Aunt Dimity Slays the Dragon

by Nancy Atherton

  “Are they?” I tried not to show it, but Bill’s words filled me with hope. While I’d spent the day observing the fair’s public face, he’d seen its private side. He’d had ample opportunities to learn all sorts of useful things about King Wilfred, Edmond Deland, and little Mirabel. “Have you heard anyone badmouth King Wilfred?”

  “No,” he replied. “Everyone seems to like Calvin.”

  “Is he popular with the ladies?” I asked.

  “Not a clue,” said Bill. “Why? Are you going to volunteer to play his queen?”

  “I already have my king,” I said, smiling up at him. “Have many women volunteered to play the queen?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know if the position exists. Calvin’s budget may not include a queen.” Bill swept his arm in a wide arc to indicate the whole of our surroundings. “Would you like a tour?”

  “As long as we keep our distance from the padded shirts,” I said warily.

  As we moved through the marquee, I told myself to be patient. Bill’s apparent lack of interest in King Wilfred’s love life was disappointing, but not surprising. My husband was new to the gossip game. He’d need a lot more practice before he could live up to my high standards.

  Bill showed me Sir Peregrine’s shattered lance, explained the heraldic symbols painted on Lucifer’s saddle, and pointed out the fine workmanship that had gone into creating the chain mail. We were examining Sir Jacques’ dented shield when the bottom edge of the tent’s back wall rolled upward a few feet and a young, red-haired squire entered the marquee, carrying a bucket filled with curry combs, hoof picks, and other grooming tools.

  “Harold,” Bill called. “Come and meet my lady wife. Harold le Rouge is Sir Peregrine’s squire,” he explained to me, adding in an undertone, “His real name is Tommy Grout.”

  “No wonder he changed it,” I murmured back.

  Harold stowed his bucket carefully beneath Sir Peregrine’s saddletree, then strode over to meet me. After we’d been properly introduced, and after he’d finished doffing his cap and bowing, Bill asked him if I might borrow a knife from the king’s armory.

  “Your good lady is welcome to mine,” Harold said instantly.

  “I can’t take your knife,” I exclaimed, embarrassed.

  “I have many others, my lady,” said Harold. “You would do me a great honor if you would accept a small trifle from me.” He removed the sheathed knife from his belt and presented both knife and sheath to me on bended knee.

  I accepted them gratefully and saw at once that they were no mere trifles. The leather sheath had been hand-sewn with fine back-stitching, and the knife’s black horn handle was bound in brass. More importantly, the gleaming blade was nearly six inches long and honed to a razor-sharp edge. It would serve my immediate purpose perfectly.

  “Thank you, Harold,” I said. “You have the makings of a most chivalrous knight.”

  “I hope one day to be worthy of the honor,” he said, rising. “I fear I must beg leave of you, friends. My master awaits me at the encampment.”

  “We’ll come with you,” said Bill. “Our sons await us.”

  “I’m glad I didn’t ask him for a pair of tights,” I whispered to Bill as I dropped the knife into my shoulder bag.

  “So is Harold,” he said softly.

  We stifled our snickers and followed the young squire under the back wall and into a small stabling area equipped with a row of hitching posts, two watering tanks, and an assortment of buckets, ropes, rakes, and shovels. The Anscombe Manor horse trailers were parked ten yards away, near the end of a rough track that led, presumably, to the Oxford Road, and the horses had been turned out to graze in a nearby pasture.

  Harold took his leave of us—after more bowing and cap-doffing—and headed toward a row of poplar trees beyond the horse trailers. Will, Rob, Alison, and Billy sat atop the fence surrounding the pasture, watching their ponies, while Lawrence McLaughlin, Emma, and the stable hands stood at the fence, chatting. They were all dressed in period attire, though Emma had covered her leaf-green gown with a voluminous apron. She spotted me and spoke to the boys, who hopped down from the fence and came running.

  “Mummy, did you see us?” Will asked.

  “Did you see us in the procession?” asked Rob.

  “You know I did,” I said, hugging both of them, “because you saw me.”

  “We heard you, too,” Rob informed me.

