“Our cast isn’t nearly as big as the ones you’ll find in the States,” Jinks informed me. “We provide our own garb—”
“Garb?” I said.
“Costumes,” Jinks explained. “We provide our own costumes, makeup, and props. We’re responsible for finding our own digs as well, and I can testify to the fact that our salaries will be modest.” He stroked a frayed spot in his jeans and heaved a martyred sigh. “In the States, popular acts can command as much as ten grand for each performance, but we won’t have acts like that at King Wilfred’s Faire. We’re too new.”
My eyes widened in astonishment. “Ten grand for each performance? That’s a good paycheck for a part-time job. Did Calvin earn that much when he was in America?”
“I’ve never asked,” Jinks said.
“You must have some idea, though,” I said. “He was a town crier.
Do town criers make a lot of money?”
“I don’t know.” Jinks studied his fingernails and added delicately,
“I’m a player, not a producer. It’s not really my business to know how much my fellow players make.”
I ducked my head, chastened. “It’s none of my business, either. I was just curious.”
“You’re an American,” he said consolingly. “You can’t help being curious about money. To me, it’s the least interesting thing about the fair. I’m far more fascinated by the intrigue that goes on behind the scenes.”
“Do tell,” I said, with an encouraging smile.
“I’m afraid I can’t,” said Jinks, getting to his feet. “I promised Cal that I’d meet him in Bishop’s Wood in”—he glanced at his watch—“ten minutes. It was a pleasure to meet you, Lori Shepherd. I must bid you adieu for the moment, but I hope to continue our conversation anon. You will join us tomorrow, won’t you?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I told him.
“Until then, my lady . . .” Jinks executed a comically overcomplicated bow, then sprinted for the stile, vaulted over it, and disappeared from sight.
“Anon,” I murmured bemusedly.
I was still gazing at the stile when I heard the familiar sound of the Range Rover pulling onto our graveled drive. I gave myself a mental shake, then went indoors to greet my husband and sons. I’d intended to meet them at the front door, but Will and Rob rocketed up the hallway and nearly bowled me over while I was still crossing the kitchen.
“Whoa,” I said, catching each of them by a shoulder. “Slow down, and tell me—one at a time—what all the excitement is about. Will? You first.”
“We’re going to ride in the fair,” he said breathlessly.
“Just like the knights,” Rob continued. “King Wilfred has costumes for Thunder and Storm.”
“Calvin has costumes for the ponies?” I said, looking up as Bill entered the kitchen.
“He has caparisons,” Bill said grandly. “They’re fancy cloth coverings for horses. Knights used them in battle to distinguish their noble steeds from the enemy’s. Calvin has extras and he’s going to cut some down to size for the ponies to wear in the jousting arena.”
As pleased as I was to add a new word to my medieval lexicon, I couldn’t help wondering if the world had gone mad. Will and Rob weren’t knights. They were little boys, and little boys had no place in the jousting arena.
“I’m not sure it’s a such good idea for you to participate in the joust,” I began, trying to remain calm.
“We won’t be jousting,” said Will.
“We’ll be in the parade,” Rob announced.
“We’ll carry the king’s banners.” Will held up a grubby finger. “One time a day.”
“And one time around the arena,” Rob added. “Before the joust.”
“What an honor,” I said, greatly relieved. “Why don’t you kick off your boots in the front hall, then go upstairs—nice and slowly—and get out of your riding gear? I’ll be up in a minute. You can tell me all about it while you’re having your baths.”
“Okay,” they chorused.
“But hurry,” Will insisted.
“Five minutes,” I promised. I waited until I heard the thumps of their stockinged feet on the stairs, then turned to Bill. “It’s not just wishful thinking, is it?”
“Nope.” He shook his head and squatted down to stroke Stanley, who’d followed him from the front door to the kitchen. “Calvin Malvern asked Emma if any of her students would like to participate in the king’s procession. Emma made some quick phone calls to parents and ended up with Alison and Billy McLaughlin and, after conferring with me directly, our boys.”
“That’s half the junior gymkhana team,” I said.
