So Long At the Fair (49 page)

‘Well – perhaps just a little story. What would you like?’

‘
Roger Proudfoot
.’

‘But that’s one of Daddy’s stories. You tell me you don’t like the way I tell it.’

‘Where did Daddy go?’

‘I don’t know. To look after one of his patients, I expect.’

‘When he comes in tell him to come and see me before I go to sleep.’

‘I will.’ Abbie gently brushed his cheek. ‘Are you going to close your eyes now? Just for a while.’

‘All right. Just for a while.’

Abbie watched as his right thumb moved to his mouth and his eyes closed. Two minutes later he was asleep. She continued to sit there for a minute then got up and moved to the window. Moving back the curtain a little, she looked out into the April night where the lights of Frome twinkled in the newly fallen dark. After a time she let the curtain fall back in place and turned, looking down at the sleeping form of her small son.

Where did Daddy go? Oliver had asked, and she had replied that he had very likely gone to see one of his patients. Which was a lie – certainly in the way she had implied, anyway; whatever interest he had in the person he was going to see, it was not a professional one. After dinner he had wasted no time in going out again. Abbie had been sure of his purpose. She had come to recognize certain signs: the extra care taken with his appearance, his evasiveness. Why it should matter to her, she did not know, but there were occasions when she found herself consumed with jealousy. At such times she remonstrated with herself that she should be so disturbed by it. After all, his liaison kept him away from her bed – and wasn’t that, she asked herself, what she wanted?

Since her meeting with Arthur in January she and Louis had not slept together on one single occasion. And it had been her doing, she could not deny that. For a time she had feared that he might insist on his rights, but he had not and they had continued to sleep apart. After a while the situation between them had – on the surface, anyway – come to be accepted. They did not quarrel. The unacknowledged understanding between them now led to fewer reasons for disagreement. They were polite and outwardly friendly with one another, but there was no warmth, no closeness. And then, a month or so ago he had – so Abbie believed – begun to find solace elsewhere. The realization had at first caused shock – apart from other emotions – not least it emphasized the growing divide between them. When the shock had diminished she was left nursing feelings of jealousy and resentment.

It was almost ten thirty when Louis finally returned. When he came in, Abbie was sitting in the drawing room, working at her mending. Having left his coat and hat in the hall, he came into the room and moved at once to the fire.

‘Is it still cold out?’ Abbie asked.

‘Yes – quite.’

He sat down in his chair facing her and picked up the book he had been reading. He had no wish to read, she was sure, only a wish to avoid conversation. His face looked slightly flushed and she had a sudden memory of her mother, all those years ago, getting back to the cottage after her secret meeting with Pattison of the post office.

When Louis had returned from his rounds in past times, Abbie reflected, he would first have asked her how her evening had gone and would then have remarked on his visits to his patients. Of late, though, as he did tonight, he would sit silent in his chair, avoiding her eyes. She felt bitter at the situation; she was denied having what she desired, while he indulged himself whenever he chose.

‘Oliver wanted a story,’ she said, ‘– one of your stories.’

‘Well,’ he said as he put aside his book, ‘I’ll make it up to him tomorrow.’

‘I also told him I’d ask you to go up and see him when you got in.’

‘I will, a little later.’

‘We see less and less of you these days, it seems. Your patients are becoming even more demanding of your time just lately.’

He said nothing.

After a little silence she went on, ‘Oliver was talking about our going to the seaside again. And also of going to see his grandpapa.’

‘Well, why not?’ he said readily. ‘There’s nothing to stop you.’

‘I told him we must wait for the summer.’

‘You don’t need to do that. You can go any time.’

‘I suppose we could. But he wants you to go as well.’

He spread his hands before him. ‘If I could get away I would. But you know how difficult it is for me.’

‘So you tell me.’

He frowned. ‘What does that mean?’

She stared at him, biting back the words that sprang to her lips. The room was suddenly so quiet that she was aware of the faint hissing of the gaslight.

‘Anyway,’ Louis said, ‘I should have thought you’d welcome the chance to go away with Oliver on your own for a while. Certainly you don’t seem to find much joy around here.’

