Alice-Miranda to the Rescue

by Jacqueline Harvey

  Darius nodded. ‘Yes, and from what I hear she’s a shoo-in for Best in Show.’

  Myrtle’s face split into a broad smile. ‘Really? So you don’t think Mrs Dankworth’s hound will take out the top spot?’

  ‘It’ll be close I’m sure but, let’s face it, people will be glad to see Mrs Finchley,’ Darius said.

  ‘So you think she’ll get the sympathy vote from the judges?’ Myrtle said.

  Darius frowned. ‘No, that’s not what I meant.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right,’ Myrtle beamed. ‘I’d love to see her win. It would be wonderful.’

  Myrtle Parker returned home at the end of the day exhausted. Reginald was nowhere to be found in the house, so she tripped along the garden path to the shed. ‘Reginald, I’m home,’ she called.

  Her husband stuck his head out the door. ‘Hello dear,’ he said. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘Oh, that would be lovely,’ Myrtle replied.

  ‘I’ve just made one for Barry and me,’ he said.

  Myrtle’s face fell as she reached the shed and poked her head inside. ‘You’re here. Again.’

  ‘Hello Mrs Parker,’ Barry said with a grin. ‘I just popped down to bring Reg’s drill back.’

  ‘Oh well, that does make for a nice change – a neighbour who actually returns things,’ Myrtle said, noticing that the man hadn’t come alone.

  Farrah Fawcett was gambolling about, hoovering up the crumbs from the biscuits Reg and Barry were eating.

  ‘How’s everything going at the showground?’ Reg asked. He’d offered to help but Myrtle had insisted that he’d only get in the way.

  ‘Busy, busy, busy, and then would you believe I had Darius Loveday there for half the day too?’ Myrtle began.

  ‘Really?’ Barry said. He’d been quite glad that the man and his crew had disappeared after breakfast as Roberta was getting more and more uptight about the show and really needed some time with Citrine on her own.

  ‘Yes, he asked me to give him a tour, and afterwards I took him over to look at the schools so they could see how things were progressing there too, although I must say Miss Grimm and Professor Winterbottom were less than welcoming,’ Myrtle fussed.

  ‘You have to remember, Myrtle, Chudleigh’s is not their primary concern – and they have been generous helping out,’ her husband said.

  ‘I know that, Reginald. But surely having the children miss a lesson or two wouldn’t be such a big deal. Anyway, Darius and his crew left me to go and film Becca Finchley,’ Myrtle explained.

  ‘I wonder how she’s going,’ Barry said, taking a sip of his tea.

  ‘Apparently she’s doing very well,’ Myrtle replied.

  ‘Do you know who’s going to be parading her dog?’ Barry asked. He’d thought about that the other day when Alice-Miranda had mentioned she was entering the show.

  ‘I’m not sure, but Darius thinks she’s a shoo-in for Best in Show,’ Myrtle said, enjoying the look of horror on the man’s face.

  ‘Did he really say that?’ Barry asked.

  Myrtle nodded. ‘He said that everyone is going to be so happy to see her, there’d have to be something terribly awry with her dog not to win.’

  Barry set his teacup down, his complexion suddenly pale.

  ‘Are you all right, Barry?’ Reg asked.

  ‘I’d better be going – I said I’d help Roberta this afternoon,’ the man said. He gave a wave and disappeared out the door.

  ‘You shouldn’t have said that, Myrtle,’ Reg chided.

  Myrtle looked at her husband blankly. ‘What did I say?’

  ‘You know full well that Roberta takes her showing very seriously and now poor Barry will be in an even bigger spin, worrying about how things will go for her,’ Reg said.

  ‘I was only telling him what Darius had told me,’ Myrtle insisted.

  Reg frowned at his wife. ‘Gossiping.’

  ‘That wasn’t gossip, Reginald. I was just repeating what I’d been told. Now, did you manage to get dinner started while I was out working? I’m starving and I shouldn’t have to make our tea on top of everything else there is to do.’

  Alice-Miranda and the girls arrived at the showground early on Saturday morning. They had been instructed to wear their school tracksuits, which the heads of both schools had agreed would be comfortable and identifiable. A huge sign hung over the entrance to the hall and there were miles of bunting strung up through the trees and traversing from building to building. A long line of stands had been erected on the perimeter with exhibitors showcasing their dog-related wares.

