and I would love you for as long as I live.’

‘How can you be so sure?’ she said.

‘Oh, I am.’ A moment’s pause, then he added, ‘You haven’t mentioned anyone, so I’m assuming there’s no special person in your life . . .’

She gave a shake of her head.

‘Good.’ He studied her for a moment in the moon’s light. ‘You do care for me, don’t you? I’m working on the assumption that you do, anyway.’

‘Oh – of course I do.’

He nodded. ‘But your answer also tells me that you don’t love me.’ Then he added, ‘But you would in time – I know it. Given time I can make you love me. I’m sure I can.’ He pressed her hand. ‘Well . . . ?’

She frowned. ‘Oh, but Louis, I –’

He released her and raised his hand against her words. ‘Please, don’t tell me no. At least not till you’ve really had a chance to give it some thought. But remember what I say: I can make you happy. You won’t want for anything for the rest of your life. That goes for my love and for everything else that I have to offer.’

‘Is that everything else within reason?’ she said with a smile, still trying to avoid the seriousness of the situation.

He grinned and gave a helpless groan. ‘No. Out of reason as well. Oh, Abbie, I love you so much I don’t think I could refuse you anything.’

Silence fell between them. After a time she said, ‘Louis – I thank you so much for what you’ve offered me. I don’t take it lightly, I can assure you. It’s a great honour. And I’ll do as you ask – I won’t give you my answer now; I’ll think about it. And think about it very seriously. And I’ll write to you very soon, I promise.’ She let out her breath in a deep sigh. ‘Now – I really think I should get back before I find the doors bolted against me.’

In the hall of the Haywards’ house Abbie closed and locked the front door and then stood quite still, listening. All was quiet. When she had lit the candle she was tempted to glance into the library to see whether Mrs Hayward was there again, keeping her watch. But she continued on up the stairs; it was getting on for two o’clock; Mrs Hayward would surely have been asleep for hours by now.

In spite of the lateness of the hour, Abbie could not sleep. Lying in her bed she thought back over the day – the train journey to Gravesend, the meeting with Louis’s father, the trip on the Thames pleasure steamer, the supper at Louis’s hotel. It had been such a full and pleasant time. And throughout it all Louis had been such fine company. But could there ever be more than friendship between them? He wanted it so. He loved her; he had told her so. And over the next few days she must, as she had promised, write to him with an answer to his proposal.

Marriage to Louis . . . To become the wife of a country doctor. She was aware that in the eyes of many she would be in an enviable situation. And she had no doubt that Louis would be true to his word; he would, she was sure, do all in his power to make her happy. She sighed, turning restlessly on the pillow. It was a fine and wonderful thing to be loved – and indeed to be loved by such a man as he. But even so it was not enough. It could never be enough. When she married it must be not only because she was loved, but also because she loved in return. There was nothing else for it, but over the next day or two she must write to Louis and tell him of her decision – that she would be unable to marry him.

Into her mind came a picture of Arthur, bringing with it a sharp pang of bitterness. Arthur had loved her too. And he still loved her, she had no doubt of that. It was only through circumstances, because he was now tied to another, that he could not declare his love for her. And never would be able to. At the thought she gave a little groan of anguish and frustration. There was no way out of the situation. Arthur would never be hers now. She had lost him – first because of her mother, and now through Jane. And this time the loss was irretrievable.

Softly on the night air came the striking of a church clock. Three o’clock. She must get to sleep or she would be fit for nothing. Restless and exhausted, she turned over, trying to seek out some new position that would offer her sleep. But still it would not come. When at long last she drifted into her disturbing dreams it was almost four o’clock.

She was awakened by a knocking on her door. Sleepily, with her head pounding, she raised herself in her bed. ‘Yes?’ she called.

The door opened and Esther, the housemaid, put her head into the room. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, miss,’ she said, ‘but the missis wants to see you.’

Abbie glanced at the clock and frowned. ‘You mean now?’

‘Yes, miss. She’s in her room.’

Abbie yawned. ‘But it’s not yet six o’clock.’

‘I know, miss. I’m sorry.’

