by Jess Foley
‘Now,’ Louis said, ‘tell me what it is.’
‘You did mean it, didn’t you?’ Abbie said. ‘What you said last night?’
‘What was that? We said many things as I recall.’
‘Oh – Louis . . .’ She gave a deep sigh. ‘I shouldn’t have come, I know it.’
‘For goodness’ sake, Abbie, what are you talking about?’
She took a breath. ‘Last night you asked me to marry you . . .’
‘And you told me you needed time to think it over.’
‘Well, I have – thought it over.’
He said nothing – just waited for her to go on.
‘I have,’ she said again, ‘– thought it over.’ She took another deep breath, then laid her hand over his own. ‘I came here to say that I’ve thought it over, and I will marry you, Louis. I’ll marry you just as soon as you like.’
‘Oh, Abbie,’ he breathed, ‘you’ve made me so happy. When I saw you I couldn’t imagine what it was that had brought you here so early. It did cross my mind that you had brought an answer to my proposal – but I didn’t really dare to hope.’ Putting his arms around her, he drew her to him, holding her near. Feeling his closeness, the strength of his arms, Abbie felt again that sense of safety and secureness that she had known when he had held her last night on the common. It was such a good feeling – not only in itself and for its own sake, but also coming after all the recent uncertainty in her life. And why should it not always be there, she said to herself. It could. For she would forget Arthur – indeed, she had no choice, for he was now a part of her past. And commitment to a new life, a life with Louis, would be in part an affirmation of her determination to find a different future for herself. Yes, marriage with Louis . . . it was, she told herself, the best thing – the right thing – for her to do.
And even as she remained in the circle of Louis’s arms she found herself stabbed by guilt. He deserved to know the truth. He had to. Abruptly drawing back out of his grasp, she said, ‘Louis, this is no good – I haven’t been totally honest with you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I – I have to tell you what happened.’
‘I don’t understand . . .’
She told him then of the scene with Mrs Hayward and that she had quit her position in the household. ‘This isn’t the way you’d want it,’ she said,’– my acceptance of your proposal. I mean – if I don’t marry you I’m out on the street with no job and nowhere to stay. You could say I wasn’t faced with the most difficult choice. Please – forget it – forget that I said yes. It’s not right. It’s just not right.’
‘Right?’ he said. ‘Oh, Abbie, we’ll make it right. Listen, I’m just glad that you’re willing to marry me. Don’t change your mind.’ He took her hands in his. ‘Believe me, I do realize that your decision hasn’t been prompted by any wild passion for me. More’s the pity, but there it is. I didn’t expect it to be. And if it took a little push from your Mrs Hayward to concentrate your mind and get you to reach the right decision then I’m not going to be critical. I might even send her some flowers.’
‘Louis – be serious, please.’
‘Of course.’ He gave a little chuckle. ‘Abbie, you must allow me some levity. After all, you’re going to marry me. I’ve got what I wanted.’ He gazed at her for a moment or two longer, then said, ‘Now – we must be practical. I think we should marry soon, don’t you?’
She nodded. ‘All right . . .’
‘Well, I don’t see any point in waiting. I’ll take you back to Mrs Hayward’s house now, so that you can pick up your things. Then we’ll go to Paddington and get the first available train to Frome. Can you stay with your brother in Flaxdown while the banns are called?’
‘Yes, I should think so.’
‘Fine.’ He got to his feet, drawing her up beside him. Holding her close, he kissed her briefly on the mouth. ‘Now,’ he said as he released her, ‘we must get busy. We have a great deal to do.’ Taking her arm he linked it in the crook of his own and led her towards the vestibule. As they reached the doorway he smiled down at her. ‘Oh, Abigail,’ he said, ‘you’ve made me the happiest man.’
PART FIVE
Chapter Twenty-Eight
‘Oh, Mama, can’t I come with you?’
Abbie was sitting at her dressing table, doing her hair when Oliver’s small, pleading voice came to her. She turned and bent to him.
