Nancy Atherton (16 page)

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 fortyminute 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

102 Nancy Atherton

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 eve ning, 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.”

Aunt Dimity Slays the Dragon

103

“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.”

“Quaffi

ng
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

104 Nancy Atherton

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

fi nd 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 fl uttering. 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 fl oor with both

fi sts.

“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

Aunt Dimity Slays the Dragon

105

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.

106 Nancy Atherton

“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.

Eleven

I tripped over the ottoman in my haste to reach the blue journal, so I changed direction and headed for the mantelshelf

lamps instead. Once I could see properly, I lit a fire in the

hearth and stood quietly for a moment, allowing the study’s familiar

stillness to seep into me.

“I have to be cool, calm, and collected when I present my case

to Dimity,” I explained to Reginald. “Otherwise, she’ll think I’ve

embarked on another vampire hunt. I’d say that I have to be like

Emma, but after seeing her at the fair today, I’m no longer sure that

she’s a good role model for me. She seems to have a more active

imagination than I gave her credit for.”

My pink bunny regarded me sympathetically. The encouraging

gleam in his black button eyes let me know that, whatever happened, he was on my side. His unswerving loyalty was like a tonic

for my agitated soul. I reached for the blue journal with a steady

hand.

I sat in the tall leather armchair before the hearth, put my tender feet on the ottoman, and rested the journal in my lap. After

taking a slow breath, I opened the journal and said, “Dimity? I’m

back from the fair.”

Welcome home, my dear
. The looping lines of royal-blue ink curled

across the page as fluidly as quicksilver.
Was it as interesting as you

hoped it would be?

“Oh, yes,” I said. “It was interesting.”

I’m so glad. Tell me everything.

“It’s like another world. . . .” I began.

I went on to describe the fair in great detail, leaving out nothing

but the events that concerned me most. I created a comprehensive

108 Nancy Atherton

picture of the fair’s physical appearance—the gate house, the winding lanes, the stalls, the open-air stages, the joust arena—as well as

an impression of its festive atmosphere. I told her about the opening ceremony and the cannon blast, the water-balloon juggler and

the belly dancers, the walking tree and the madrigal singers. I marveled over the variety of items for sale in the stalls and remarked on

the evocative patois spoken by the vendors.

I took her up Pudding Lane and down Broad Street, pausing to

praise the twins’ mostly dignified performance in the king’s procession and to convey my reaction to seeing Emma ride past in her

finery. I brought her to the hillside picnic area, to eat honey cakes

with me and Lilian while Rob and Will circled the arena, their

unicorn pennons flying. I let her hear the crowd roar when the

knights demonstrated their skill at arms, and I helped her to feel

the ground tremble as the horses pounded toward each other in the

joust. Finally, I introduced her to my ultra-studly husband, took

her through the marquee, and entered the stabling area, where my

narrative came to a temporary halt.

My word. The fair has certainly provided you with the change of pace

you desired, Lori. It’s more stimulating than the dog show, the bring-and-buy

sale, and the flower show combined, unless you include the year when Patri-

cia Shuttleworth’s flea-bitten old pug won the dog show—what a kerfuffl