Read Online So Long At the Fair by Jess Foley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jess Foley
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opportunities and the long evenings – though they won’t last for much longer; autumn will soon be here. You’d be amazed at the amount of work he’s managed to get done over the past few months; we certainly shouldn’t be short of vegetables for a while yet, anyway . . .
She paused in her writing, tapping the end of the pen against her white, even teeth. Usually her father would have been out on the allotment in such fine weather as this. This evening, though, after he had finished his tea he had changed into his best clothes and set off for the vicarage to see the Revd Hilldew – to discuss with him the question of Abbie’s future. He had left the house at seven fifteen. It was now almost half past eight.
Laying down her pen she got up, filled the kettle and put it on to boil. Moving to her right she stood before the mirror, took a couple of loose pins from her hair and fastened the heavy chestnut braids about the crown of her head more securely. She was eighteen years old now and her reflection was not unpleasing. She had a fine, straight nose; a wide, full-lipped mouth and arched brows. Her skin was soft and clear, and her dark eyes bright. Also – and to her relief – she had grown considerably during the past three years – so much so that on Jane’s last visit to Flaxdown they had discovered that they were almost the same height.
As she turned from the glass she was aware of the quietness of the cottage; the only sound was the ticking of the clock. The appearance of the room had changed in the six years since her mother had left, it now reflecting only the lives and likes of those who were left. Nowadays there were nearly always flowers on the table. On the walls hung several prints – cheap but attractive – chosen by Abbie and framed for her by Eddie. Another frame held a drawing by Iris, who had a talent with her pencil; another an exquisitely wrought little sampler – ‘Old Friends Are the Best Friends’ – from Lizzie. There, too, were her father’s books on the shelves he had built – books that he had previously kept upstairs. And beside them were Abbie’s, the collection growing; books picked up at markets or given to her by various people.
Her books were a part of her work now, and she turned to them every day once her chores around the cottage were done. It had been her father’s suggestion, made within a few weeks of their mother’s going. ‘It’s your opportunity,’ he had said. Now she could continue with her studies as he had wanted her to do; she could work at home and he would give her whatever help he could. Then later, he had said, when they felt she was ready and the time was right, they would apply for her to be interviewed by the Board of School Governors, with a view to being accepted as a teacher.
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:
Eddie has just gone out for the evening – to see his Violet, of course. Though no shrinking violet she, as I know you also think. Still, he’s very taken with her, so it’s not for us to put in our two pennyworth. If he is making a mistake let’s hope he finds it out before it goes on too long. He’s a
She paused in her writing, tapping the end of the pen against her white, even teeth. Usually her father would have been out on the allotment in such fine weather as this. This evening, though, after he had finished his tea he had changed into his best clothes and set off for the vicarage to see the Revd Hilldew – to discuss with him the question of Abbie’s future. He had left the house at seven fifteen. It was now almost half past eight.
Laying down her pen she got up, filled the kettle and put it on to boil. Moving to her right she stood before the mirror, took a couple of loose pins from her hair and fastened the heavy chestnut braids about the crown of her head more securely. She was eighteen years old now and her reflection was not unpleasing. She had a fine, straight nose; a wide, full-lipped mouth and arched brows. Her skin was soft and clear, and her dark eyes bright. Also – and to her relief – she had grown considerably during the past three years – so much so that on Jane’s last visit to Flaxdown they had discovered that they were almost the same height.
As she turned from the glass she was aware of the quietness of the cottage; the only sound was the ticking of the clock. The appearance of the room had changed in the six years since her mother had left, it now reflecting only the lives and likes of those who were left. Nowadays there were nearly always flowers on the table. On the walls hung several prints – cheap but attractive – chosen by Abbie and framed for her by Eddie. Another frame held a drawing by Iris, who had a talent with her pencil; another an exquisitely wrought little sampler – ‘Old Friends Are the Best Friends’ – from Lizzie. There, too, were her father’s books on the shelves he had built – books that he had previously kept upstairs. And beside them were Abbie’s, the collection growing; books picked up at markets or given to her by various people.
Her books were a part of her work now, and she turned to them every day once her chores around the cottage were done. It had been her father’s suggestion, made within a few weeks of their mother’s going. ‘It’s your opportunity,’ he had said. Now she could continue with her studies as he had wanted her to do; she could work at home and he would give her whatever help he could. Then later, he had said, when they felt she was ready and the time was right, they would apply for her to be interviewed by the Board of School Governors, with a view to being accepted as a teacher.
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:
Eddie has just gone out for the evening – to see his Violet, of course. Though no shrinking violet she, as I know you also think. Still, he’s very taken with her, so it’s not for us to put in our two pennyworth. If he is making a mistake let’s hope he finds it out before it goes on too long. He’s a
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