  “You were loud,” Will said.

  “I must have been,” I said, “if you could hear me above the crowd.”

  “We could,” Bill asserted, with feeling.

  “Perry says we ride better than Jack,” Rob announced.

  “And Jack says we ride better than Perry,” Will declared.

  “What does Emma say?” I asked.

  “She says we need more practice,” said Rob.

  “She always says that,” Will explained.

  “And she’s always right,” said Emma, coming up behind them.

  “You both did well, for a first try, but we’re going to run drills with the pennons next week. We need to keep our hands steadier and our trot smoother.”

  “We’ll skewer the varlets!” Rob cried.

  “A pox upon the knaves!” Will added.

  The boys galloped off to conduct a mock joust on foot while I cast a wondering look at Bill.

  “They’ve been hanging around soldiers all day,” he said. “They were bound to pick up some new phrases. It’s making history come alive for them.”

  “ ‘A pox upon the knaves’? Their teachers are going to love hearing that on the playground.” I shook my head, then turned to give Emma a measuring look. “I never thought I’d live to see the day when you’d doll yourself up like Maid Marian. I nearly fell over when I saw you in the procession.”

  “I know,” she said, with a self-satisfied smile. “It’s fun to surprise people once in a while. The expression on your face was priceless.”

  “Compared to you and Bill, I feel woefully underdressed,” I said. “But I’ll make up for it tomorrow.” I nodded toward the pasture. “Why haven’t you loaded the ponies?”

  “They’re going to spend the night here,” she said. “We’ll bring them back to the manor tomorrow, after the show. Less stress for all concerned.”

  “Emma,” Rob said, returning from his joust. “Did you tell Mummy and Daddy about the feast?”

  “King Wilfred’s feast,” Will clarified, pulling up beside Rob.

  “Thanks for the reminder, my lords.” Emma ruffled Rob’s hair, then turned to me and Bill. “King Wilfred has invited all of us to stay on for the evening feast. I’ve accepted, and so has the rest of our party, but I didn’t want to speak for you.”

  Bill looked at me. “Shall we?”

  “You and the boys shall,” I said.

  Will and Rob whooped joyfully and galloped off to share the good news with Alison and Billy. I contented myself with an inner whoop and silently blessed King Wilfred for giving me the excuse I’d needed to return to the arena alone.

  “Aren’t you going to join us, Lori?” Bill asked. “I’m sure our noble monarch will make room for one more at his banquet table.”

  “Maybe next time,” I said, and went on to tell him the truth without equivocation. “I shouldn’t have worn sandals today. My feet are killing me. I can’t wait to soak them in a hot bath.”

  “You just want to wash away the manly scent of the marquee,” Bill teased.

  “That, too,” I agreed. “I don’t think you and the boys will have any trouble enjoying yourselves without me. Where will the evening feast be held?”

  “In the encampment.” Bill pointed to the row of poplars. “Beyond those trees. I haven’t seen it yet, but I’m told it’s quite impressive.”

  “You can tell me about it tonight,” I said. “In the meantime, I’d like to say hello to everyone.”

  Bill, Emma, and I strolled over to the fence to join the others. I praised the children, visited with the
adults, and bade them all bon appetit when it was time for them to leave. As they moved in the direction of the poplar trees, I turned on my heel and, with extremely bated breath, scurried back inside the marquee. I raced down the central aisle, peeked through the gap in the tent flaps to make sure the coast was clear, and saw to my dismay that the broken rope was no longer dangling from the quintain.

  A surge of apprehension propelled me forward, but by the time I reached the gallery’s lengthening shadow I was angry enough to spit tacks. The sandbag had been dragged over to lean lopsidedly against a fence post, but the rope that had trailed from it was gone. While I’d been touring the marquee and socializing, someone had removed all traces of the murder attempt from the arena.

  I was certain that Edmond Deland was the culprit. Everyone expected him to tidy up the arena, just as he’d tidied up Broad Street after the horses had passed. No one would have objected to his actions or questioned his intentions as he tossed the two useless bits of rope into his wheelbarrow and trundled them away. He could remove and destroy vital evidence with impunity because no one knew that it was vital evidence.

