Damsels in Distress (20 page)

“Would you prefer something else?” he asked as he rubbed his thumb on my hand. “There’s a liquor cabinet in the dining room. I keep it locked because of the kids, but I think you’ve earned a sip of scotch or gin. What dost milady prefer?”

I freed my wrist “Scotch on the rocks would be nice.”

He ran the tip of his tongue over his lips. “I saw you at the arena. Did you enjoy the fight?”

“I’m not a fan of brutality, even when it’s make-believe.”

“I can assure you it wasn’t make-believe. Benny was coming at me as though he intended to cut off my head in one slash. He was completely out of control, which was why I won. It may seem mindless to you, but it requires strategy.”

“Benny was fine earlier,” I said.

Anderson gave me a patronizing grin as he took my cup and went into another room, presumably to unlock the liquor cabinet. I noticed that all of the chairs had vanished, but this was not extraordinary in a household with children. Anything that was not bolted down or too heavy and cumbersome to be carried off was fair game. I was thinking about some of Caron’s more creative endeavors when Lanya came into the kitchen.

She’d exchanged her aristocratic finery for a bathrobe, and was fanning herself with a magazine. “We’re lucky it isn’t any hotter out there. I did okay in the Royal Pavilion, but I thought I was going to pass out at the fighting arena. Da Vinci is credited with the invention of collapsible campstools. I keep meaning to order one from a catalog. Would you like to try some mead?”

“No, thank you,” I said. “Anderson’s fixing me a drink.”

“Is he?” she said dryly. “I’m not surprised. You’re a knockout in that gown, Lady Clarissa. I remember when I used to be that slim. I had long, dark hair with gold highlights. Four kids later, and look at me. A frumpy housewife with a husband who prefers to seek his carnal pleasures elsewhere. He thinks I’m content to stay home all day and work in the garden, wipe runny noses, tend the bees, bake bread, and brew my little concoctions to sell at fairs and tournaments.” She filled a cup with what I assumed was one of her little concoctions. “You want to know what I dream about when I’m yanking up weeds?”

I truly did not, but I couldn’t see a polite way to escape. “Getting away for a few days?”

“A hysterectomy—with complications. I want to lie in a hospital bed for weeks, while orderlies bring me trays and friends drop by with flowers and fruit. I want to read, undisturbed, until I can’t keep my eyes open. I want to watch old movies. All of this and a morphine drip so that whenever I hear the merest hint of children’s voices, I can send myself into oblivion. What’s more, I won’t have to think about my husband’s latest fling.”

“My last duchess,” said Anderson as he entered the room and handed me a nicely filled cup. “Only she would stoop to blame this sort of trifling.” He winked at me. “I did a minor in English lit.”

Lanya snorted. “As well as one in American slut.”

“I do believe I’ll join the others,” I said, then scurried out to the screened porch and sat down next to Glynnis. “A lovely day for the Renaissance Fair, don’t you think?”

“Yes, lovely. Did you notice the gypsy with all the sparkly trinkets on her hat and cape? I was tempted to ask her if she conducts seances. Wouldn’t that be fascinating?”

“It’s all fascinating,” I said, wishing I’d sat down in a corner, preferably in another room.

“You’re enjoying it, then?” said Fiona as she came up the steps from the yard. She seemed to be oblivious to the heat, and if she had been dancing on anyone’s grave, it had not required excessive exertion or soiled her slippers. “I do believe it’s going well thus far. There have been glitches, but one expects them. The green gown suits you. I do hope you’re planning to wear it at the banquet. It’s customary for those at the head table to be clad in proper garb.”

“Just taking a break,” I told her. Glynnis began to pluck at the handkerchief tucked in her cuff. I hastily got up and went to stand next to Fiona. “Where are the others?”

“Edward’s upstairs, resting. He’s going to be the Master of the Revelries at the banquet, so he has a lot of material he wants to review. Julius is supervising the arrangement of the picnic tables in front of the Royal Pavilion. Benny’s off somewhere, probably crying in his ale. I haven’t seen Salvador since the middle of the afternoon.”

“This ‘Lady Clarissa’ business was his idea, wasn’t it?”

Fiona gave me a sharp look. “He told me it was
your
idea. I was a member of ARSE for six months before I was given the title Lady Olivia of Ravenmoor. I was on two committees and volunteered to organize the rummage sale.” She waited for me to explain my impertinent usurpation of a title. When I didn’t, she said, “I must say I’m upset with your daughter and Inez. Part of the assignment was to make one’s costume. I haven’t had time to decide how I’ll handle this.”