When the maid had gone away, Abbie sighed. What on earth could Mrs Hayward want at this time of the morning? She yawned again. She felt desperately tired from her lack of sleep . . . She closed her eyes again . . .

There was a knocking on the door. Abbie opened her eyes with the realization that she must have fallen asleep after Esther had awakened her and – horrors! – it was ten minutes to seven. Quickly she got out of bed, pulled on her dressing gown and opened the door. Esther stood there again.

‘I know, Esther,’ Abbie said, pulling a conspiratorial face. ‘I went back to sleep.’

Esther leaned closer. ‘She’s getting really mad, miss.’

‘Right. Thank you, Esther. I’ll be there in a minute.’

When Abbie had washed and dressed she went down to the first floor and knocked on Mrs Hayward’s door. Mrs Hayward called for her to enter, and she opened the door and stepped into the room.

Mrs Hayward was sitting up in bed, the pillows banked high behind her head. There was a wan, rather pathetic look about her. Gazing at Abbie with something not far short of a glare, she pursed her lips and looked down at her fingers.

‘So,’ she said, ‘at last you deigned to come. How very kind of you.’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Hayward,’ Abbie said, ‘but I inadvertently went back to sleep.’

‘So it would seem.’

Abbie made no response to this, but waited a few moments, then asked: ‘What was it you wanted me for, ma’am?’

‘It doesn’t matter now.’ The tone was clipped, petulant.

Abbie gave a little sigh, hesitated for a second, then started to turn away.

‘I haven’t dismissed you,’ Mrs Hayward said, raising her glance.

‘I’m sorry.’ Feeling somewhat affronted at the imperious tone, Abbie turned back to face her. ‘When I asked what you wanted you said –’

‘I know what I said,’ Mrs Hayward broke in. A brief pause, then she added, ‘I was feeling exceedingly unwell.’

‘Oh . . . I’m very sorry to hear that.’

‘I’m sure you are.’ Mrs Hayward lowered her gaze once more while a plaintive note of self-pity came into her voice. ‘With Mr Hayward being away so much I’ve no one to turn to. I should have thought you’d realize that. I thought at least I could rely on you. I certainly can’t depend on the other servants. Now it seems I was wrong about you, too.’

‘Mrs Hayward, I’m sorry,’ Abbie said. ‘As I said, I fell asleep again. I didn’t mean to, but I was very tired and – well – it just happened.’ She paused. ‘Anyway, how are you feeling now? Is there something I can do for you?’

‘I had a dreadful night,’ Mrs Hayward said. ‘My heart was fluttering and pounding so. I was in a dreadful state. I felt sure I was going to have a heart attack. God knows the last thing I wanted to do was disturb you from your sleep, but I just didn’t feel I had anyone else to turn to.’

Unimpressed, Abbie said, ‘Would you like me to send for the doctor?’

‘No, I would not like you to send for the doctor. I’m better. All I really need now is someone I can rely on. Somehow, though, I have the feeling it’s not
you
– certainly not by the way you stand there with that rather cold expression on your face.’

‘Mrs Hayward,’ Abbie said, ‘I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what you want of me.’

‘A little sympathy wouldn’t come amiss. A little sympathy and understanding.’ A pause. ‘I wanted to see you.’

‘Yes, I know. But after Esther came and –’

‘I’m not talking about when Esther came to wake you; I’m talking about a much earlier time than that.’

‘Earlier? I don’t understand.’

‘Of course you don’t understand. Half past one this morning – that’s the time I’m talking about. I was ill and I wanted someone. I needed someone. I came and tapped on your door, but got no answer. When I opened the door I found your room empty and your bed not slept in.’

‘Yes, I’m afraid I was a little late getting in last night.’

‘A little late?’ Mrs Hayward’s eyes widened in mock surprise. ‘A little late? You were gadding about at half past one in the morning and you say you were a little late? Dear God.’ She gave an incredulous shake of her head. ‘I won’t ask what you were up to at such a time.’

Stung, Abbie retorted sharply, ‘What I was up to, Mrs Hayward, is none of your business. And furthermore I resent the implication of your words.’

Mrs Hayward put a hand to her breast. ‘So you resent my implication, do you? And what, pray, am I implying?’