Emerging into the sunlight, they turned in the direction of some lively music and came to where a small group of musicians stood playing, one man a hurdy-gurdy, another a fiddle, and a young woman who played a tambourine. They were playing ‘Love’s Golden Dream’ in a bright, rhythmic tempo. Several young people were dancing to the music, while some of the onlookers sang along with the instruments:
I hear tonight the old bells chime, their sweetest, softest strain;
They bring to me the olden time in visions once again.
Once more beside the meadow land, beside the flowing stream,
We wander, darling, hand in hand, and dream love’s golden dream.
‘Oh, come on,’ Abbie said, ‘let’s join the dancing.’
Beatie demurred for a moment but then, unable to resist, took Abbie’s hand and a second later they were dancing away, their feet skipping over the grass, their skirts swirling and bonnet strings flying.
As the dance came to an end a couple of minutes later, they saw on the edge of the crowd the familiar face of a red-haired young man, Manny, one of Eddie’s friends. Abbie called out to him and he waited as they moved towards him.
‘Your Eddie’s over there,’ he said, pointing, as they got to his side. ‘He’s tryin’ ‘is luck in the shooting gallery. Mebbe you should go and give ’im some encouragement.’
With Manny leading, the two girls moved through the crowd to where Eddie, his hat at a rakish angle, stood at the rifle range along with others of his friends. Nearby, watching, stood a young man holding a coconut, and Abbie realized that he was the one she had seen at the coconut shy, the one who had smiled at them.
As she and Beatie reached Eddie’s side he took a final shot with the rifle. The shot went just wide of the target, however, thudding into the wooden board. As he straightened, shaking his head, he caught sight of his sisters. ‘Come on!’ he bellowed at them. ‘Come and try your luck. You can’t do worse than I ’ave.’ He thrust the rifle towards Beatie, who shrank from it, laughing. ‘Come on,’ he repeated, ‘you’ll be wed soon and there might be a time when you needs to know ’ow to use one o’ these on your old man!’
While there was general laughter from the group, one of Eddie’s friends said, ‘Seein’ as your sister’s to be married, Eddie, I’d ’ave thought you might try to win a little weddin’ present for ’er.’
‘What d’you think I been tryin’ to do!’ Eddie said. ‘I can’t afford to buy ’er nothin’, that’s for sure!’ Then, bending closer to Beatie, he added, ‘Though after what you done last night I ain’t so sure you deserves anything.’ Straightening, he gestured towards the shelves that displayed the various prizes to be won – cheap china mugs and plates, little ornaments of dogs and cats, dolls and gold-coloured lockets on chains. ‘Matter of fact, our Beat, I was after gettin’ you somethin’ from that lot. But I’m afraid you’ll ’ave to be content with the thought; I can’t afford another try.’
‘Why not?’ Abbie asked. ‘You’ve got more money in your pockets.’
‘Oh, ah,’ he answered. ‘But I needs that for a drink. You wouldn’t see a man die o’ thirst, would you? A chap’s sisters are all very well, but they mustn’t be allowed to come between ’im and a drop of good ale.’
Beatie said, ‘But I’m surprised at you, Eddie – missing like that. You’re so good when it comes to rabbits and rooks.’
‘Yes,’ Abbie added, ‘not to mention the odd suicidal pheasant that throws itself in front of your sights.’
He laughed loudly at this. ‘Ah, but that’s with a good gun, ennit? – one with a straight barrel!’ Contemptuously he set the rifle down, adding with a dark mutter, ‘These damn things are fixed. Ain’t nobody meant to win nothin’ with one o’ these.’
While the sideshow owner glared at the impugning of his rifles, Eddie turned to his companions again. ‘Anyway, let’s go and find the beer tent.’ As he moved away he called over his shoulder, ‘I’d ask you two along, but it ain’t no place for tender young things like you.’ Then, with a wave, he and his friends were disappearing into the crowd.
‘So,’ said a voice at Abbie’s elbow, ‘you’re to be married, are you?’
Turning, she saw that the words, directed at Beatie, had come from the young man holding the coconut.
‘Yes,’ Beatie replied. ‘On October the 14th to Mr Thomas Greening of Lullington. Do you know him?’
The young man shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. But there, I don’t know Lullington.’ He was in his mid-twenties, Abbie guessed. Dark-haired, he was smartly dressed in a crisp white shirt and brown corduroy suit with a pink in his buttonhole.
‘You’re not from round these parts, then,’ Abbie said.
‘No, my home’s in Gravesend.’
‘Gravesend? And where might that be?’