  ‘Look, there’s Mr Dankworth’s Haute Hound Couture for Designer Dogs,’ Alice-Miranda said, pointing at a supersized stand manned by a bevy of women dressed in outfits which matched those on sale.

  ‘I hate to say it but Nosey Parker’s done a great job pulling all this together,’ Millie said.

  ‘Hello girls,’ Mrs Parker’s voice warbled behind them. ‘Are you ready to get your hands dirty?’

  Millie jumped and spun around.

  ‘Hello Mrs Parker,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘We were just saying how fantastic the showground looks.’

  ‘Of course it does, and I trust that your school gymnasium has come up trumps too,’ the woman said, arching an eyebrow.

  ‘It looks great,’ the girl assured her. ‘Is Mr Parker here?’

  ‘He’s on parking duty.’ The woman waved to the flat grassy field, where cars towing a variety of dog trailers were arriving at a steady rate. ‘Oh, there’s Darius Loveday,’ Mrs Parker sang, before scurrying away. ‘Darius, could I have a word?’ she called.

  Everywhere the girls looked, dogs of all shapes and sizes were being primped and preened by their owners. Some were standing quietly while others danced about barking at the opposition. A giant poodle with a tail like a topiary ball caught Millie’s attention.

  ‘Imagine how long it takes to give that dog a haircut,’ she said, ogling the perfectly formed spheres on its legs and the mass of fur on its torso and head.

  ‘Or that one,’ Jacinta said, spying a small black dog with hair like dreadlocks. ‘How does it see anything?’

  ‘That’s a Hungarian puli,’ Alice-Miranda said.

  Sloane looked at her. ‘How on earth do you know that?’

  ‘I was reading up on dog breeds,’ the child said. ‘I thought it might come in handy, seeing as though I have to tell people where they need to be.’

  The PA system blared, announcing the upcoming competitions. ‘The preliminary judging of the hounds will take place in the hall starting at ten o’clock sharp,’ a man’s voice boomed.

  ‘That’s Mrs Dankworth’s category,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘We’ve got time to take a look before we start our shift.’

  The girls walked into the hall, which was festooned in bunting and corporate signage. On the far end of the stage, tall plinths showcased beautiful silver cups and trophies. Two burly security guards stood on either side of them, watching over the treasures. On the rear wall at the back of the stage, twinkling lights spelled out ‘Chudleigh’s’ across a black curtain. The wooden floor in the hall had been transformed into a lawn with astroturf, and tiered seating running the length of the building on either side was fast filling with spectators. The girls quickly found somewhere to sit and watched as the judging commenced.

  ‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,’ the commentator began, ‘and welcome to the judging of the hounds. It gives me great pleasure to introduce our esteemed judge, hound expert extraordinaire, Mrs Malorie Sugsworth.’

  The audience clapped loudly as an angular woman dressed in a dowdy brown suit walked into the middle of the hall. She wore her glasses perched on the tip of her pointy nose and carried a clipboard on which she was already scribbling copious notes.

  ‘Now we’d like to welcome our first competitor, Ivan Scupper, and his beautiful basenji, Todd,’ the commentator said.

  A man in a green plaid suit ran along beside a small muscly dog with pointy
ears and a tail as curly as a piglet’s. He was tan with white markings and strutted along beside his handler. The man’s wiry grey hair poked out in two tufts from either side of his deerstalker hat.

  ‘I thought they’d all be Afghans,’ Jacinta said.

  ‘Apparently, the show divides the dogs according to categories,’ Alice-Miranda said as the next dog and its owner appeared. This time it was a bassett hound with long droopy ears. Its stomach just about skimmed the ground as it paced along beside a woman who also seemed to have rather large lobes.

  ‘Look, there’s Mrs Dankworth!’ Millie exclaimed as the woman was introduced.

  Roberta wore a flared denim jumpsuit with cork wedges and a floppy hat, looking every inch the 1970s starlet. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was styled to perfection and Citrine’s tumbling coat mirrored her owner’s silky tresses.

  Sep and Lucas slid onto the bench beside the girls. ‘Whoa, Mrs Dankworth is really doing her best Farrah Fawcett out there,’ Sep said with a grin. ‘Dad would be impressed.’

  Roberta pranced around the arena beside Citrine, who had all the poise of a dressage pony.

