“Did it go on all night?” I asked, surveying their wan faces.
“No,” said Lilian, “but most of us were too worn out after our day at the fair to deal with the situation when we returned home.”
“I was up till all hours finishing Peggy’s new bodice,” Sally put in. “I’m going to make her pay dearly for robbing me of a good night’s sleep.”
“Why did you have to make it overnight?” Emma asked.
Sally’s eyes twinkled. “She heard about the wenches and the belly dancers. I have a feeling that Jasper will be left in charge of the Emporium from now on, while Peggy takes over the stall at the fair.”
“If she goes at all,” Lilian added portentously. “I’m afraid that yesterday’s events have revived her antipathy toward the fair.”
“I’m not too keen on it myself, at the moment,” said Derek. “People threw rubbish out of their car windows as they drove through Finch. We’re lucky no one was hurt.”
“Very lucky,” said Grant. “A beer bottle came within inches of striking Charles on the head.”
We all turned to Charles, to express our sympathy and to make sure that he was all right.
“No harm done,” he said airily. “I must say that when Grant and I purchased Crabtree Cottage, we didn’t expect to find ourselves in the middle of a war zone. We were afraid to stand on our own doorstep yesterday.”
“Finch isn’t normally a war zone,” Lilian assured him.
“It’s normally the most peaceful little village in the world,” I added earnestly.
“It wasn’t yesterday,” said Christine Peacock. “Dick had to use the soda siphon on some idiot who was swinging on the pub sign. After that, he put two of the Sciaparelli boys on the door, to keep drunks away from the pub. Half of the people who drove through the village were squiffy before they got here.”
“The sober ones were just as bad,” said Sally Pyne. “I left my niece in charge of the tearoom while I was at the fair. A riot nearly broke out when she ran out of scones. When she ran out of fairy cakes, she was so terrified that she locked the front door and hid in the kitchen until I got back.”
“Teddy attempted to remonstrate with the invaders,” said Lilian, “but he was outnumbered and ignored. Peggy Taxman was so busy minding the till at the Emporium that she didn’t have time to assert her authority, and everyone else who might have helped Teddy was at the fair.” She bowed her head remorsefully. “I can’t tell you how guilty I feel. While I was off watching magicians and knights, my poor husband was under siege.”
“If you’re guilty, we’re all guilty,” said Bill, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We underestimated the destructive power of irresponsible day-trippers.”
As he withdrew his hand, I saw him glance at his watch, then look toward the boys, who were using willow wands to conduct an action-packed sword fight among the headstones.
“Go,” I told him. “You can leave the Rover here with me. Emma and Derek can take you and the boys to the fair.”
“Shouldn’t we stay here to help with the cleanup?” he asked.
“No, you shouldn’t,” I said. “We’ll have plenty of opportunities to teach our sons civic responsibility. Right now they have a responsibility to their friends. If they stay here, they’ll let Alison and Billy down.”
“What do you think, Emma?” Bill asked.
“I think Lori has a point,” Emma replied. “The show must go on.”
“I agree,” Lilian said firmly. “Rob and Will have earned their moment in the sun. We mustn’t allow the inconsiderate actions of a few bad apples to rob them of it.”
“Hear, hear,” I said.
“Emma can drop me off at home on the way to the fair,” said Derek. “I’ll round up a crew of riding students and stable hands and bring them back with me in the van. We’ll manage the cleanup without you, Bill.”
“Well,” Bill said reluctantly, “if you’re sure. . . .”
“The motion is carried,” said Emma. “We’d better get going. It’s already half past nine. I want to make sure that the ponies have been looked after properly, and I’d like the children to practice carrying the pennons before they ride in the king’s procession this afternoon.”
“I’ll round up the twins,” I said.
“I’ll fetch our garb,” said Bill.
I felt a twinge of regret as I saw them off, but it was a very small one. Although I regretted putting my investigation on hold, my priorities were clear. My village needed me. I wouldn’t have been able to look my neighbors in the face if I’d gone to the fair while they floundered beneath a mountain of trash.
“What happened to the window in the Emporium?” I asked, after I’d rejoined my friends.
