So Long At the Fair (8 page)

She had worked hard in preparation for such an eventuality, and not only as regards academic learning. She had been working, too, on her speech. She knew that were she to speak to the members of the Board in the vernacular and accents of the village she would be doomed before she had a chance to show what learning she had acquired. She had suffered a good deal of teasing from Eddie to begin with, but she was persevering. Now when she spoke there was not a dropped aitch to be heard.

And now, after all her work, she was of the opinion, as was her father, that she was ready to meet the Board – which was the reason for his visit to the Revd Hilldew, who was the Board’s chairman.

Abbie moved to the window and looked along the lane. There was no sign of her father. Turning back to the table she sat down, took up her pen again and continued with her letter to Beatie:

She read the letter through, folded it, sealed it in an envelope and, along with those to Lizzie and Iris, put it on the mantelpiece. She was just about to put her writing materials away when her father entered.

‘I’m just making tea,’ she said as he took off his hat. ‘I wondered where you’d got to.’

He hung up his jacket and sat down, and in silence Abbie pulled off his boots and brought him his slippers. When she had poured and handed him his tea she sat facing him from the chair opposite. ‘Well?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘Well, I saw the vicar. And he was very sympathetic and understanding.’ He took a swallow from his cup. ‘But of course the fact that you left school at twelve doesn’t exactly help your case.’

‘Did you tell him I’ve been studying?’

‘Of course. And I said you were doing extremely well, and that you’re a very clever young woman.’

‘What did he say to that?’

‘Nothing much; it was what he’d expect me to say. Anyway, he says you must write him a formal letter of application. Then he’ll consider speaking to the other members of the Board to see about them giving you an interview.’

‘Oh, Father, that’s wonderful! Did he say when the interview might be – if I get one, that is?’

‘As soon as the Board meets, which will be next month, so he said.’

‘Oh, it’s a terrifying prospect – but all the same I wish I didn’t have to wait.’

‘It’s all to the good,’ he said. ‘It means you’ll have time to prepare.’

Sitting down at the table again, she wrote at once to the Revd Hilldew, making her application. When she had finished the letter she read it aloud to her father, who nodded his approval, and signed it. After sealing the letter in an envelope, she turned in her chair and regarded him in the soft glow of the lamp. She could almost feel his belief in her. She
would
do well; she was determined. And she knew that by doing so, by succeeding, she would be helping him to fulfil himself.

Since her mother’s departure she had grown even closer to her father – as, she realized, had her brother and sisters.

‘Do you miss her, Father?’ she asked after a moment.

He looked at her in surprise. ‘Your mother,’ he said; a statement.

Abbie nodded.

‘What brought that question on?’

She shrugged. ‘Sometimes I’ve wondered.’

A moment of hesitation, then: ‘No, I don’t.’

‘Do – do you think about her?’

He frowned. ‘Oh, Abbie, that’s all in the past. Have we got to talk about such melancholy things?’

She said nothing. After a second or two he went on, ‘Yes – I think about her now and then. But I don’t miss her.’

‘Neither do I,’ Abbie said. ‘And I wouldn’t want her back. Not now.’ She paused. ‘But you loved her once.’

‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘Oh, she was a beautiful girl, your mother. And I thought she was so sophisticated – the way she dressed, the way she spoke. I was determined to have her if I possibly could.’ He sighed. ‘And I did. Though I’m afraid she married me as an escape.’

‘An escape?’

‘I came to realize it later. She hated her work. She was never cut out to be a governess – being patient with other people’s children. And there I was – a young man with no ties. One of the few single men in the village who could read and write. I suppose she thought that together we – we’d amount to something.’ He smiled, shaking his head. ‘But it didn’t happen like that. We had children. And as a result she felt trapped. Oh, I knew long before she went that she didn’t love me. I’d got used to living with that idea.’

Into the silence that fell in the room Abbie said, ‘Sometimes I almost hate her.’

‘No,’ he said, ‘you don’t mean that. Some women are just not cut out to be mothers. Motherhood comes naturally to most of them – but not to all’ He got up from his chair and put his empty cup on the table. Then, stepping to her side, he gently touched a hand to her hair. ‘Don’t be too quick to judge her, Abbie. It’s like I said – I was probably equally to blame. And I was luckier – I didn’t have to run away to find what I wanted. I had it here – in my children. I didn’t need anything else.’

Chapter Six

Abbie stood back from the glass and looked at her reflection, while Jane, at her side, studied her equally judiciously. Jane had recently arrived back in Flaxdown for her annual summer leave. From now on it would be more difficult for her to visit, for once she returned to her post – she was now situated in Trowbridge – she would be accompanying her employers to London where they were to take up permanent residence. So she and Abbie were making the most of their time together, going off on jaunts to the market, taking leisurely walks, or on occasion, when the weather was fine enough, swimming in the river or the old clay pit. Swimming was one of their favourite means of relaxation on warm days, and whenever the rare opportunity arose they took it.

Today, however, was not a day for relaxation. Today was the day of Abbie’s interview with the Board of School Governors, and Jane had come to give her moral support and help her get ready.

To her brown voile dress Abbie had attached a beautifully wrought lace collar lent to her by Jane’s mother. It was a perfect foil for the plainness of her dress and she now looked almost elegant. Her hair, dressed by Jane, had been carefully fashioned into a chignon.

When she had put on her bonnet and cape – and gloves borrowed from Jane – she was ready to leave. Jane walked with her to the vicarage, wished her good luck and left her. Abbie watched until Jane had gone out of sight beyond the privet hedge, then walked up the drive to the front door and rang the bell. The door was opened by a maid who took her cape and showed her into the front parlour.