  Another twenty hounds were introduced before it was time for the judge to assess each one individually. The dogs and their owners lined up in specially marked places along the hall. Some had a tall plinth beside them, on which to stand their beast. Malorie Sugsworth arrived at Citrine and ran her hands over the dog. She checked the Afghan hound’s face and eyes and lifted her long ears, then looked into her mouth before holding her springy tail. She smiled at Roberta, who grinned widely and then patted Citrine.

  Some members of the audience began to giggle.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Sloane said, looking around the ring. She spotted a beagle who was pulling determinedly on its lead and eagerly sniffing his neighbour’s bottom. ‘Oh, gross.’

  The children laughed as the poor bloodhound, who was the object of the beagle’s affections, stood there and put up with it.

  The judging took a long time before Mrs Sugsworth was finally ready to announce the winners. The animals were lined up top to tail around the hall. All was going well until a haughty-looking dachshund took offence at the borzoi in front of him and attempted to take a bite of the unsuspecting dog’s heel. There was a bit of a kerfuffle as the owners turned on one another.

  ‘Well, we know who’s not going to win,’ Millie giggled.

  Alice-Miranda spied Barry Dankworth standing near the entrance. He was tapping his foot nervously and seemed to have his fingers crossed. Mrs Sugsworth walked past the entrants at least twice more before she stopped in front of Roberta.

  ‘And the winner of this year’s Hound division at Chudleigh’s,’ the commentator boomed, ‘is Roberta Dankworth and Nobel Citrine.’

  Roberta beamed, striding out with Citrine to the winner’s podium as the crowd clapped and cheered.

  ‘Go, Roberta!’ Millie called loudly.

  The woman flicked her hair at the same time Citrine flicked hers. Truly, the pair was nothing short of magnificent.

  Once the judging was over, the children split up to attend to their volunteer duties. Millie was rostered on to help serve morning tea in the marquee near the stables while Alice-Miranda and Jacinta were to report to Mrs Mereweather at the information booth. Sloane and the boys were on cleaning duty with Mr Munz.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Mereweather,’ Alice-Miranda greeted the woman, who chortled in reply.

  ‘I hope you’ve brought your skates with you, girls,’ Nancy said brightly, ‘because we have been very busy directing all of these lovely patrons and their magnificent beasts to wherever they need to be.’ She tittered as she located the girls’ name tags.

  Soon enough, a woman with a large chocolate-coloured neapolitan mastiff walked up to the booth.

  ‘Hello there,’ Mrs Mereweather giggled.

  The woman looked at her and frowned. ‘What are you laughing at?’ she barked.

  ‘Oh, nothing at all. I’m just thrilled to be here,’ Mrs Mereweather replied.

  ‘Are you laughing at my Stephanie?’ the woman said, gesturing to her dog, who had more wrinkles than all the unironed shirts at Fayle put together.

  Nancy could barely contain herself. ‘No, of course not,’ she said from behind her hand.

  Alice-Miranda quickly stepped in to smooth things over. ‘May we help you?’ she asked.

  The woman eyed her warily as Mrs Mereweather wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘I’d like to locate the photographers, please,’ she snipped.

  ‘I can take you,’ Jacinta volunteered.

  Alice-Miranda watched the trio walk off and spotted Major Foxley standing to the left of the booth. He was dressed immaculately from the top of his coiffed silver hair to the tips of his shiny black brogues. The man turned her way and she gave him a wave. ‘Hello Major Foxley!’ she called.

  ‘Oh, hello there, young lady. How are you enjoying the show so far?’ he asked as he limped towards her.

  ‘It’s amazing. The dogs are so lovely,’ Alice-Miranda replied.

  ‘Yes, they certainly are,’ the man said. ‘I see Mrs Dankworth took out the Hound division this morning.’

  The child nodded and smiled. ‘She was magnificent, and so was Citrine.’

  ‘It will be interesting to see who takes out Best in Show tomorrow. I think she’s up against some stiff competition this year,’ Major Foxley replied.

  ‘Yes, it’s wonderful Mrs Finchley is here,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘Did you end up seeing her last weekend?’

  Major Foxley shook his head. ‘No, we spoke on the telephone.’

  ‘Oh, that’s funny,’ Alice-Miranda said, frowning. ‘I could have sworn I saw your car on the road when Millie and I were heading into the driveway at Chesterfield Downs.’

