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
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
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