‘I’m sorry, darling. It’s too cold out today. You stay home in the warm with Maria.’ As she spoke she glanced at the young nursemaid who hovered in the background. ‘I shan’t be late back.’
She smiled encouragingly and the child gave a resigned sigh and turned away. Oliver was two years and eight months old. He was a bright, clever little boy in whose dark hair and blue-grey eyes Louis could clearly be seen.
Louis entered the room, wearing his overcoat and hat. ‘Are you nearly ready?’ he said to Abbie. ‘I’ve hitched up the carriage.’
As Abbie murmured that she was ready but for her hair he turned to his son and lifted him up. ‘And a little kiss for your papa? To keep him warm on the road?’
Oliver pressed his lips to his father’s cheek, then asked, ‘Can I come with you?’
Abbie smiled. ‘I’ve already told him it’s not possible.’
‘I’m sorry, Ollie,’ Louis said. ‘We’ll go out another day.’ He set the boy down on the carpet and Maria came, took his hand and led him from the room. Louis checked his watch with the clock. ‘Abbie, we must go or I shall be late.’
She sighed. ‘Don’t you think they could manage without you for once?’
‘They’re expecting me and I must be there.’
‘Of course you must be there. When are you not.’
Louis said with a little sideways smile, ‘If I didn’t know you better I might think you wanted to spend the time with me. Fortunately, I’ve learned not to be so foolish.’ He looked at her as she finished pinning her hair; she was studiously ignoring his remark. ‘I’ll wait downstairs,’ he said.
When he had gone from the room Abbie sat there while the sound of his footfalls faded on the stairs.
Letting fall her hands, she gave a deep sigh. Things were not getting better between them. The situation seemed to her to be deteriorating by the day. And Louis must feel the same way, she thought. He had to; it was obvious even to someone less perceptive than he.
Last night had marked another turning point. She had had one of her nightmares. The same dream, the dream where the weight was in her arms, and she had been unable to put it down. She had cried out in her sleep, ‘No, no . . .’ waking and sitting bolt upright. Then Louis’s arms had come around her. But tentatively, not with certainty, as would once have been the case – for now he was never sure that there would be no rebuff. And true to her form of late, she had given him the rebuff that he had half expected, brushing aside his would-be comforting arms with a frown of irritation. ‘It’s all right. I shall be all right.’
‘Would you like some water? Anything?’
‘No, I told you: I shall be all right.’ How can I be like this? she had asked herself, but the question had brought no answers. Or at least none that she had cared to dwell upon.
Later, just before she had fallen asleep again, with her back to Louis in the bed, she had been aware of his breathing. He was not sleeping, she was sure. His breathing was not that of a sleeping man.
She did not know what to do. Now gazing at her reflection in the glass, she felt almost as if she were seeing the face of a stranger. She looked different too. The young girl she had known had long gone, and gone for ever. She was twenty-seven now. And she could see in her face the passage of those twenty-seven years. She was still good-looking, but studying herself closely she could see the signs and scars of tensions and dissatisfaction. It was there in her eyes, in the set of her mouth.
And sometimes, at moments such as this, she would find herself wondering at her situation, pondering on her feelings of dissatisfac
tion. For she had so much; so much more than she had ever dreamed of having. How different was her life from those of her brother and sisters. As things were they could never hope to have the comforts that she now took for granted. She had none of the financial concerns that touched their lives, and which had touched the lives of her parents. Not for her a daily struggle to make ends meet, to work hard all day with so little monetary reward. She knew that in the eyes of Eddie, Lizzie and Iris she had everything. Yet at the same time, on occasion she viewed their comparatively poorer circumstances with something approaching envy; Eddie and Violet were extremely happy, she knew – as were Lizzie and her Adam. As for Iris and her young man, she knew that they were well suited and planned to marry before long. Such comparisons did little good in the long run, however, she was well aware; considerations of others’ lack of ease and comfort could not for one moment take away her unhappiness with her own situation. And the realization simply made her ask herself again and again, why? Why?
From the foot of the stairs Louis’s voice came calling up, breaking into her thoughts: ‘Abbie, we must go. I did tell you that I mustn’t be late.’