“They
did
have to work to earn them,” I pointed out. I did not say this from the perspective of a mother defending her offspring from unjust accusations, as I’d done countless times in the last sixteen years. I just didn’t want to have to live in proximity to Caron if she was obliged to write the dreaded paper. She does not suffer in silence, and she does not hesitate to share her misery. “The gown you’re wearing now is lovely. You must be a very talented seamstress.”

Her smile was bland. “Thank you. It’s my favorite. I save it for very special occasions. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to freshen up before the banquet.” She went into the kitchen.

Anderson did not seem to have noticed her as he came out to the porch and joined me. “Shall we sit here with the others, or would you prefer a more intimate chat elsewhere?”

What I preferred was to have been elsewhere, such as at home or on the way to a funeral in Vermont. “This is fine,” I said. “Where are your children?”

“Terrorizing the fair, I suppose. When things wind down at six, they’ll be hauled away to spend the rest of the weekend with friends.”

“Four of them, right?”

He shrugged. “More or less. It’s hard to get an accurate head count on a pack of wolves. Why don’t you sit down and rest?”

After twenty minutes of aimless chatter about the weather and the high turnout at the gate, Lanya came to the doorway to announce that we would leave shortly. I went into the bedroom and put on the green gown, paused in front of the mirror to frown at my sunburned nose, and returned to the living room. Glynnis assisted me with the hooks. Fiona was brushing invisible lint off her gown as she joined us. Edward came downstairs, carrying a rolled-up scroll and looking drowsy. William hurried to the door and held it open as the Duke and Duchess of Glenbarrens led our noble procession to the Royal Pavilion.

The picnic tables formed a two-row semicircle to create a stage area in front of the pavilion. The banquet attendees, some in garb, sat on the benches, already supplied with beverages and place settings of ordinary flatware. The musicians were playing one of the pieces in their limited repertory (I would be haunted by “Greensleeves” for weeks, if not longer). They stopped as trumpets blared to announce our arrival. Our table was long and graced with a linen tablecloth, as befitting our exalted status. Fiona directed me to a seat near one end, with the Threets on one side of me and an empty chair on the other. Neither Salvador nor Benny had shown up. I would have been happy to have either one of them take the empty chair, saving me from trying to make conversation with Glynnis.

Edward stepped in front of the table and bowed so deeply to the audience that he lost his balance. After a theatrical recovery amid laughter and catcalls, he introduced the royal personages, promised entertainment throughout the evening, and gestured for the musicians to resume playing. The students began to bring out platters of fruit, cheese, and bread. Caron and Inez had been assigned to serve picnic tables in the second row. I noticed they were receiving bold stares from some of the men, which I found unsettling. They, on the other hand, seemed to be having a fine time. Caron leaned down much farther than I felt was necessary as she refilled cups from a pitcher, and her smile was impudent. Inez was more reserved, but she bestowed a few winks on the customers.

I was watching them when Benny sat down next to me. He was wearing a vest and a slightly grimy white shirt. His beard was damp and neatly combed. He hadn’t showered at the house, as far as I knew, which meant he might have bathed in a more authentic tin tub.

“Did I miss anything?” he said as he filled his cup with wine.

“Not really.” I passed the platter to him. “You must be hungry.”

He chuckled. “After having been beaten so soundly? Is that what milady is supposing?” He took a roll and a wedge of cheddar. “It was my fault. I lost my temper, which was my undoing. I could tell Anderson was tired. All I had to do was wear him down before I went after him. Damn it all, I really wanted to beat the son of a bitch.”

“There seems to be a lot of animosity among the ARSE members today.”

He grunted in response. I took a slice of apple from the platter and resumed watching Caron and Inez. William and Glynnis were having a whispered conversation, saving me from attempting to be sociable. Lanya kept an indulgent smile on her face as Anderson regaled the audience with bawdy remarks about her Ladyship’s remarkable talents in the bedchamber. Edward played the fool, asking naïve questions and feigning shock and bewilderment at Anderson’s replies.

As the first course was being removed, Edward again came forward and began to entertain the children at the picnic tables with riddles and magic tricks. The musicians were sent to a corner and the madrigal singers took over. Bowls of thick vegetable soup were brought out by the servers.

