Nancy Atherton (17 page)

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but that was before your time. The fair sounds as if it fulfilled all of your

wishes and then some. You must be exhausted, my dear.

“I won’t be swimming the English Channel tomorrow,” I told

her, “but I’ll get by.”

I must confess that I’m not as surprised by Emma’s transformation as you

were. She is a gardener, after all, and gardeners are dreamers at heart. How

else would they be able to look at a handful of seeds and envision a perennial

border in all its glory?

“I’ve never thought of it that way,” I conceded.

Bill’s conversion, on the other hand, was wholly surprising, though I

suppose we should have suspected him of protesting a bit too much. Most

men would be peacocks if they were allowed to display their feathers, but I’m

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109

afraid they’re discouraged from doing so in this day and age. I’m sure he’s

enjoying his “cool medieval dude” attire more than he ever thought he

would.

“I’m enjoying it quite a bit myself,” I said, recalling the pleasant

scene in the front hall.

Of course you are. You’re blessed with an extremely attractive husband.

It would have been a waste to swaddle him in a friar’s robe. Thank you for

giving me such a vivid account of your day, Lori. I feel as if I’ve experienced

every facet of King Wilfred’s marvelous fair. But now you must toddle off to

bed. If you’re going to attend the fair again tomorrow, you’ll need your

rest.

I cleared my throat. “I haven’t finished telling you about my day,

Dimity.”

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cut you off. Please, go on.

“A couple of unusual things happened at the fair,” I said.

More unusual than a walking tree?

“Yes, because the walking tree was just a guy on stilts,” I replied. “The things I’m about to describe are real.” I glanced at

Reginald for courage, then hunkered down in my chair and tried to

sound like a jaded newspaper reporter. “I have a story to tell you.

It’s all about love. If it’s true, which I think it is, then King Wilfred’s Faire is going to need a new handyman. Or possibly a new

king. It depends on what happens first.”

An excellent introduction, Lori. My interest is thoroughly piqued.

“My story involves a handsaw, a broken parapet, a flying sandbag, and a severed rope.” I paused. “And a love triangle.”

Oh, hurrah! I knew you wouldn’t fail me, my dear. Please, proceed with

your thrilling tale. I’m on tenterhooks!

Aunt Dimity’s response contained more than a hint of sarcasm,

but I didn’t let it faze me. I’d sailed over the edge of reason so often

that it would have been foolishly optimistic of me to expect a more

sober reaction. Her playful tone made me more determined than

ever to prove to her that I wasn’t imagining things.

“Early this morning, before the fair opened, I heard the sound of

110 Nancy Atherton

a single handsaw coming from the direction of Bishop’s Wood,” I

said. “If I’d heard a lot of saws, I wouldn’t have thought twice about

it, but the sound of one saw indicated that one person was working

on one specific project.”

It also indicates that someone was working in the early hours, when the

fair’s grounds were deserted.

“That’s right.” Mildly encouraged by Aunt Dimity’s offering, I

continued, “During the opening ceremonies, a section of the gatehouse’s parapet broke away from the walkway wall. The parapet

broke away when King Wilfred leaned on it. If Lord Belvedere

hadn’t grabbed the king’s surcoat and hauled him back onto the

walkway, the king would have fallen twenty feet to the ground.”

Good gracious. How very distressing.

“It becomes more distressing,” I said, “when one assumes that

the king rehearses the opening ceremony, and that he goes through

the same routine every morning. In other words, he leans on the

same parapet in every performance.”

A fairly safe assumption, I would say. Are you asking me to make a con-

nection between the solitary handsaw and the broken parapet?

“Not yet,” I said, refusing to be rushed. “I didn’t connect the

two until a young man named Edmond Deland arrived on the

scene to clear away the debris. Edmond is the fair’s maintenance

man, but he doesn’t dress in period attire. In fact, he seems to be

the only employee who wears normal clothing to work.”

Does his attire suggest a failure to enter wholeheartedly into the spirit of

the fair?

“I believe it does,” I said. “Furthermore, his reaction to the parapet incident struck me as . . . odd. When he spotted the debris, he

looked sullen. When he peered up at the gap in the wall, he appeared to be angry and disappointed. And I couldn’t help noticing

that he had a handsaw in his wheelbarrow.”

Ah, I see! You believe that Edmond Deland used his handsaw to dam-

age the parapet early in the morning, in hopes of disrupting the opening

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111

ceremonies. When the ceremonies went on as planned, he was angry and

disappointed, because his scheme had failed. Am I on the right track?

“Almost,” I said. “I’m now going to skip ahead a bit. Do you remember the madrigal singers I mentioned?”

How could I forget little Mirabel, the pretty girl with hazel eyes and the

voice of an angel?

“While I was listening to the madrigal singers,” I said, “I saw

Edmond Deland again, half hidden in the shadows between two

stalls. He stood as still as a statue and gazed only at Mirabel, as if he

worshipped the ground she walked on. I promise you, Dimity, his

longing for her was almost palpable. She seemed to be unaware of

him, and he didn’t draw attention to himself.”

Any sensible observer would conclude that Edmond Deland is hopelessly

in love with little Mirabel.
Et voilà
—we have two sides of our love triangle!

Who completes it, I wonder?

“I’m getting to that,” I said patiently. “As I told you earlier, the

sound of trumpets announced the start of the king’s pro cession.

Mirabel got very excited when she heard the trumpets, and the

group promptly moved from their quiet alleyway to Broad Street. It

seemed to me as if they moved in order to allow Mirabel to watch

the pro cession.”