‘I’m coming.’ She pushed one last pin into place, gave her hair a final pat and reached for her hat.
A few minutes later Louis was helping her into the carriage. As they drove away she looked back and saw Maria and Oliver at the nursery window. She waved to them and they waved back.
The mid-January day was crisp and cold. The pony’s hooves rang on the hard road while his breath vapoured in little clouds above his rhythmically jogging head. Abbie kept her eyes on the road ahead as they drove, as did Louis, with only an occasional brief remark disturbing their silence. Reaching Flaxdown, Louis pulled the carriage to a halt near the entrance to Green Lane and helped Abbie down. ‘Shall I call for you when I’m through?’ he asked.
‘No, I don’t want to be too late so I’ll get a cab. You go on home when you’re finished.’
As she turned away Louis flapped the reins and the cob set off again.
Eddie and Violet and the children were all at home, as they usually were on a Sunday afternoon, and as Abbie entered the cottage the two girls came running towards her. Sarah was five years old now, and her younger sister, Eveline, was three.
‘Did Louis bring you?’ Eddie asked as Abbie took off her coat and hat.
‘Yes. He’s assisting at a post-mortem examination at Keyford, just off the Frome road. I shall take a fly back home.’
While the children played on the hearthrug the three adults sat around the fire.
‘Oh, I forgot,’ Abbie said, ‘I heard from Iris in the week.’ From her bag she took a letter and gave it to Eddie. He opened it and read it, then passed it to Violet.
Iris, very much in love with young Alfred Timson, he who had been so solicitous at the time of her accident, had recently left Radstock for London. She had gone there solely to be with him. On the death of his employer, he had returned to the capital to live, having been offered work there as a musician with the London Steamship Company.
In her letter Iris had written to say that she was getting on well in her new position in Bayswater, and was looking forward to the summer and the day of their wedding.
‘I wouldn’t want to live in London,’ Violet said, handing the letter back to Abbie. ‘But I s’pose I would if I had good enough reason to.’
‘No doubt Iris thinks she has,’ said Eddie. ‘Though why the two of ’em couldn’t have stayed in Radstock beats me.’
‘Alfred’s family’s in London,’ Abbie said. ‘Besides, he’s a musician. That’s what he’s happiest doing. And where would he find employment as a musician in Radstock?’
‘Could you go back to living in London, Abbie?’ Violet said.
‘I don’t know,’ Abbie replied. ‘Though there’s so much to do there – not like Frome or this place.’
With Eveline beginning to be fretful, Violet scooped her up and set about getting her off to sleep in a corner of the sofa. At the same time Sarah climbed onto Eddie’s lap where, cradled in his arms, she was soon asleep. Violet observed the scene of relative peace and said, ‘While I’ve got a minute I’ll go upstairs and finish making the beds. Then I’ll come down and get us some tea.’
When Violet had gone from the room Eddie said, ‘You reckon you’ll ’ave any more kiddies, Abs?’
‘No,’ she said at once, ‘I shouldn’t imagine so.’
‘I reckon it’s best to ’ave more than one,’ he said.’ ‘An only child gets lonely. And it’s best to ’ave ’em when you’re young, too, if you can. How long you been married now? Must be about three and-’alf years, eh?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Don’t you want any more children?’
‘No, I don’t.’ She waved a hand, dismissing the question and the subject along with it.
Eddie gazed at her in silence for a few moments then said: ‘You don’t sound that ’appy.’
‘What makes you say that?’
He gave a half-smile. ‘Abbie, I might not ’ave the learnin’ you’ve ’ad, but that don’t mean I’m blind nor stupid. I know you of old – and I can read the signs.’
‘Oh, yes, Mr Clever,’ she said, smiling.
Frowning, he studied her in the firelight. ‘Why are you so dissatisfied, Abbie? And I don’t mean just lately; I’ve seen it for a good while now.’
‘Eddie – you’re imagining things.’
‘No, I ain’t,’ he said, then added with a sigh, ‘You and Louis, right?’
