Damsels in Distress (19 page)

Caron and Inez materialized in front of me. They were wearing long brown skirts that brushed their ankles. The epitome of modesty. I moistened my lips as I lifted my head. Leather bodices laced tightly enough to interfere with breathing. And blouses that exposed not only their freckled shoulders, but also entirely too much of their amazingly full bosoms. Whatever undergarments they’d found in the theater wardrobe added an illusion of several inches and cup sizes. They were perilously close to bursting forth in a mammary explosion. I’d seen more decorous dress on the prostitutes in the film version of
Tom Jones.

“Goodness,” I said weakly.

Caron opted to brazen it out. Her hands on her hips and her head tilted, she did her best to imitate a Cockney flower girl. “So what do you think, Mum? Not ‘arf bad, if I sez so meself.”

“I’m not sure yet. Inez, have your parents seen you?”

“Not exactly. I brought a sweater that I happened to be wearing at the time. My mother looked kind of funny, but she didn’t say anything. My father was distracted by the madrigal singers on the stage over there. He’s a big fan.” She cleared her throat. “I was thinking maybe I could spend the night at your place.”

Luanne intervened. “Both of you can stay with me if you’d prefer. Caron’s mother is looking a teensy bit ashen. Probably coming down with a cold.”

“That’s a classy dress,” Caron said to me. “You didn’t tell me you were going to wear garb.”

I explained how I’d been coerced, unhappily aware that I was exposing my fair share of cleavage, too. I certainly didn’t want to run into Inez’s parents. “So you two got stuck behind a counter, I hear.”

Caron scowled. “Somebody’s going to pay for it when school starts. You’d think even sophomores could handle some responsibility. I mean, how hard would it have been for Jason to call me during the week and mention the motorcycle wreck? It’s not like he’s in intensive care anymore. He’s such a dork.”

“Don’t forget about Wendy, either. It’s not her fault that her uncle had a heart attack and her parents made her go with them to the funeral in Vermont, but she should have let us know,” added Inez, emphasizing her point with an indignant squeak.

“ ‘Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune…'“ I murmured. “You two may resume your duties. I’ll see you at the banquet.”

Caron rolled her eyes. “Where
we
have to wait tables. Lanya said to tell you that she and some of the others will knock off about five and go to the house to relax. You can join them if you want to.”

I remembered the peculiar conversation I’d heard while changing clothes. “Has Miss Thackery seen you?”

“Yeah,” Inez said, “and we might as well start reading Chaucer. Mr. Valens was so smitten with how we looked that he dragged her over to see. She wasn’t pleased.”

“Mostly because he was drooling on us,” Caron said smugly. “She didn’t like that one bit. They were bickering when they left. She’s been by a few more times, but not him. She must have threatened him with a session in the dungeon if he dared come within a hundred yards of the food court.”

A distasteful thought popped into my mind. “He wasn’t in the dressing room while you were trying on costumes, was he?”

“Of course not, Mother! He brought in a bunch of clothes and said he’d be in his office down the hall.”

Inez grimaced. “I told Caron he probably had a secret camera or a peephole. We stayed in the corner with our backs to the room while we tried on stuff.”

“You two need to get to work,” I said, gesturing at their stall. “You’ve got customers waiting.”

The girls trudged away. Luanne sat down across from me, her expression perplexed. “Who is this guy? Is he on the sexual offenders list?”

“That’s hard to imagine,” I said as I nibbled on the turkey leg. “He seems perfectly normal to me, a little henpecked and toady at worst. He lives with his parents and, according to Fiona, is a virgin. Or was, until he met her. I didn’t ask for details. The girls talk about him as if he’s Mr. Hyde in disguise, but they weren’t at all nervous about working alongside him at the play in the community center. The only thing Caron’s said about him since then is that his deodorant was inadequate. I’m sure she and Inez exemplified grace under pressure, since they didn’t have their reputations on the line with the Hasty retirees.”