“Correct,” said Bill. “Emma thinks it’ll be good for them to ride in an unfamiliar setting. They’ve been practicing all morning.”
“What about their helmets?” I said anxiously. “Medieval banner-bearers may have gone bareheaded, but our sons—”
“Medieval banner-bearers wore soft caps,” Bill interrupted. “But our boys won’t. Emma’s already laid down the helmet law to Calvin, and if she hadn’t, I would have.” He gave Stanley a last rub between the ears, then stood. “Emma may add a few ostrich feathers or a touch of gold paint to the helmets, but no one will ride without one.”
“Will Emma go along to supervise?” I asked.
“It’ll be a team effort,” said Bill. “Emma and a couple of stable hands will look after the ponies, while Lawrence McLaughlin and I concentrate on the children and their costumes. King Wilfred will provide lunch for all of us, which is just as well, because we’ll be there for most of the day. As usual, Kit and Nell will run the stables while Emma’s away. The boys and I have to be at Anscombe Manor by seven tomorrow morning, to load the ponies and transport them to the fair.”
“I’ll come, too,” I offered readily.
“Sorry,” said Bill, shaking his head. “You’re not wanted.”
“Since when?” I said, stung.
“It’s the twins’ decision, not mine,” he informed me. “You’re not allowed to see them in costume until they ride in the king’s procession.”
“Aw,” I said, melting. “How sweet. Do we have the most adorable children in the world, or what?”
Our adorable children chose that moment to bellow from the top of the stairs, “Mummy! Where are you?”
“They’re certainly audible,” Bill observed, wincing.
“I’d better go up before they bring the roof down,” I said, and started up the hallway.
“By the way,” Bill called after me, “I ran into Sally Pyne while I was in Finch. According to her, no one from the village is going to wear a costume tomorrow.”
I swung around to face him. “No one?”
“No one,” he repeated. “Apparently there’s been a general change of heart. Sally told me that her sewing students have agreed to take a look at the fair before deciding whether or not to wear their new outfits.”
I blinked at him, nonplussed.
“I thought you’d want to know,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said faintly, and made my way upstairs
I felt somewhat dashed. Nearly everyone in Finch had taken one or more of Sally’s classes. They’d worked their fingers to the bone to produce elaborate garments for the fair. I couldn’t understand why they were having second thoughts about using them.
I pondered the question while I ran the boys’ bath, and gradually began to have my own second thoughts. My neighbors weren’t stupid, I told myself. Perhaps it would be wise to follow their lead and attend the fair as an observer before jumping into it with my usual abandon. The twins and their ponies could get away with wearing costumes because they would be part of the official pageantry, but until we tested the waters, Bill and I might be better off in civvies.
“Dimity,” I murmured, reaching a decision, “I’m going to make you proud of me. For once, I’m going to look before I leap.”
As I tossed two rubber ducks into the tub, I could almost feel
the warm glow of her approval.
Six
I don’t know who was more excited the following morning—the twins or me. I rose at the crack of dawn to get a jump start on the day, and the twins bobbed along in my wake. We’d already finished our porridge by the time Bill came downstairs for breakfast, and we could scarcely conceal our impatience as we watched him eat his. To keep Will and Rob from force-feeding their father, I hustled them out of the kitchen and into the front hall to help me load the Rover.
I sent them out to the car with Bill’s day pack, which I’d filled with everything I thought he and the boys might need while they were away from home: sunblock, rain ponchos, warm sweaters, snacks, bottled water, a change of shoes for the twins, and a few other odds and ends. A glance at the brilliant blue sky told me that the sunblock would probably be more useful than the sweaters, but I’d learned through hard experience that a fine English day could turn fiendish at the drop of a hat, so I left the sweaters where they were.
While Will and Rob dragged the bulging pack to the Rover, I stowed their costumes in a garment bag, where they would remain until the boys changed into them at the fair. I’d decided the night before to pair their everyday black riding breeches and boots with the tunics Sally Pyne had made for them. Tights and soft leather shoes would have been more authentic, but breeches would be more comfortable, and riding boots, safer.