She nodded. ‘You’d like me to, wouldn’t you? Go away? That would leave you a clear view for a while: no commitments, no wife to see what time you leave and what time you come in.’ Then, unable to stop herself, she asked almost in the same breath, ‘Who is it you’re seeing, Louis? And please don’t insult my intelligence by denying it. You’re seeing someone, I know it.’

When he did not answer she said, ‘Well, I just hope you’re not being too foolish. Doctors who consort with their patients are not highly regarded, I’m sure you’re aware of that. Just try not to bring disgrace down upon all of us.’ She glared at him, waiting for him to speak. ‘Well – aren’t you going to say something?’

‘Do I need to?’ he said, ‘You already seem to have all the answers. Though I will say,’ he added, ‘that she is not one of my patients – so you have no need to worry on that particular score.’

She shook her head in wonder. ‘It’s amazing – you can be so cool about it all.’

‘You just said there’s no point in my denying it.’

‘Just – tell me who it is.’

‘It’s no one you know. Anyway, what purpose would it serve, your knowing?’

‘Don’t you think I have a right to know?’

‘Oh, Abbie, please,’ he said, a note of contempt in his voice, ‘spare me your self-righteousness – that holler-than-thou tone. And don’t let’s start talking about rights. in the eyes of the law there are certain rights I’ve been deprived of for a good while now.’

‘Ah,’ she said, stung. ‘I wondered how long it would be before you threw that up in my face.’

‘Abbie, you’re the one who started all this. If you insist on opening this Pandora’s box you mustn’t be surprised at what comes out. You brought up the subject in the first place.’

She leaned forward in her chair, the half-mended stocking lying forgotten in her lap. ‘How can it be avoided when you creep off to see your – your paramour like this?’

‘Listen,’ he said evenly, ‘in case you’re in the least interested, let me remind you that I’m still a relatively young man, and I have a man’s usual desires. Although I’ve been denied a place in my marital bed I have not yet settled for celibacy. If you choose to turn away from me, then you shouldn’t be surprised if I go to someone who will not.’ He got up from his chair and stood looking down at her. ‘In any case, I hardly think it behoves you to castigate me for my behaviour. What about your own? Or are you of the opinion that if no one knows what you yourself have done it counts for nothing?’

She frowned, momentarily taken aback. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’m talking about you and your Mr Gilmore.’

‘What?’

‘You heard what I said.’

‘I never heard such nonsense,’ she said. While her heart was pounding she tried to put contempt into her voice. ‘And why do you call him
my
Mr Gilmore? And what has he got to do with anything?’

‘Oh, Abbie, he’s got everything to do with it – to do with everything.’

‘I’m not going to listen to such foolishness,’ she said. Bending her head, avoiding his accusing glare, she picked up her mending.

‘You began this,’ he said, ‘and if it goes a little further than you would have wished then you have only yourself to blame. You should have let sleeping dogs lie. I’m talking about last January.’

‘Last January? What about it?’

‘The Sunday you went to see your brother in Flaxdown. When I went to assist with the Marston post-mortem. Do you remember it?’

‘Vaguely.’ She kept her head bent.

‘If you recall, there was a short, but rather violent snowstorm.’

‘And –?’

‘I remember that later on I asked you a few casual questions about your afternoon. And if I recall, you took me to task for being too inquisitive. I was aware, of course, of the reason for your – sensitivity.’

Her heart still thumping, she raised her head. He was looking down at her, his eyes steady. He held her gaze as he said, ‘You were with Gilmore that afternoon, weren’t you?’

She got up, throwing down the stocking as she did so. ‘I’m not listening to this. I’m going to bed.’

She made to walk by him, but he stood up, reached out and took her by the wrist. Then as she moved to free herself, he clasped her other arm. ‘You have to listen.’

They stood glaring at one another. ‘I can’t of course know for certain what happened between you that afternoon,’ he said, ‘but I’m sure one doesn’t need a very wild imagination to get near the truth. Human nature being what it is.’ She opened her mouth to speak but he added quickly, shutting off her words, ‘You see, when the snowstorm was over you were seen – the two of you – coming out of a barn. A barn on the property of a farmer on the Frome Road.’