  I scanned the area for Edmond, but I didn’t expect to see him. If he had two brain cells to rub together, I told myself, he’d be standing in front of a bonfire by now, watching my precious evidence go up in smoke.

  I heaved a discouraged sigh, realized that a whiff of medieval soldier sweat still clung to my dress, and decided to call it a day. King Wilfred would have to survive the night without my help. I needed to go home and regroup. Most of all, I needed to speak with Aunt Dimity.

  I thought I would beat the rush by leaving the fair an hour before it closed. Unfortunately, hundreds of other fairgoers had the same idea. A trip that should have taken ten minutes turned into a forty-minute stop-and-go nightmare that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a Los Angeles freeway.

  As Lilian Bunting had foretold, my little lane was clogged by drivers who’d apparently made the mistake of believing that a scenic route could also be a shortcut. I’d discovered long ago that scenic routes in England were almost guaranteed to lengthen any journey. As I inched along, listening to the blaring music, heated arguments, and incessant whining coming from the cars ahead of and behind me, I hoped my fellow travelers would learn from their experience and avoid my lane in the future.

  Stanley greeted me with a piteous mewl when I finally entered the cottage, so I cuddled him, fed him, and changed his water before running upstairs to deposit my dress in the laundry hamper and climb into a bath filled with gardenia-scented bubbles. I stayed there until my feet stopped throbbing, by which time the manly scent of the marquee was but a distant memory.

  Refreshed, I dressed in clean shorts and a long-sleeved T-shirt, then returned to the kitchen to throw together a salad for dinner. It had been a long while since I’d eaten my last honey cake and I didn’t want a rumbling stomach to interrupt my conversation with Aunt Dimity. While I assembled the salad, I also put my thoughts in order. If I couldn’t present them in a calm, coherent manner, Aunt Dimity would be hard-pressed to take me seriously.

  I was washing a handful of radishes I’d harvested from my vegetable patch when the sound of jingling bells floated to me from the back garden. I cocked an ear toward the open window, recalled Jinks’s sly hints about backstage intrigue, and abandoned the radishes to race outside. I was eager to hear everything he could tell me about King Wilfred.

  I found Jinks waiting for me atop the stile, still clad in his jester’s garb.

  “Come down and I’ll feed you dinner,” I coaxed.

  He bowed to acknowledge the invitation, but stayed where he was. “I’m afraid I can’t join you this evening, Lori. My lord and master requires my presence at the feast, but I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten you.”

  “Can you come back after the feast?” I asked.

  “I could,” Jinks allowed, “but you’ll be in bed and asleep by then. The king and his court will be quaffing until the wee hours.”

  “Surely not,” I said, frowning doubtfully. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. The fair will be open. If they spend all night quaffing, they’ll be too groggy to work in the morning.”

  “Quaffing is their work,” said Jinks. “Happily, they recover from drink almost as quickly as they put it away.”

  “Can we meet at the fair tomorrow?” I suggested. “You must have some time off during the day.”

  A puzzled smile curled Jinks’s crooked mouth. “I can’t remember the last time a beautiful woman craved my company. I’d like to think that you’re drawn to my rugged good looks, but since I don’t have any, you must be drawn to me for another reason. What is it?” His eyebrow arched inquisitively. “You’re not still fretting about the broken parapet, are you?”

  If I’d had the severed rope in my possession, I might have shared my suspicions with him, but since I stood there empty-handed, I chose instead to gloss over my concerns.

  “I’m not fretting about anything,” I said blithely. “I’m just fascinated by the fair. I feel as if I’ve discovered a whole new world. I was hoping to talk about it with someone who knows it as well as you do.”

  “Your disappointment cuts me to the quick.” Jinks rubbed his pointed chin and pondered in silence for a moment. “I’ll have a lunch break during the joust tomorrow. Meet me at two of the clock behind the Shire Stage. I’ll provide the viands and we’ll have a good old-fashioned chin-wag while we dine.”

  “I’ll be there,” I told him.