‘In Kent. On the edge of the Thames.’ He added, gesturing off, ‘I’ve been visiting a friend in Frome for a few days.’ He touched his cap. ‘My name’s Louis.’ He pronounced it ‘Lewis’. ‘Louis Randolph.’
‘I’m Beatrice Morris,’ Beatie said, and this is my sister Abigail.’
The young man nodded. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you.’
Abbie murmured a greeting then took a step away, preparing to move on. But the young man forestalled her.
‘I was just about to try my own fortune with the rifles,’ he said. ‘Maybe if you stay around for a minute longer you’ll bring me luck.’ Then, without waiting for a response, he turned to the sideshow proprietor and handed him some coppers.
The girls – with Abbie showing a little impatience – stepped to one side while the young man set the coconut down at his feet and picked up one of the rifles. At the same time the sideshow holder, with a practised flourish, stuck a little paper target on to the board. ‘Five shots,’ he said as he stepped back. ‘Four of ’em in the bull or in the inner ring gets you the pick of the prizes.’
Louis Randolph raised the rifle to his shoulder, took careful aim and fired. The lead pellet went
thwuck
into the upper left outer rim of the target. ‘Darn it,’ he said, frowning. ‘It fires high and to the left.’ He reloaded the gun and bent again. There came the sound of the gun’s report and the second slug appeared just inside the ring that encircled the bull’s-eye.
‘He did it,’ breathed Beatie, to which Abbie said drily, ‘Yes, once. He’s got to do it three more times yet.’
Hearing her words, the young man turned and looked at her over his shoulder. ‘How right you are, Miss.’ He reloaded, took aim again, and this time the pellet whacked right into the target’s bull’s-eye. ‘Two to go,’ he murmured and briefly raised his eyes to heaven in a silent little prayer.
He loaded the gun a fourth time, took careful aim and fired again. And another pellet appeared in the target’s inner circle. He breathed a sigh of relief and reloaded the gun. About to take aim, he hesitated, turned to the girls and asked, ‘Do you wish me luck?’
‘Oh, yes, indeed,’ Beatie replied.
He nodded his thanks then said to Abbie, ‘And what about you, Miss Abigail? Do you wish me luck too?’
‘I’m sure I do if it will help you,’ she said.
He gave a little frown. ‘No – no, say it.’
Abbie smiled. ‘Good luck.’
He grinned at her, raised the rifle, took careful aim and fired.
‘You won!’ Abbie cried against Beatie’s words of approval and congratulation. She could hardly believe the sight of the slugs embedded in the target – two in the inner circle and two right in the bull’s-eye.
As Louis straightened and laid down the rifle, the sideshow owner said, ‘Well, now you best choose your prize. What’ll it be? The two vawses – made of genu-ine ‘and-cut crystal? Or mebbe the pair of genu-ine Staffordshire dogs, ‘and-painted by artists?’ He pointed to a shaving set with razor, brush and mug. ‘Or mebbe this fine set, young sir . . .’ He turned his attention to the spectators. ‘There y’are, ladies and gentlemen – you can see as the prizes can be won all right. All this young gen’leman’s got to do now is choose.’
Louis stood there for a moment, then turned to Beatie. ‘Now don’t take this amiss,’ he said, ‘but I’d like to give you a wedding present.’
‘Oh, no!’ she protested. ‘I can’t let you do that.’
‘Please,’ he said. ‘And if you won’t choose then I’ll have to choose something for you – and I know I’d go and pick the wrong thing.’
‘No,’ Beatie said, ‘you must choose something for yourself – or for your mother.’
‘I haven’t got a mother. Nor a sister – nor a young lady for that matter.’ He grinned. ‘Come on, what’ll it be?’
‘Go on,’ Abbie urged Beatie, giving her a little nudge, ‘choose.’
Beatie was almost hopping with happiness and excitement. ‘But why?’ she asked. ‘Why should you do this for me?’
‘Because I want to. Just say what it’ll be.’
After a moment’s hesitation Beatie pointed to one of the shelves. ‘Oh – the teaset,’ she said, almost breathless. ‘Oh, yes! Yes! The pretty teaset with the pink roses.’
The china teaset and its box were brought forward and held aloft by the man to allow the crowd to see what a marvellous prize had been won for so little effort and outlay. There were six each of the cups, saucers and plates, a teapot, a little milk pitcher and a sugar basin. While Beatie ohed and ahed over it the man wrapped the pieces in newspaper, placed them in the box and tied the box with string. A moment later it was being placed in Beatie’s eager hands. ‘Now don’t drop it,’ the man said.