“Who’s doing the cooking?” I asked Benny. “Surely not the home ec classes at the high school.”

“Caterers,” he said. “Their van is parked behind the tents.”

“Oh,” I said. As a dinner companion, he was not sparkling. I’d left my watch in my bag in the farmhouse. The banquet was scheduled to last until eight, but I was ready to leave. I’d warned Peter that I wouldn’t be home. Not that I thought he’d try to call, I thought with a sigh. It was likely that his mother was hosting an elegant dinner party, with candles and glittering china and silver. Unobtrusive servants moving deftly behind the seated guests. Leslie, dressed in diamonds and a little black dress she’d picked up in Paris during her visit, seated next to him, finding occasion to squeeze his hand and remind him of private jokes they’d shared. While I was seated between a surly, noncommunicative knight and a woman inclined to snivel.

The soup bowls were replaced with plates of chicken breasts in sauce, new potatoes, and green beans. Benny ate steadily and with fierce dedication, as if this were his last meal. I took a few bites, then refilled my glass and sat back. There were seventy or eighty banquet guests, some of them known to me in varying degrees.

Sally and her nuns sat at one table, mutely bent over their plates. The crone with all the rags and ribbons sat alone at the end of one table; the brim of her misshapen hat hid her face. It was good to know Madam Marsilia was handy to exorcize demons if she was in the process of casting an evil spell over us. Robin Hood and Friar Tuck were still talking on their cell phones. Several of my bookstore patrons smiled at me. The mayor appeared to be grumpy, as though convinced he’d already fulfilled his civic obligation and would prefer to be dining in a more elegant milieu. The pirates sat together at a front-row table. Based on their boisterous behavior, it seemed likely they’d been paddling about in a cask of ale. The fairies were behind the pavilion, preparing to perform. Others of Caron’s friends were lugging trays and refilling glasses from the pitchers. Carrie had a bruise on her shoulder, possibly from a playful pony nip. Emily was limping. None of them was dressed as stylishly (or indecently) as Caron and Inez.

A bowl of bread pudding was set down in front of me. I wrinkled my nose, having always been suspicious of what might be masquerading as raisins and currents. No one else seemed to share my reservations. I was making a few exploratory jabs with a spoon when Pester the Jester stepped into the stage area.

“While my ladies and gentlemen partake of this most splendid dish, what say you to a ballad of mine own doing? I bid you listen well, though I have but naught to compel you.” He snapped his fingers and a very nervous high school boy with a guitar came from behind the tent and kneeled. Edward tweaked the boy’s nose, smiled, and then began to sing.

I’d expected a facsimile of one of the traditional ballads, with references to knights of noble worth and courage, bonny brides, heroic deeds, and plenty of gore. Edward’s ballad did not qualify. I can’t quote the lyrics, but the gist of the tale was that a baby boy was found abandoned in the king’s stable and raised as a page. As he approached maturity, he yearned to know the name of his father. (I was turning paler than the bread pudding by this point.)

The boy went to a series of knights and pleaded for each to acknowledge him as a son. Each rejection wounded him, and he became increasingly despondent. Finally, he approached the man he assumed to be the Royal Gamekeeper of the Imperial Forest and fell to the ground, begging to be killed as a poacher. (I was now befuddled, since I hadn’t run across any gamekeepers.) The man cradled the boy in his arms and admitted that he himself was the boy’s father. (Okay, this was good. Carlton wouldn’t have known a pheasant from a stork.) But then, just as I was about to jump to my feet and applaud madly, Edward finished the ballad on a happy note. The gamekeeper was in reality the wealthy Baron of Firth- forth and a master archer, who happily acknowledged the page as his long-lost son, and trained him to follow in his footsteps. The son achieved glory in tournaments and the two lived happily ever after in a stone house on a hillside.

I sat back, stunned, then glanced down the table. William and Glynnis were hissing at each other, their faces as animated as I’d ever seen them. Anderson and Lanya sat like marble figures in a cathedral. Fiona’s lips had disappeared and her cheeks were flushed. Edward bowed to the audience, patted his accompanist on the head, and went behind the tent. Julius stared at him from near the exit. In contrast, the audience clapped with enthusiasm. Some of the women were dabbing at their eyes. The pirates, well beyond comprehension, cheered lustily and demanded an encore.