“It was struck by a flying mango,” Charles answered. “Five or six little darlings had a food fight in front of the Emporium with whatever they could nick from the greengrocer’s bins.”
“Their parents paid for the produce and the damage to Peggy’s window,” Mr. Barlow told me, “but they didn’t stay behind to clear up the mess.”
“I’m afraid that task has been left to us,” said Lilian.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention?”
Peggy Taxman’s voice was loud enough to wake the dead, but they stayed put, while every living soul in the cemetery swung around to face her. She stood on the church steps, her hands on her hips, her massive bosom heaving with righteous indignation. The morning sun glinting on her rhinestone-studded glasses made it seem as though sparks were flying from her eyes.
“I told you a month ago that it would be a mistake to let Calvin Malvern impose his will on our community,” she thundered. “I told you that nothing good would come of it. I predicted chaos and calamity . . .”
“And profits for the Emporium,” Sally interpolated under her breath.
“. . . and ruin for our village, but would you listen? No, you would not. Some of you have been so foolish as to welcome these undesirables into your homes.”
“Don’t you dare criticize my wizard!” Sally shouted, stamping her foot angrily. “Magus Silveroak is a perfect gentleman.” In an aside to our circle, she explained, “The name on his credit card is Gary Pelham, but he likes to be called by his wizard name. It helps him to stay in character.”
“It’s the same with Merlot,” Christine commented. “The name on his credit card is Albert Moysey, but he won’t answer to anything but Merlot. And I won’t have a word said against our magician or our jugglers,” she went on in a much louder voice. “They had nothing to do with what happened yesterday.”
Newcomers to the village invariably kept their opinions to themselves in Peggy’s presence, but Grant Tavistock set a new precedent by speaking up in defense of the guest he and Charles had welcomed to Crabtree Cottage.
“You can leave our mime out of it, too,” he called. “Simon was devastated when he returned from the fair last night and saw the state of the village.” He read the question in our eyes and added quietly, “His name is Simon Maris, but since he’s a mime, he doesn’t really answer to anything.”
We nodded, our curiosity satisfied, and turned our attention to Peggy Taxman, who was looking daggers at our circle of dissidents.
“You’re missing the point,” she bellowed. “The fair itself brought this blight upon our village. If it weren’t for the fair, Finch would still be a haven of peace and tranquillity. Because of the fair, many of us have lost whatever chance we might have had to win the tidy cottage competition.”
The startled gasp that traveled through the churchyard indicated that I wasn’t the only one who’d forgotten about the tidy cottage competition.
“The judging was to take place this afternoon,” Lilian murmured.
“It’ll have to be canceled,” said Sally. “You can’t see half of the cottages for the rubbish.”
“We’ll never shift it all by this afternoon,” Mr. Barlow said gloomily.
“A time-honored village tradition h
as been disrupted because of the fair,” Peggy continued. “Our lives have been blighted by the fair. If we’d shown some backbone at the May meeting, we could have prevented—” She broke off suddenly and peered toward the village green.
Every head capable of movement in the churchyard swiveled to look in the same direction.
“Do you hear . . . music?” I asked hesitantly.
“It sounds like drums and . . . bagpipes,” Mr. Barlow said, cocking an ear toward the village green.
“Definitely bagpipes,” said Lilian.
“Come on,” I said, starting for the lych-gate. “Let’s find out what’s going on.”
“You can’t leave!” Peggy roared, as her audience followed me into the lane. “You haven’t heard my plans yet!”
“I don’t know what she’s worried about,” Sally muttered. “If she stays here, we’ll still be able to hear her on the green.”
Lilian and I stifled uncharitable chuckles and kept walking. By the time we reached the green, we’d been joined by nearly every villager who hadn’t attended the early service at St. George’s. A
few who were trudging along in bathrobes and bedroom slippers grumbled that they wouldn’t have bothered to set their alarm clocks if they’d known the Scots were going to invade.
Miranda Morrow never went to church, but she was on her knees nonetheless, replanting the trampled flower beds around the war memorial. She waved a muddy trowel at us when we arrived.