Sally had done a superlative job on the tunics. Rob’s was a deep sapphire-blue, with exquisite Celtic interlace embroidery done in silver thread on the belt, the stand-up collar, and the wide cuffs, while Will’s was crimson, with gold embroidery. The boys had refused to model their costumes for me—they wouldn’t dress up until their ponies did—but Sally had assured me that the outfits were appropriate for the young sons of a noble family. Her words pleased me no end. My sons had always been little princes in my eyes, so I thought it both fitting and proper that they should dress the part.
I took one last, satisfied look at the tunics, then closed the garment bag and hurried out to join the twins, who’d managed to haul the day pack as far as the Rover’s rear cargo door. They were on their way back to the kitchen, intent on removing their father bodily from the breakfast table, when the man himself emerged from the cottage, clad in baseball cap, polo shirt, khaki shorts, and sneakers.
“Why aren’t you in the car?” he asked the boys, feigning astonishment. “You don’t want to be late, do you?”
Will and Rob scrambled into the Rover. I buckled them into their booster seats, kissed them good-bye, and reminded them to mind their manners. I was about to add a brief lecture on riding safety when I heard Bill give a low whistle. I looked up to see him standing at the cargo door, hefting the day pack.
“I hope you remembered to put the kitchen sink in here,” he said. “We may have to wash King Wilfred’s dishes before the day is through.”
“I knew I forgot something,” I said, snapping my fingers. “Wait here. I’ll run in and get the sink.”
“Never mind,” Bill said, laughing. “Milords and I must make haste. We’ll see you”—he glanced at his watch—“in approximately three hours.” He closed the cargo door, climbed into the driver’s seat, and pulled out of the driveway, bellowing, “Onward, knights of the realm! Your steeds await!”
I ran to the mouth of the drive and waved to them, feeling like a damsel left behind to dust the castle while her men galloped off on a crusade. When the Rover vanished around the first curve, I returned to the kitchen to wash the breakfast dishes, then wandered into the back garden to peer longingly in the direction of Bishop’s Wood.
The air was filled with the familiar sounds of birdsong and rustling leaves, but silence reigned on the other side of the stile. Unlike my sons—and, to be honest, myself—Jinks recognized the virtues of sleeping past dawn.
The builders were awake, though. As I turned toward the cottage, the faint buzz of a solitary handsaw drifted to me on the morning breeze. Someone, it seemed, was finishing a last-minute project at the fair. I wondered if he was working on the three-tiered, moated castle or the gigantic fire-breathing dragon, told myself I’d find out soon, and went into the cottage, tingling with anticipation.
You must be very proud of yourself, Lori.
I smiled down at the blue journal. I’d decided to spend a few minutes in the study before leaving for the fair, and Aunt Dimity’s praise made me feel as though I’d made the right choice.
You’ve exercised an unprecedented amount of self-restraint over the past month, my dear. The old Lori would have clambered to the top of Pouter’s Hill twice a day with a pair of high-powered binoculars to monitor the building site in Bishop’s Wood, but the new Lori has successfully quelled her curiosity.
“Yes, she has,” I said, preening.
You’ve also resisted the urge to peer over the stile at your interesting new neighbor.
“I’m not a Peeping Tom,” I protested.
Of course you’re not. You are, however, a trained and talented member of the Finch Busybody Society. As such, I would have expected you to keep abreast of Mr. Jinks’s activities. You have, however, defied my expectations.
“Thank you,” I said.
Finally, while the old Lori would have worn her medieval finery without pausing to consider the consequences, the new Lori refuses to behave impulsively.
I glanced down at my sandals and my apple-green summer frock and felt a distinct twinge of regret for the costume I’d left hanging in my wardrobe. I’d tried it on a dozen times, after Sally had given me instructions on how to wear it. The long-sleeved cotton chemise came first, then the underskirt, the overskirt, and the apron, after which I would lace myself into the tight-fitting bodice, wrap the leather belt around my hips, and pull the floppy muffin cap onto my head at a becoming angle. A pair of knee-high white socks and brown suede flats completed the ensemble. I’d practiced the routine so often that I could don my garb in less than fifteen minutes, but I hadn’t shown the end result to Bill yet. Like the twins, I wanted to wait until I was in the proper setting to reveal my new look.
