So Long At the Fair
| So Long At the Fair | |
| Jess Foley | |
| Random House (2001) | |
| Tags: | Sagas, Fiction |
Synopsis
Growing up in a small Wiltshire village, Abbie Morris knows what lies ahead of her - a life of drudgery as a menial servant, like that of her sisters. But everything changes when Abbie is twelve and their emotional, spirited mother casts them into a crisis for which no one is prepared. Six years later the Morris family have rebuilt their lives, and when Abbie and Beatie, Abbie's adored elder sister, set off for the county fair, the world seems a good place. But their new-found happiness is not to last. A chance encounter with Louis, a personable, handsome stranger, leads to tragedy and has repercussions that threaten to destroy Abbie's peace of mind for ever. Abbie struggles to forget what happened that night, to get on with her life, but when she meets charming, honourable Arthur - and re-encounters Louis - it becomes clear that she might never recover from the night they stayed so long at the fair...
About the Author
Jess Foley was born in Wiltshire but moved to London to study at the Chelsea School of Art, then subsequently worked as a painter and actor before taking up writing. Now living in Blackheath, south-east London, Jess is currently working on a new novel
Too Close To The Sun
.
Too Close To The Sun
.
Praise for
So Long at the Fair
So Long at the Fair
‘Jess has really captured the sense of a family united against great odds. The heroine, Abbie, is strong but flawed as all good heroines should be and as we follow her triumphs and trials we see her change from a girl to a woman in the most dramatic and satisfying of ways’ Iris Gower
‘A jolly good read . . . Abbie is a great character, buffeted by fate but a powerful woman of her time’ Susan Sallis
This ebook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form (including any digital form) other than this in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Epub ISBN: 9781446429808
Version 1.0
Published by Arrow Books in 2002
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
Copyright © Jess Foley 2001
Jess Foley has asserted the right under the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified
as the author of this work
This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters
are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
First published in the United Kingdom in 2001 by Century
Arrow Books
The Random House Group Limited
20 Vauxhall Bridge Road, London SW1V 2SA
Random House Australia (Pty) Limited
20 Alfred Street, Milsons Point, Sydney,
New South Wales 2061, Australia
Random House New Zealand Limited
18 Poland Road, Glenfield
Auckland 10, New Zealand
Random House (Pty) Limited
Endulini, 5a Jubilee Road, Parktown 2193, South Africa
The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009
A CIP catalogue record for this book
is available from the British Library
ISBN 0 09 9415763
Contents
For Victor
PART ONE
Chapter One
In the near darkness Abbie’s foot struck an old tin tray that Lizzie had earlier leant against the table leg. It fell with a clatter. She froze, waiting.
‘What are you doin’ down ’ere?’
She turned at the sound of her brother Eddie’s voice. She could just make him out in the shadows, sitting up in his bed on the far side of the room. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’ Her voice bore the broad accents of the West Country, though not so pronounced as his.
‘Well, you did,’ Eddie said. ‘What’re you doin’ down ’ere, anyway?’
‘Hush,’ she said, ‘you’ll wake the little ’uns. I came down to get a drink of water.’
‘Then for God’s sake get it and leave me in peace. I got to work in the morning.’
Abbie drank from the china mug she held. ‘Eddie,’ she said, ‘Mam’s gone out.’
‘Gone out? What d’you mean?’
‘What I said. She’s gone out – somewhere.’
Eddie struck a match, put the flame to the candle and looked at the clock. ‘It’s gettin’ on for one,’ he said.
Abbie gazed through the window. From behind her came the sounds of Eddie getting out of bed and pulling on his trousers. After a few moments he came towards her, the light from the candle making the shadows dance. She turned to him as he stopped by the table, the candle flame lighting up his grave, earnest face and catching dull gold in his tousled hair. ‘You didn’t hear her leave?’ Abbie asked. Her hair, much darker than her brother’s, had for the night been fashioned into a single plait that hung down her back. She had turned twelve earlier that month of July 1862. Eddie would soon be fourteen.
‘I didn’t ’ear a thing,’ Eddie answered. ‘When did she leave, d’you know?’
‘Ages ago. Soon after ten, I reckon.’
A pause, then he said, ‘Go on back to bed. You’ll catch cold sitting down ’ere.’