  “Until tomorrow, then.” He kissed his fingertips to me. “Adieu, fair one.”

  “Ciao, cheeky one,” I said, laughing.

  He disappeared over the stile and I returned to the kitchen to finish washing the radishes. I was so hungry by then that I could have eaten them whole, but I cut them up, added them to the salad, and sat down to enjoy my long-awaited meal. A forkful of leafy greens was halfway to my watering mouth when the front door opened.

  “Lori?” Bill called. “We’re back!”

  I whimpered, but put my fork down. A glance at the wall clock told me that I’d left Bill and the boys at the fair less than two hours ago. I couldn’t imagine what had brought them home so early, but after a last, longing look at my salad, I went to the front hall to find out.

  It was almost worth missing a meal to see my romance hero removing the twins’ riding boots. The boys, resplendent in their velvet tunics, sat on the floor with their legs in the air while Bill bent over them, his ostrich feather fluttering. His position gave me a fresh appreciation of men in tights.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “Why aren’t you at the evening feast?”

  “Let’s just say that it’s not a G-rated event,” Bill answered. “I’ll tell you about it later. Right now their lordships and I are going to take much-needed baths. I hope there’s a chance of having an evening feast at home, because we’re starving.”

  “Kill the fatted calf!” Will bellowed, thrusting a small fist into the air.

  “Beer! Beer! Beer!” chanted Rob, pounding the floor with both fists.

  “Oh, dear lord,” I said weakly.

  “While we’re having our baths,” Bill announced, “the boys and I are going to have a little talk about good manners.”

  “An excellent idea.” I jutted my chin toward the kitchen. “I’ll prepare the feast.”

  Since I’d forgotten to stock up on fatted calf, we had salmon patties and a delicious green salad for dinner. Will and Rob didn’t complain, nor did they demand beer instead of milk. They spoke in relatively subdued voices and although they chatted enthusiastically about their day at the fair, they didn’t issue a single threat against a varlet or a knave. Their return to civilized behavior made it clear that Bill’s little talk had not fallen on deaf ears.

  “I don’t think we’ll be attending future feasts,” Bill informed me.

  He and I were curled up on the living room sofa. The boys were in bed, a load of laundry was in the washing machine, and Bill�
�s unwashable hat was on the front seat of the Range Rover. I had no intention of allowing the cottage to be tainted by eau de marquee.

  “Why not?” I asked. “I thought you’d have a great time at the king’s banquet table.”

  “So did I,” said Bill. “But the encampment is . . . not a place for children. Not my children, anyway.”

  “What do you mean?” I pressed.

  Bill pursed his lips. “Do you remember ‘free love’?”

  “Vaguely,” I said.

  “It’s still very much in vogue in the encampment,” said Bill. “And it’s not confined to the privacy of tents or motor homes. It’s right out in the open, where everyone can see. I only hope I got the boys away in time. I don’t even want to think about the pictures they might draw when they’re back in school.”

  “Did the rest of the Anscombe Manor group leave early, too?” I asked.

  “Definitely,” said Bill. “We performed a simultaneous about-face as soon as the first naked bottom came into view. We must have looked like a marching band.” He threw back his head and laughed, but the laugh quickly turned into a yawn. “I know it’s only nine o’clock, love, but I’m beat. Coming to bed?”

  “In a little while,” I said. “I have to hang your costumes up to dry, and I want to tell Dimity about the fair.”

  Bill nodded. He was one of the handful of people who knew about Aunt Dimity’s ongoing presence in the cottage, and he understood better than anyone how much she meant to me.

  “Don’t forget to tell Dimity about the naked bottom,” he said.

  “I won’t,” I promised.

  Bill was half joking, but I wasn’t joking at all. He couldn’t have known it, but he’d provided me with a clue that might prove vital to the puzzle I was assembling. I had every intention of mentioning it to Aunt Dimity.

  We parted at the study’s door. Bill went up to the master bedroom and I made a beeline for the blue journal. I’d had plenty of time to gather my thoughts. If I kept them to myself much longer, I was fairly sure that my head would explode.