Free So Long At the Fair by Jess Foley Page A

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