Putting on Airs (10 page)

     
"How is the sport this year, Christopher?"  Mr. Archer asked.

     
"I swore to myself that I would wait to begin shooting until you arrived, but I was obliged to test these new rifles I purchased..."

     
The two gentlemen left discussing sport, so Clarice offered to show Imogene to their room where there was a grand view of the sea out their window.

     
sea, could feel so unbearably still on land.  The constant shush and motion of the waves is
     
so comforting that I fall almost immediately to sleep every night with such peaceful
           
dreams.  And the smell is so fresh and clean.  We are to walk along the beach again this
     
afternoon, and I have made up my mind to send a seashell with this letter, which will
           
hopefully retain the sea smell until it arrives to you.

           
Clarice is so darling.  She is the sweetest creature, excepting you, dear

     
sister.  She expresses every morning how glad she is that I came, and has been

     
surprisingly talkative.  I never knew such a timid young lady to have such

     
conversation!  And as it happens, she is a great reader of novels as well, although

     
she partakes in the romantics much more than I do.

     
She paused for a moment, recalling how exuberantly Clarice had described her latest read to her, and laughed to herself.

           
Mr. Ashcroft is a very agreeable man, despite my first impressions of his

     
father, as I have related to you in previous letters.  Meaning no offense in the

     
comparison, he has been rather like a dog, excitable and always happy for our

     
company.  As happy as he has been with us visiting, I hate to imagine how lonely

     
he might feel other times of the year.  Mr. Archer feels the same, I believe, as he

     
seems to be discreetly convincing him to take up privateering again, which would

     
undoubtedly make the gentleman happy.

     
Now having mentioned Mr. Archer, she began tapping her pen again.  She readied herself to draw a stroke, but refrained, trying to think of the right words.

           
Mr. Archer is quite altered here.  He is very easy with his friend, and also

     
with me.  I confess, I am taken by surprise every time that he smiles.  Yes, he

     
smiles here!  I suppose I can see how that would be possible, though.  The whole

     
atmosphere of this place is light and happy, with little need of keeping up

     
appearances.  He even joined in when the four of us gathered together after

     
supper to play the guessing game.  His was the most difficult to guess, for he had

     
chosen snow!  Being at the beach during summer, no one had set their minds to

     
any such cold, winter topics.  We went on for fully fifteen minutes, until we all

     
declared that we gave up.  He

     
She recalled his look then.  Mr. Ashcroft, Clarice, and herself were stiffly competing, determined to guess.  When they all finally gave up, the almost-devious sparkle in his bright eyes intensified, and his poorly suppressed grin of amused satisfaction was slowly breaking free as he gave his answer, then he laughed as the three of them reprimanded him for his ridiculous choice.

     
Snapping out of the smile she had sprouted at the recollection, Imogene looked over what she had written.

           
declared that we gave up.  He was quite mercilessly scolded for it, and rightfully so!

     
We are to venture into the Quay soon, so I will pause this letter for now,

     
and continue at the day's end, to tell of how we spent our day.

     
With that, she slid the letter into her bookmarked page of
Henry IV: Part Two
, which she had brought to read.  And just in time, as Clarice came up the stairs, excitedly announcing that they were preparing to leave for the Quay.

     
Their small party of four had a leisurely walk down the beach.  It was a grey morning, but still pleasant with the slight breeze that sprayed them if they wandered too near the seashore.  Imogene and Clarice ventured close enough to catch the spray, delighting in how it tingled on their skin.  After about a twenty-minute walk, they reached the fairgrounds of the Quay, which were already jostled with people, making a roar that mounted that of the sea's.

     
Their very first ambition was the "Guess the Weight" booth, where they each put in a guess for the weight of the cake, hoping to win it.  It was three layers, covered in whipped chocolate frosting, and decked with rose-colored candies.

     
"Six pounds," Imogene declared.

     
"Six and a half, with those candies," Mr. Ashcroft suggested.

     
"I would say five," Mr. Archer said.

     
"Only five?" Mr. Ashcroft asked, incredulous.  "You're joking!"

     
"These cakes are built to fool," Mr. Archer affirmed.  "Under the frosting, the cake could be a very light texture, and not so rich as it appears."

     
"My brother is very good as guessing cakes," Clarice boasted to Imogene.  "He won a strawberry sheetcake last year."

     
"That's true..." Mr. Ashcroft said, pensive.  "It was very good, too..."  But he still wrote his guess as, "Six and a half.  Three layers with candies...it must be."

     
"We shall see..." Mr. Archer said.