How did Edmond react to their departure?

“When he heard the trumpets, he looked absolutely furious,” I

said. “He didn’t say a word, but he stomped off in a huff. I followed

Mirabel.”

Naturally.

“She could hardly keep still during the early parts of the procession,” I said. “She was all aflutter, as if she were waiting for the man

of her dreams to come into view. When she saw King Wilfred, she

gasped, and when he blew a kiss to her, she blushed like the setting

sun and dropped a curtsy to him. If the other singers hadn’t dragged

her away, I think she might have followed the king up Broad Street.”

The king, therefore, is the third person in our love triangle.

112 Nancy Atherton

“Which makes him Edmond’s rival,” I pointed out.

So it does. Does the king realize that he’s the rival of an angry young man

with a handsaw?

“I don’t know,” I said. “But I can tell you what happened next.”

I quickly related the quintain incident, underscoring Bill’s assertion that it was an exceptionally rare occurrence. I went on to

describe my discovery of the partially severed rope as well as my

failed attempt to retrieve it, then sat back and waited for Aunt

Dimity to draw her own conclusions. She didn’t take long.

Correct me if I’m wrong, Lori, but you seem to be suggesting that Ed-

mond’s goal isn’t merely to disrupt the fair, but to murder his chief rival.

“I realize that it sounds far-fetched,” I said calmly. “And I may

be jumping to a few thousand conclusions, but yes, I believe that

Edmond Deland is trying to kill King Wilfred.”

It’s a very serious accusation.

“I know it is, but think about it, Dimity,” I said. “Edmond is an

ideal suspect. He has access to every square inch of the fair, night and

day. He has the tools he’d need to sabotage the parapet as well as the

quintain. He can also get rid of the evidence easily, because it’s his

job to keep the grounds clean.”

I don’t doubt that Edmond has the means and the opportunity to carry

out the deeds you’ve ascribed to him. I do, however, question his motivation.

“He’s insane with jealousy,” I said.

He’d have to be insane, to be jealous of Calvin Malvern. The Calvin I

knew was an affable, pudgy daydreamer. I find it difficult to think of him as

the answer to a maiden’s prayers.

“Ren fests are all about role-playing,” I explained. “At the fair,

Tommy Grout, ordinary teenager, becomes Harold le Rouge, squire

to the noble Sir Peregrine. Similarly, Calvin Malvern, pudgy daydreamer, becomes King Wilfred, lecherous swain.”

Why must he be lecherous?

“Oh, sorry,” I said, sitting up straighter. “I forgot to tell you

about Bill’s naked bottom.”

I’m not entirely certain that I want to hear about Bill’s naked bottom.

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113

“I’m not talking about his personal bottom,” I said hastily. “I’m

talking about the naked bottom he saw when he and the twins were

crossing the performers’ encampment on their way to the king’s

eve ning feast.”

I’m at once baffl

ed and intrigued. Are the performers nudists?

“Not exactly.” I cleared my throat again, then asked hesitantly,

“Have you ever heard of free love?”

For goodness’ sake, Lori, free love wasn’t invented yesterday, as so many of

you children seem to think. I believe the term was coined in the 1860s, though

it didn’t have quite the same meaning then. Nevertheless, I’m well acquainted

with its modern meaning. What part does free love play in your story?

“According to Bill, free love is, if you’ll forgive the expression,

rampant in the encampment,” I replied. “Edmond is so conservative

that he won’t even wear a costume while he’s at work. I can’t imagine

that he would approve of the behavior Bill witnessed in the camp. Calvin, on the other hand, is in love with Ren fests. He probably includes

hanky-panky in his job description.” Another idea darted into my

head and I ran with it. “It would explain why Calvin is spending the

summer in a luxurious motor home instead of in his uncle’s farmhouse. Horace Malvern wouldn’t allow things like that to happen

under his roof.”

I take your point. Calvin Malvern might not indulge in naughty she-

nanigans, but King Wilfred wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of an im-

pressionable young madrigal singer.

“I’m just guessing,” I said cautiously, “but I think Edmond is a

romantic. I think he wants to rescue his innocent angel from the

king’s lewd clutches, and at the same time punish the king for trifling with her.”

Murder is a rather extreme form of punishment.

“Love has been known to push people to extremes,” I said wisely.

There was a long pause before the graceful handwriting continued.

Well, well, well. . . . You did leave a few interesting details out of your

initial account, Lori. What a very busy day you’ve had.

“I know what you’re going to tell me, Dimity,” I said. “You’re

114 Nancy Atherton

going to tell me that I’ve gone off half-cocked again, that I’m reading

too much into the situation, and that my conclusions are based on

too few facts. Before you do, though, ask yourself one question:

What are the odds against King Wilfred having two bizarre,

near-fatal accidents in one day?”

I’m not sure they’re as high as you seem to think they are. As Lilian Bun-

ting pointed out to you, King Wilfred’s Faire is a complex form of theater.

Things are bound to go wrong from time to time in any theatrical venture.

“But would you expect spectacularly bad things to happen to

the same person twice in one day?” I pressed.

Perhaps not. But I wouldn’t expect someone like Edmond to engineer

spectacularly bad things. If your observations are correct, his murder attempts

haven’t taken place in dark corners, but in full view of large audiences.

Would a conservative young man have such a flair for drama?

“It’s not about drama,” I countered. “Edmond is being pragmatic.

Sabotage allows him to be somewhere else when the so-called accidents happen. He’s cleverly distancing himself from the crime

scenes.”