“We have visitors!” she announced cheerfully.
Her words weren’t entirely necessary, because we couldn’t have missed the visitors if we’d tried. Forty men from the fair were arrayed in ranks at the bottom of the humpbacked bridge. The first row was made up of foot soldiers in leather jerkins, the second, of courtiers in fine velvets and silks. The last two contained a mixed bag of pirates, Vikings, monks, beggars, and bards.
Most of them looked bleary-eyed, as if they’d stayed up late the night before, quaffing. I couldn’t imagine how they’d managed the long slog from Bishop’s Wood to the village until I saw two of Horace Malvern’s farm trucks parked in front of the tearoom and realized that they’d used modern transport.
Six drummers stood before the assembled men, beating a stirring rhythm on hip-slung marching drums.
“They’re called tabors,” Lilian informed me.
“What are?” I asked.
“The drums,” she replied.
The drummers were flanked by a pair of pipers wearing kilts in muted shades of brown and gray. Their bagpipes were smaller and simpler than the pipes I’d seen in Scotland, and the sound they produced wasn’t quite as deafening.
A short, round-bellied man stood before the drummers, facing us. Like the soldiers, he was wearing a leather jerkin, but his black cape and the black ostrich plume in his cap suggested that he might be their leader. He waited until our group had come to a somewhat befuddled halt in front of the war memorial, then raised his hand to stop the music and strode across the green to meet us.
“I am Sir James le Victorieux, Knight of the Southern Cross, and the king’s field marshal,” he announced. “I come to parley with your ruler.”
The villagers parted automatically to let Peggy Taxman through. She stepped forward and faced the field marshal unflinchingly.
“My lady.” Sir James doffed his feathered cap and revealed a balding pate. “I am commissioned by His Royal Highness, King Wilfred the Good, to offer our services to you. My liege lord has commanded us to restore your charming hamlet to its original, untrammeled condition. I await your permission to proceed.”
Peggy surveyed him from head to foot, then snapped, “Well, don’t stand there like a booby. Get to work!”
The corners of Sir James’s mouth twitched, as if he found Peggy comical rather than intimidating, but he wisely chose to contain his merriment as he acknowledged her order. He turned to face his men, raised his right arm, and brought it down in a chopping motion.
Those of us gathered around the war memorial watched in stunned amazement as the performers responded to the field marshal’s signal. They broke ranks to form squads, retrieved garbage bags and cleaning paraphernalia from Mr. Malvern’s farm trucks, and began to move through the heart of the village, clearing debris as they went.
It was as though a bearded, hungover, and sweaty maid service had arrived to clean and polish Finch until it shone. One squad did nothing but gather soda cans. Another picked up beer bottles. Yet another collected paper trash, and the pirates removed everything else. A bard armed with a bucket and a mop cleaned the tearoom’s doorstep while a Viking scrubbed the schoolhouse doors. A pair of beggars measured the Emporium’s broken display window.
“I’ll brew some coffee,” Christine Peacock said quietly. “They look as if they could use it.”
“A cup of tea never goes amiss,” Sally Pyne observed. “And I think they’ll welcome a bite to eat when they’re done.”
In less than ten minutes, Lilian Bunting, Peggy Taxman, and I were the only villagers remaining on the green. The rest—even the ones in bathrobes—had gone off to prepare a buffet-style meal for the hardworking squads and set it up in the schoolhouse.
“Oh, my,” I said softly. “I don’t know who I love more at this moment—King Wilfred’s men or my neighbors.”
Peggy Taxman snorted derisively. “What’s so wonderful about the king’s men? They’re only doing what they ought. As for our neighbors . . . hasn’t it dawned on anyone that we’ll have to go through the whole process over and over again every weekend from now until the fair closes?”
A truck’s door opened and Horace Malvern climbed down from the cab, a cell phone pressed to his ear. He shoved the phone into his pocket as he hastened toward us.
“Lori, Lilian, Peggy,” he said, nodding to each of us in turn. His brow was furrowed and his ruddy face was even redder than usual. “I’m sorry about all of this. I should have seen it coming.”