‘Oh, no fear,’ she said, clutching the box to her. ‘I’d never do that.’
Louis picked up his coconut from the grass and the three moved away from the rifle booth. As they did so Abbie turned to Louis and asked whether he had come to the fair on his own.
‘No,’ he replied, ‘I came with my friends.’
‘They’ll be wondering where you are. They’ll think you’ve been stolen by the gypsies.’
He chuckled. ‘Oh, I don’t think they’ll be fretting about that.’ He pointed over to the marquee that the girls had visited earlier. ‘Can I offer you some refreshment? Some tea or some coffee or lemonade?’
Feeling that it would be churlish to refuse his offer after such generosity, Abbie and Beatie accepted, and accompanied him to the marquee. There they drank more tea and ate some little cakes with icing sugar on top. As they emerged into the sunlight some minutes later, Louis gave a wave to someone in the milling crowd, then said to the girls, ‘Will you excuse me for a minute? My friends are there and I just want to have a quick word with them.’
Leaving Abbie and Beatie, he went over to where his friends stood at the entrance to a marquee. Moments later the girls heard a voice yelling out not far behind them: ‘There you are, our Beat!’ and turning, they saw Eddie coming towards them.
Snatching at Beatie’s hand, Eddie said boisterously, ‘Here – you’re comin’ with me!’
Beatie laughed. ‘Where to?’
‘I’m gunna give you a special treat. Though I dunno why – after that business with the ‘oily.’ He pulled her towards him. ‘I’m takin’ you on the merry-go-round and then on the swing boats.’
‘And you’re paying?’
‘What? Of course I’m payin’.’ He gave a rueful shake of his head. ‘Seein’ as I didn’t ’ave no damn luck with that bent rifle.’
‘What about me?’ Abbie said. ‘Do I get to ride on the merry-go-round too?’
‘Eh? Bugger that!’ Eddie laughed. ‘You ain’t gettin’ married! No, and I ain’t got money to waste, neither!’ He turned back to Beatie. ‘Come on, make the most of the offer. It ain’t gunna last for ever.’
Beatie thrust the cardboard box into Abbie’s hands. ‘Look after my teaset, will you? And make sure you don’t break it.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Abbie said. Then as Eddie pulled Beatie behind him into the throng, she called after them, ‘I’ll wait for you here, by the tea tent.’
As Louis came back to her side a moment later she said to him, ‘Beatie’s gone off with our brother, Eddie. He’s going to take her for a ride on the merry-go-round.’
Louis smiled. ‘Would you like to ride on the merry-go-round too?’
‘Me? Oh, no – no, thank you.’
‘I’ll happily take you.’
‘No, really, thank you all the same – though it’s very kind of you to offer.’
‘The offer’s not made out of kindness.’ He was looking at her very steadily. ‘Perhaps you’d like some more tea or something?’
‘Oh, no, I couldn’t drink another thing. What I’d really like is to sit down for a minute. My feet are near to dropping off.’
‘Come on, then.’ His hand touched her elbow. ‘Let’s find a little peace and quiet and a spot to rest for a minute.’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘I should wait here for Beatie.’ She was very much aware of his touch.
‘She won’t be back for a while yet. I could do with a rest too.’
Making no further protest, she allowed him to lead her away, passing between the outer stalls and caravans and tents to where the field was free of sojourners and the grass was still relatively fresh and untrodden.
‘There we are, look.’ Louis pointed towards the edge of the field, where willows hung over a stream. There they walked side by side, eventually coming to a stop where a fallen tree lay beside the running water. Louis put down the coconut, took off his jacket and laid it on the grass. ‘There you are.’
After a moment Abbie sat and placed the boxed teaset beside her feet. ‘That’s better. I need a rest before we start back to Flaxdown.’
Louis sat down beside her, his back against the tree trunk. ‘I’ll walk back home with you and your sister if you like,’ he said.
‘To Flaxdown? Oh, no, thank you. That’s very kind of you, but we’ll be all right.’
‘Like my offer just now,’ he said, smiling, ‘It’s not made out of kindness.’ He paused, observing her closely. ‘I’d like to. See you home, I mean.’
‘No, it’s too far. You’d have a three-mile walk to Flaxdown and then another three to Frome.’
‘That’s all right,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I’m twenty-four, not eighty-four.’
Abbie chuckled. ‘Yes, but even so.’ Turning her head, she saw that over in the fairground two or three lights had come on. The day was dying. She gave a sigh. ‘I love coming to the fair. It’s just a shame it all has to end. Tomorrow everyone’ll be hard at work again.’