“I’m not ecstatic about going to the fair dressed as myself,” I admitted. “I love my peasant clothes.”
The colors Sally had chosen were fairly dull—the chemise and the apron were off-white, the underskirt was hunter-green, the overskirt was rust-colored, and the bodice was a dusty blue—but the costume she’d created wasn’t exactly boring. Although the full skirts were long enough to hide my ankles, the bodice gave me a shape I hadn’t had since the twins had started eating solid foods, and the chemise’s neckline was so low that I’d discovered brand-new places to put sunblock. I wasn’t sure how Bill would react to seeing so much of his wife on display, but I thought I looked rather fetching.
I admire your determination, Lori. While I’d been daydreaming, Aunt Dimity’s handwriting had continued to scroll across the page. It may be vexing to postpone the pleasure of wearing your period attire until you know more about the fair, but your decision to do so is indisputably sensible. I can say without reservation that your cautious, levelheaded approach to the matter is one I would expect from Emma Harris.
“Really?” I said, delighted.
Really and truly.
“You’ve made my day, Dimity.” I looked at the mantelshelf clock and smiled. “I’d better be going. I don’t want to miss the grand opening.”
Have a wonderful time, my dear.
“I intend to,” I said.
I closed the journal, returned it to its shelf, and curtsyed to Reginald. Then I scurried into the hallway, called a hasty good-bye to Stanley, and grabbed my shoulder bag as I dashed past the hat rack. I climbed into the Mini at precisely nine-fifteen. Although it would take me no more than ten minutes to drive to Bishop’s Wood, I didn’t think it would hurt to get there early. Apart from that, I was fed up to the back teeth with waiting.
Unfortunately, I had to wait a little longer than usual to back out of the driveway, because I was held up by a string
of cars cruising along my lane. Most were driven by neighbors, who waved as they drove past, but at least a dozen were driven by sunburned strangers with screaming children in the backseats and loud music on the radios. Since my lane wasn’t even included on most road maps, I was surprised to see so many unfamiliar drivers using it. Perhaps Mr. Barlow had been right, I told myself. Perhaps the fair would cause traffic problems in the village. I experienced a moment’s concern, then began to laugh.
“You’ve lived in the country for too long, Lori Shepherd,” I said to my reflection in the rearview mirror. “Six cars do not constitute a traffic jam.”
I shook my head at my own foolishness, backed cautiously into the lane, and gave the Mini a little extra gas. I didn’t want to be the last one to arrive at the fair.
My cheerfulness increased tenfold when I saw the sign on the Oxford Road marking the turnoff to the fair. The billboard was ten feet tall and at least twelve feet wide, and its bright red Gothic lettering was bracketed by delightfully lurid paintings of a fearsome black dragon and a rearing unicorn.
KING WILFRED’S FAIRE
OPEN: SAT & SUN
JULY & AUGUST
10 AM-5 PM
WWW.KINGWILFREDSFAIRE.COM
I smiled at the Web site address, knowing that Calvin Malvern would take particular pride in adding his Ren fest to the list of those that had inspired his dream, but the lurid paintings turned my smile into a broad grin. I felt as if I were being rewarded for my patience, as if the ferocious dragon and the noble unicorn were mere hints of still more splendid surprises to come.
I followed the arrow directing me onto a newly graded dirt road to my left and drove along it until a spiky-haired young woman in disappointingly modern blue jeans and a boring white T-shirt waved me into the pasture that had become a parking lot. When I saw the number of cars that were already parked there, I wished I’d left the cottage earlier.
I was in such a hurry to catch up with the rest of the fairgoers that I almost forgot to lock the Mini. I never locked it when I was at home or in Finch, but the sight of unfamiliar cars on my lane served as a salutary reminder that I was no longer surrounded by people I knew and trusted.
Aunt Dimity Slays the Dragon Page 6