  ‘Well, I can assure you it wasn’t me,’ the man snapped.

  Alice-Miranda wondered what she’d said to turn Major Foxley’s mood.

  ‘Did you find the owner of your puppy?’ he said quickly.

  Alice-Miranda shook her head. ‘No, but the good news is that we’re keeping him. His name’s Fudge and he’s completely adorable even though his favourite pastime is to chew everyone’s shoes.’

  ‘What a sweet name,’ the man said, smiling at his own joke.

  A short queue was beginning to form and Alice-Miranda excused herself to deal with the next person in line. ‘Hello, can I help you?’ she asked a little girl who couldn’t have been more than five years old.

  ‘Can you tell me where the puppy farm is?’ the girl asked.

  Alice-Miranda frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  Major Foxley, who was still standing close by, interjected. ‘I’m afraid, young lady, that we have nothing of that sort here. Puppy farms are outlawed – they’re dire things.’

  The child’s face began to crumple. ‘Mummy said there’d be puppies I can play with, like when you have a baby animal farm at the show,’ she explained in a wobbly voice.

  ‘Of course,’ Alice-Miranda said gently. ‘There’s a puppy petting station near the stables. Would you like me to take you?’

  ‘Mummy’s over there,’ the child said, pointing to a woman wearing a red hat. She was eager to get away from the grumpy old man.

  Alice-Miranda held the girl’s hand and walked her to her mother, then directed the pair of them to the stables, where the most beautiful litter of golden retriever puppies was romping about. As she walked back across the showground, Alice-Miranda spotted Mayor Wiley. He was dressed in his complete council regalia, with the mayoral chain clanking around his neck, and looked to be shaking hands with anyone who came within shouting distance.

  ‘Hello Mayor Wiley.’ Alice-Miranda smiled at the man, who raised his sunglasses to see who was calling his name.

  ‘Good morning, Alice-Miranda,’ he said. ‘Isn’t this magnificent?’

  The child nodded. ‘Mrs Parker has done an amazing job.’

  Silas Wiley’s lip curled involuntarily as it always seemed to do at
the mention of that woman’s name. ‘Yes, I suppose she has. Have you seen any dogs you like?’

  ‘So many. There was the cutest cocker spaniel over there,’ Alice-Miranda replied, pointing towards one of the pavilions. ‘He was wearing slippers.’

  ‘I’ve decided to get a dog myself,’ the man said. ‘But not one of these purebreds. They have far too many health problems apparently.’

  ‘Ooh, what kind?’ Alice-Miranda asked.

  ‘Well, as it turns out, Major Foxley is getting me a cavoodle. That’s a cross between a …’ The man’s brows furrowed as he tried to recall the names. ‘Hmm, what was it now?’

  ‘A cavalier King Charlies spaniel and a miniature poodle,’ Alice-Miranda said.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Cute as a button.’ The man pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. ‘Major Foxley showed me this just now.’

  Alice-Miranda looked at the picture and gasped.

  ‘I can’t wait to get the little blighter. Life can get a bit lonely at times, you see.’ Mayor Wiley noticed the girl had gone white as a sheet, and stopped. ‘Is something the matter, Alice-Miranda?’ he asked.

  ‘No, of course not,’ the child said, recovering quickly. ‘Have a good day, Mayor Wiley. I have to run.’

  She charged back towards the information booth, scouring the lawns for Major Foxley. She needed to talk to the man right away, but he was nowhere to be seen. She was so deep in thought that she’d walked straight past her booth. She turned around and almost fell into Becca Finchley’s lap.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Finchley! I’m so sorry – I didn’t see you there,’ the child apologised.

  ‘Are you looking for someone?’ Becca asked.

  ‘Major Foxley,’ the girl replied. She saw that Daniel was pushing his mother, and an older lady Alice-Miranda hadn’t met before was leading Siggy and clutching a giant silver cup.

  ‘Siggy won,’ Daniel said, grinning from ear to ear.

  Alice-Miranda clapped her hands together. ‘Congratulations! That’s wonderful news.’

  ‘Thanks to Mrs Bird,’ Becca said, smiling at the older woman.

  ‘Hello Mrs Bird, I’m Alice-Miranda Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones and I’m very pleased to meet you.’