     
Imogene suppressed a chuckle: The two men acted as though they were engaging in a duel.

     
Another booth had a ring toss game.  Small pouches of various potpourri scents were strewn about a table.  Whichever one the ring landed on, the thrower received as a prize.  However, some of the pouches held disagreeable odors.  Clarice managed to win a lavender and vanilla pouch, whereas Imogene won a pouch that stank of rotten cabbage.  The rank was confirmed when Imogene called upon the gentlemen's chivalry, making them sniff it first.  They both made horrible faces, but declared it to be roses, to which Imogene laughed and threatened to hide it in their pillows.

     
There was a shooting gallery, where Mr. Archer and Mr. Ashcroft spent a great deal of their fair money.  They also bought rounds for the ladies to try, and Imogene was astonished to find how expert a shot Clarice was, hitting every shot close to the bullseye, and one directly in the center.  Imogene's own shots were futile, most barely skimming the outer ring of the target.

     
By the time they began their trek back to the cottage, they were exhausted from their eventful day.  As expected, and to their delight, Mr. Archer won the cake, which they cut into that evening after supper.  Before eating, they all raised their forks to toast to his successful "pastry wisdom, without which, this decadent feast would not be possible".

     
Imogene was amazed when she found that the final outcome of her letter to Emmeline turned out to be five pages in length.  And, as promised, she included a seashell to send off with the letter.  She had thrown out the rotten cabbage she had won in the ring toss, but as a joke, used the ribbon that tied the pouch as a bookmark.

     
"Did you give my regards to Emmeline?" Clarice asked as Imogene folded up and waxed the letter.

     
"Yes.  I did not know you were still awake."

     
Clarice smiled as she turned onto her back, staring up at the ceiling.  "It was such a wonderful day.  I have always loved coming here."

     
Imogene found her place in the bed next to Clarice.  "Tomorrow is the night with the bonfires.  What is that like?"

     
"Honestly, it had always made me a little nervous.  People actually throw around their torches, did you know?"

     
"
Throw
them?"

     
"They set rags on fire, and the rags are tied to poles, and they swing them around."

     
"Oh!"

     
"I only parade a little ways down the street to an inn.  The housekeeper there lets me watch the rest of the night from the window in her room.  From there, it's very pleasant.  Her room is on the top floor of three, so it all looks like a river of fire going by."

     
"That does sound exciting."

     
Clarice turned to face her friend.  "Are you going to march?"

     
Imogene could sense that Clarice wanted her to sit with her in the inn, and tried to delicately say, "Well, this is my very first visit to the Golowan Festival, so I would like to explore it to the fullest.  How long is the march?"

     
"All through town."

     
Imogene considered for a moment.  "That could take hours.  I'm sure I should tire after an hour.  I will meet you at the inn well before the night is over."

     
Clarice smiled.  "They do serve an excellent tea cake there.  And petit fours!"

     
Imogene smiled in return.  "Sounds very fine.  But we should sleep now if we are to last long into tomorrow night."

     
Clarice agreed, and the two immediately closed their eyes and turned their minds to the sounds of the sea.

Even the simple walk down to the festivities that following night was exciting.  Mr. Ashcroft offered that they walk along the beach, as the streets would be crowded.  The Archers quickly agreed, professing that it was one of the highlights of their trip.  Though they had some pleasant conversation along the way, Imogene had wished they could all be silent to simply enjoy their surroundings.  The sight of the sea at night was eerily enchanting.  The water looked like oil, curling and washing onto the moon-glow sand.  Combined with the thousands of stars that shone clearly above, Imogene felt as though she was walking through a magical land, the likes of which could have inspired
Midsummer Night's Dream
or
The Tempest
.  In the distance, they could see the orange flash of the bonfire, which grew as they approached.

     
People had gathered around the large fire to light their torches or burn effigies they had constructed.  Some sang songs and drank ale, planning to stay near the fire rather than going on the march.  Mr. Archer and Mr. Ashcroft prepared the torches; Imogene decided that she would share Clarice's torch, since Clarice would be retiring to the inn early in the trek. 

     
At first, it was all as thrilling as Imogene imagined: hundreds of people filling the streets, carrying their blazing torches with shouts of celebration.  After Clarice retired to the inn, Imogene took hold of her torch, feeling a sort of power as she held the fire in her hand.  Mr. Archer had a first: He held one of the swinging torches, and held it high above his head as he gently swung it from side to side.  Imogene could not remember ever seeing so many people outside before, and all behaving so informally—it was rather refreshing.