After a few minutes the Revd Hilldew came in. ‘Ah, Miss Abigail.’ He came towards her and she got to her feet and briefly took the soft handshake he offered. A short man in his late forties, he had a stocky build that gave no indication of frugality or self-denial. Abbie had always found him pleasant enough, however, notwithstanding that his sermons were overlong and inclined to ramble. ‘The other members of the Board are here,’ the vicar said. ‘We have just one or two other matters of business to get through, then I’ll call you in. We’ll try not to keep you waiting too long.’

Twenty minutes later Abbie was ushered into the dining room where she found herself faced by the five members of the Board. They were seated around an oval dining table which was covered with a green velvet cloth. She sat down and the Revd Hilldew introduced her to the men, who in turn murmured brief, formal words of greeting. She knew all the faces there, including that of Mr Carstairs, the school inspector. He sat on the left, a short, thin man with spectacles. She could well remember from when she was at school the fear he had instilled into the hearts of students and teacher alike when he came into the classroom to carry out his annual inspections. Seeing him now, with his cold eyes and wide, unsmiling slit of a mouth, she felt that old fear reawaken.

Beside Mr Carstairs sat Mr Bradfield, the squire and local magistrate. A large man, in both girth and height, he dwarfed Carstairs, and the Revd Hilldew who sat on his other side. For all his physical stature and social elevation, however, Abbie had no fear of him. She had encountered him at a distance frequently over the years – when she and Jane had watched him and his friends riding in the hunt, or when he had presided at fêtes in the grounds of the Manor House or visited village fairs and other social gatherings. He had always appeared to be genial and considerate, and as far as the gentry were held in any kind of affection by the villagers he could claim to be among that small, privileged number.

The man who sat on the immediate right of the Revd Hilldew was the obligatory representative of the nonconformist church, Mr Yates, the local Baptist minister. He was even thinner than Mr Carstairs and, with his pink, clean-shaven face and fine, delicate hands, looked untouched by life and experience. His expression was unreadable; whether he was well- or ill-disposed towards her, Abbie could not tell.

On the far right sat the fifth member of the Board, Dr Parrish. He, in his mid-thirties and easily the youngest, was a rather good-looking man of medium stature with dark, thinning hair. He was fairly new to the area, though Abbie had seen him from time to time going about the village on his calls.

‘We have your letter here,’ said the Reverend, glancing down at it. ‘One difficulty, of course, as I told your father, is that your own schooling finished when you were only twelve years old and it isn’t usual for the School Governors to employ schoolteachers who have had so little formal training. Our teachers are usually taken from among those young women who have remained on at school and served an apprenticeship by helping incumbent teachers.’

At this the school inspector opened his thin lips and murmured, ‘Quite.’

‘However,’ went on the Reverend, ‘you and your father tell us that you have been studying in your own time. Would you like to tell us a little of what you’ve been doing in this respect?’

Abbie was so nervous that as she went to speak she found her mouth so dry that the inside of her upper lip adhered briefly to her gum. She wet her lip, swallowed, took a breath and said, ‘I’ve been studying history, sir – and geography and English – and arithmetic.’

The five men looked at her, obviously waiting for her to amplify her answer. When she did not, the squire said, a faint smile lifting his red cheeks, ‘And you obviously consider yourself qualified to teach, my dear.’

Abbie nodded. ‘Yes, sir, I do.’

Mr Carstairs said – his smile taking nothing from the antipathy Abbie sensed – ‘That’s all very well, of course, but without your having some certificate of proficiency or acceptable references I’m afraid your opinion doesn’t count for a great deal.’

‘Well, now,’ said the squire, ‘I don’t think we need to be too hard on the young lady.’ He smiled encouragingly at her. ‘I’m sure she finds this experience daunting enough as it is.’ He glanced briefly at the other members of the panel, referred to a piece of paper before him, then added, ‘If a man earns ten shillings and sixpence a week, for fifty-two weeks, minus three weeks due to sickness, how much would he earn altogether?’

The abrupt question took Abbie by surprise and for a moment she sat in panic, fingers touching at Mrs Carroll’s lace collar. Then she answered. ‘Twenty-five pounds, fourteen shillings and sixpence. Sir.’

The squire glanced down at his notes and smiled. ‘Correct. Very good.’

As he spoke, Abbie saw Mr Carstairs flick a glance at Mr Yates, in his eyes a barely concealed contempt for the squire and his method of examination. In the eyes of Dr Parrish, however, Abbie noticed a brief gleam of amusement.

The squire, blithely unaware of the reactions to his questioning, proceeded to give Abbie a series of arithmetical problems to solve, which she answered satisfactorily in each case. In the single instance her answer differed from that prepared by the squire, it was found that it was he who was wrong. When he jovially conceded the error Abbie began to feel a little more confident.

He had not finished, however. ‘Now,’ he said, adjusting another sheet of paper in front of him, ‘the Battle of Hastings. Can you give us the date of that?’

Abbie was aware of further swift glances being exchanged between the school inspector and the Baptist minister. With a nod to the squire, she said, ‘1066, sir.’

‘Correct,’ said Mr Bradfield. ‘What about . . . the Great Fire of London?’

‘It was 1666, sir. I believe it destroyed about 13,000 houses and other buildings – including St Paul’s Cathedral. Though few lives were lost. Seven or eight at most.’

‘Excellent.’ The squire gave a congratulatory nod. He opened his mouth to speak again, but the Baptist minister, Mr Yates, forestalled him.

‘I wonder if you’d care to read something for us, Miss Morris. Allow us to have an idea of your reading ability.’ As he spoke he pushed an open book across the table towards her.