Her cheeks burning, she was dimly aware of him releasing his hold on her. ‘What liar told you this?’ she said.

‘No liar.’

‘Who told you?’

‘No one told me. It was I who saw you.’

‘– You?’

He nodded. ‘The post-mortem didn’t take that long, and when Dr Grimmond and I had finished he asked me if I’d be kind enough to accompany him to see one of his patients who lived nearby, a certain Mr Cassin. He’d been ill for a couple of weeks and wasn’t responding to treatment as well as Grimmond had hoped. And Grimmond wanted a second opinion.’

‘What has this got to do with me?’

‘I’m coming to that. Grimmond left his carriage at the Marston house and we set off in mine to Cassin’s farm. The snow started to come down as we got near the farmhouse. I examined Mr Cassin, and afterwards his wife made us tea while we waited for the snow to ease. When it had stopped I went to look through the window – and to my great astonishment I saw
you
.’

She remained silent in the face of his accusation while panic flashed through her.

‘Yes,’ Louis went on. ‘I saw a figure in the distance – a woman’s figure – walking away from the farm in the direction of the main road. And although you were quite some distance away I recognized you at once by your coat. I realized of course what had happened – you’d been on your way back from Flaxdown and had taken shelter from the snow. Nothing wrong in that. Anyway, I was just about to get my coat and go after you, when I saw him, the man. He was a couple of minutes behind you, but he was walking in the same direction.’ He came to a halt, waiting for Abbie’s reaction.

‘You said I was seen coming out of a barn,’ she said. ‘But now you say I was just seen walking near the farm.’

‘I know you’d been in the barn,’ he said. ‘I know it because a little later I went out into the yard – to all intents and purposes to go to the stable to check on the horse – and I walked up towards where I’d seen you and the man going by. I saw your footprints in the snow. And his. And I saw that they all came from the barn. Later, when Grimmond and I drove back out onto the road there was no sign of you. Obviously you’d found your cab by then. I did see your friend, though, walking alone at the side of the road. I didn’t know who he was, but Grimmond put me wise. He knew the man by sight, and told me his name was Gilmore. Arthur Gilmore.’ A pause and a nod. ‘I’m glad you’re not foolish enough to deny it.’

Staring down at the carpet Abbie said, ‘I’m not denying it. But why should you assume that because we took shelter in the barn together something – took place between us?’

He said nothing for a moment, then he reached out, put a hand under her chin and lifted her head. ‘Will you swear to it?’ he said.

She made no answer, but with a sudden, violent blow dashed his hand away.

‘I thought as much,’ he said.

‘It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like that at all.’

‘Was it not?’ He gave a faint smile. ‘Have it your way, my dear.’

‘Louis, please –’

‘Abbie,’ he broke in, ‘I really don’t care that much any more.’

‘But we didn’t – we didn’t . . .’ She let her words tail off.

‘You didn’t what? What are you trying to say?’

‘We didn’t – things didn’t – go that far . . .’

He gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘Oh, so things didn’t go
that
far, huh? That’s rich, that is. Well, things obviously went some way. Or why else should you be so secretive, so guilt-ridden, so defensive.’ He shook his head. ‘And you have the nerve to be moralistic with me – to remind me of my position and tell me not to bring shame upon you. You’re astonishing, Abbie. That night – the night after you had been with him, Gilmore – you insisted on sleeping in the guest room. I didn’t say anything, but I don’t mind telling you that that, coming on top of what I had just that day discovered, hurt me very much.’ He forward, as if in bewilderment. ‘This thing you’ve got for Gilmore – I don’t understand it. When we married I thought it would be only a matter of time before you got him out of your system. I thought that if I did all the right things you would surely come to love me in time. I thought I would earn your love. But I was wrong, wasn’t I?’ He sighed. ‘I wonder now whether you’ll ever be free of him. I feel as if I don’t know you any more. It’s as if I’m married to a stranger.’ He put a hand on either side of her face and stood gazing at her, his eyes burning into her own. ‘Where have you been these past three and a half years? Not with me, that’s for sure.’