After a moment she gave a reluctant nod, sat for a moment staring into the fire, then said, ‘I don’t know what went wrong, Eddie. I had such hopes. But – I don’t know – nothing turned out the way I thought it would.’
‘And why was that, d’you suppose?’
She gave a shrug. ‘I don’t know. I thought we would be happy. Particularly when Oliver came along. And we were for a while but . . . it didn’t last. I don’t know where or how it went wrong.’
‘Are you sure you don’t know?’
‘Of course I’m sure. If I knew I could do something about it.’ She frowned. ‘What exactly are you trying to say?’ Then before he could reply she gave an awkward-sounding little laugh and said, ‘I don’t think I like this conversation.’
‘I’d like to ’elp you, Abbie.’ He paused. ‘You don’t still think about ’im, do you – the other one?’
‘Who?’ She forced herself to keep looking at him.
‘You know who I mean. Arthur Gilmore.’
‘Oh – him.’
‘Yes –’im as you promised to marry – and then didn’t.’
‘I didn’t have any choice in the matter.’
‘No?’
‘You know I didn’t. In case you’ve forgotten, Mother came back. To live with me. And she depended on me. Totally.’
He gave a little shrug.
‘Well, you know she did,’ Abbie said. ‘You wouldn’t help.’
He nodded. ‘Well, you’re right there, sure enough.’
‘Anyway, what’s any of this got to do with Arthur? You’re imagining things.’
‘Am I?’ he said drily. ‘Look, I know why you went to London when you left the village school here. You could have gone anywhere, but you chose to go to London because he was there. You thought everything would go back to the way it was before our Mother returned, didn’t you? Only it never did.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Eddie,’ she said – she could almost feel herself flushing with embarrassment – ‘you don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Don’t I? I think I do. And you know I do. I ’ear you tellin’ me that your marriage hasn’t worked out the way you’d hoped, and I’m just looking for reasons why.’ He eyed her carefully. ‘Does Louis know?’
‘Does he know what?’
‘About Gilmore? Your going up to London in the hopes of marrying him.’
‘Don’t say such things,’ she said sharply. ‘You’re so sure
of yourself, aren’t you? Suddenly you know everything.’
‘Well, I know that you were so desperate to get to London that you wusn’t even particular what job you took – taking the first one offered and getting yourself in with that crazy woman. Oh, I guessed what ’ad ’appened. One minute you’re off to London and just four months later, after Gilmore’s wed another, you’re back with plans to marry somebody else. It don’t need a professor’s brain to understand that picture. Either you fell suddenly and desperately in love with Louis – which I find a bit hard to believe – or else you made use of ’im.’
Abbie got up from her seat. ‘I’m not listening to this!’
‘Not too loud,’ Eddie said calmly, ‘or you’ll wake the girls.’ He shook his head. ‘I feel sorry for Louis, I really do.’
As Abbie’s anger rose higher she felt tears welling in her eyes. Furiously she fought them back. ‘I came to spend a pleasant hour or two with you and Violet, and instead I get these accusations. One day you’re going to be too sharp for your own good.’ She reached for her coat, pulled it on. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t stay for tea. Please give my apologies to Violet. Tell her I’ll come and see her again soon.’ She added, ‘And that’ll be at a time when I can sit and relax without being accused of I don’t know what.’
At that moment there came the sound of footsteps on the landing above. Not wishing, in her present state, to face her sister-in-law, Abbie moved to the door. ‘I’ll see you some time, Eddie,’ she said. ‘Goodbye.’
Outside she hurried along the lane, not looking back, not wishing to see whether Violet was standing at the open door.
Making her way to Barton’s stables, she was just drawing level with the Harp and Horses when she heard Eddie calling her. Glancing back she saw him running towards her, pulling on his old overcoat as he came. She ignored his call and kept going.
He soon caught up with her. ‘Hang on,’ he said, a little breathless after his dash from the house. Catching at her arm, he brought her to a halt. ‘Give a chap a chance, will you?’