“I saw it coming,” Peggy reminded him.
“That you did.” Mr. Malvern paused to glance at his watch, then looked toward Fivefold Farm, frowning.
“Is something wrong, Mr. Malvern?” I asked, suddenly alert.
“It’s gone five past ten,” he said. “We should have heard the cannon by now.”
“I didn’t realize that it could be heard from here,” said Lilian.
“I heard it yesterday,” Peggy told her. “And I was at the counter inside the Emporium.”
I felt a flutter of unease as I followed Mr. Malvern’s gaze, but quickly realized that I was being overly suspicious. I had no reason to worry about a silent weapon. If someone had tried to use the cannon to kill King Wilfred, it would have gone off with a big bang.
“I’ve called in a few favors,” Mr. Malvern said, shrugging off the distraction, “and I’ve made some arrangements that should keep the village from being overrun from now on.”
“What sort of arrangements?” Peggy asked coldly.
“Police officers will set up two drink-driving checkpoints,” he replied, “one at the fair’s car park and one here, in the village. They’ll administer breath tests to anyone who appears to be over the limit. As well, the county is going to put a road crew to work repairing your lane, Lori.”
“My lane doesn’t need to be repaired,” I said.
“I know it doesn’t,” Mr. Malvern said patiently, “but the road-work signs will discourage most drivers from using it as a throughway.”
“Brilliant!” I said, beaming at him.
Mr. Malvern scratched the back of his neck and sighed. “You’ll still have some extra traffic. We won’t be able to keep all of the fair’s patrons out of Finch—”
“Nor would we want to,” Peggy interrupted. “The decent ones are good for business.”
“—but we’ll keep out most of the yobbos,” Mr. Malvern concluded. “There’s nothing like the sight of a few coppers to keep folk on the straight and narrow.”
“If Finch awarded medals for proble
m-solving,” Lilian declared, “you’d receive one, Horace. I’m going straight home to put Teddy’s mind at ease. He’ll want to offer up prayers of thanksgiving for our industrious helpers and our kind and thoughtful friend.” She patted Mr. Malvern’s shoulder and turned toward the vicarage.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have other business to attend to,” Peggy said loftily. “I won’t congratulate you, Horace, until we see if your plans work.”
“I wouldn’t expect her to,” said Mr. Malvern after she’d disappeared into the Emporium. “Nor would I expect her to thank Magus Silveroak for ringing my nephew from the tearoom last night to tell him that the village had been trashed. And I certainly wouldn’t expect her to thank my nephew for sending his men to lend a hand with the cleanup.”
“This was Calvin’s idea?” I said, gesturing to the work crews.
“He put it to the fellows and they agreed to help,” said Mr. Malvern.
“No coercion?” I said.
Mr. Malvern gave me a sidelong, disbelieving look. “Coercion doesn’t work on chaps like these, Lori. If they don’t want to do something, they don’t do it. If you push them, they move on. No, Cal just talked to them, got them to see things from his point of view. He grew up here, remember. Finch means a lot to him. And he wants to stay on Peggy’s good side. If she went to the press to complain, it could spell trouble for the fair.”
“He’s looking out for Finch’s interests as well as his own,” I said.
“Aye,” said Mr. Malvern. “He’s got a good heart, does Cal.”
“So do you,” I said. “In my book, you’re a knight in shining armor.”
“I’m a burgher,” he corrected. “Whatever that is. Will we see you today at the fair, or are you going to boycott it?”
“You’ll see me there,” I said. “I’m going to change into my costume as soon as I get home.”
“I’ll stay here until the men finish,” he said. “But I’ll see you later.”
“See you later,” I said, and headed for the Range Rover.
After speaking with Mr. Malvern, I was convinced that the saboteur was trying to kill or injure Calvin Malvern for personal rather than professional reasons. Calvin might run a tight ship, but he ran it by using persuasion rather than coercion, because he had no other choice. Harsh tactics didn’t work with Ren fest people. If they disliked an employer, they simply moved on to another gig.
Aunt Dimity Slays the Dragon Page 14