Glancing at the range, Abbie saw that the fire had almost completely burned out. ‘Where can she have got to, Eddie?’ she said.
‘I dunno. But she’ll be back soon, I don’t doubt.’
Abbie studied him in the pale light. His lips were compressed, his grey eyes unreadable, shadowed pools. Moving forward, he set the candleholder on the small table beside the window and sat down next to her on the seat. In the short silence that followed, the church clock struck the hour of one.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Abbie said. ‘I heard her go down the stairs and waited for her to come back, but she didn’t. When I went into her bedroom I saw that her bed’s not been slept in.’ She paused. ‘It’s not the first time. Did you know that?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘She went out last week, too – while you were staying at the farm and Father was in Frome. She was quiet but I still heard the door. When I went to the window I saw her goin’ up the lane. It was just gone ten.’
‘Did you ask ’er where she went?’
‘No fear. She’d only get mad.’ She sighed. ‘I wish Father was here.’
‘Well, ’e won’t be back till Sat’day.’
‘I know that. I don’t like it when he works away. I like him to be here.’
‘Well, you’ll be off yourself soon. So you’ll ’ave to get used to bein’ without ’im.’
Silence but for the ticking of the clock and the occasional creaks of the cottage’s settling timbers. Eddie said, ‘Well, there’s no point in us sittin’ ’ere. And she won’t like it if she comes back and finds us up. Anyway, I’m sure she’ve got a good reason. She wouldn’t go off just for nothin’.’ He stood up. ‘I’m goin’ back to bed.’
Abbie didn’t move. ‘Leave the candle,’ she said.
He moved away across the room and Abbie heard the sounds of him returning to his bed. Alone at the window, she gazed out. The scent of the geraniums in the pot on the ledge was fragrant in her nostrils. In the moonlight the roofs and chimneys of the cottages on the other side of the lane were dark silhouettes against the sky. Looking to the left, she could see the wooded hills, beyond which lay the town of Frome. Somewhere an owl hooted. The lane was deserted.
She thought again of her mother having gone out the previous week. The following morning Abbie had found her sitting on her bed, her face in her hands. Closing the door behind her, so as not to alert Lizzie and Iris, Abbie had gone to her. ‘Mam – are you all right?’ Abbie’s voice had been uncertain, tentative, for often, and sometimes when least expected, her mother would react in irritation and anger. This time, though, she had only shaken her head. But then a muffled sob had escaped her and Abbie had realized that she was crying. ‘Oh, Mam, what’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’
Her mother had shaken her head, lowering her hands so that Abbie had seen the redness in her eyes, the tears on her cheek. She was usually so pretty, but not now, not like this.
‘I’m all right,’ her mother had said, wiping her cheeks with her fingers. ‘Go on back downstairs.’
Abbie had done as she was told, but now as the memory returned she realized that there had been anger as well as sorrow in her mother’s tears.
Turning her head, she looked to the right and suddenly there was the figure of her mother coming along the lane. Quickly she rose, picked up the candle and crossed the room. She set it down on the chair next to Eddie’s bed and blew out the flame. ‘Mam’s just coming,’ she whispered – not knowing whether he was awake or asleep – and then, hurrying in the dark, started up the stairs.
She entered the bedroom quietly, closing the door behind her. There were two beds, separated one from the other by the rag rug she had made the year before. In one bed her two younger sisters, Iris and Lizzie, lay asleep. Getting into the other bed she pulled the blanket up to her chin and closed her eyes.
After a little while she heard the soft sound of footfalls on the stairs. Moments later the door opened.
‘Abigail?’ The voice came in a whisper.
Abbie said nothing, hoping her mother would think she was asleep.
The whispered voice came again. ‘Abbie?’ A pause. ‘I know you’re awake so you might as well answer me.’
After a moment Abbie sat up. ‘Yes, Mam?’
‘Come into my bedroom. I want to talk to you. And don’t wake your sisters.’
As her mother turned away, Abbie pushed the blankets back, got out of bed and, in the dark, crept out onto the landing. The door opposite, that to her parents’ room, was open. Abbie went in. Her mother had lit a candle and was standing beside the bed. ‘Close the door behind you,’ she said.
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