We giggled and snickered while I finished eating. She showed me the earrings she’d bought, and admitted she was tempted by the crystal figurines. I wiped my fingers on a napkin, tossed the trash in a mundane bin, and suggested we take a stroll. I caught a glimpse of Fiona sailing by while we watched Pester the Jester juggle apples and oranges. Her gown of the day was of a deep cranberry that accentuated the whiteness of her shoulders and neck. She exuded an aura of innocence and fragility, but I wasn’t fooled. I had yet to spot Julius, but he might be busy with the sound system. Announcements were spitting out with growing urgency: a few tickets still available for the banquet, pony rides closing in one hour, free tastes of sweet raspberry mead in the food court, under- twelve mud-wrestling championship to begin shortly. It was quite as bad as the relentless warnings and reprimands at airports.

At four o’clock, we followed the crowd to the sword-fighting arena, which was nothing more than a patch of ground demarcated by ropes strung on poles. I was relieved to see there were no bloodstains on the grass or severed limbs in a pile. Lanya was officiating as emcee, referee, and scorer. The bouts were mercifully brief, and the swords were nonlethal, made of wood wrapped in duct tape. Infractions were penalized and winners announced. One knight in black armor knelt in front of Luanne and begged her Ladyship to allow him to fight in her honor. His eyes were so blue and twinkly that I expected Luanne to drag him behind the nearest tent. To her dismay, he was defeated and walked away, shaking his head and mumbling to a fellow knight.

“Chivalry is dead,” she said with a sigh. “He didn’t even ask for my phone number. “

“A blackguard of the worst kind. He’s undoubtedly pledged his loyalty to Lord Zormurd, evil ruler of some silly mythical country.”

Luanne looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “Has Lady Clarissa been out in the sun too long?”

I refused to tarnish my dignity with a response. Edward joined us as Lanya introduced the next combatants, the Duke of Glenbarrens and Sir Kenneth of Gweek. “Ten bucks on Benny,” he whispered in my ear.

“You have no faith in your sovereign?” I whispered back.

“They’re evenly matched, but Lanya makes the rulings. Right now she’s furious with Anderson, so she may throw the match to Benny out of spite.”

“How do you know she’s furious with him?”

Edward shrugged. “Even jesters need a break. I grabbed a cup of ale and went over to that clump of trees near the house. They were in the backyard. I heard them say some very nasty things to each other—I assumed they were nasty, anyway. He called her a pathetic wagtail, and she called him a sodding clotpole. There’s nothing quite like a good old medieval marital spat. So, you going to take my bet?”

“Do I look like a bookie?” I said.

He grinned. “No, you look like a very fine Renaissance lady. Your portrait should be hanging in the Louvre. Not in the Vatican, though. You’re much too sexy for that. The cardinals would cast aside their red hats and go dashing out into the streets to search for you. The pope would be too distracted by lewd thoughts to bless the throngs in St. Peter’s Square. Tourists would be trampled in the ensuing bedlam. You, of course, would be so overwhelmed with remorse that you would take to your bed chambers indefinitely. How about five bucks, then?”

Luanne jabbed me. “They’re about to start.”

I considered what he’d said about Lanya and Anderson, then shook my head. “No bet. Try that couple over there. His name’s Earl, and he’s sulking because he didn’t get to watch his ball game.”

The fight appeared to be choreographed. The combatants circled each other as they looked for an opening, although I wasn’t sure they could actually see much through the heavy visors. A lunge, a parry. More circling. The crowd, hungry for bloodshed, shouted derogatory comments. Another lunge, another parry. A heart-stopping moment of blades wildly banging against thick armor. Cheers and boos. I had nothing to contribute, and if I did, I’d forgotten who was who. I finally spotted a wisp of Benny’s beard poking through his visor.

This particular bout seemed to go on interminably. There was no shade nearby, or even a bench. Some of the large women who’d stuffed themselves into tight costumes were turning pink and beginning to sway. The men in burlap tunics were scratching themselves as sweat dribbled down their necks. I noticed Fiona and Julius at one corner of the arena. She was watching the bout without expression, her mouth set, her arms crossed. Julius kept glancing warily at her, as though anticipating a sudden outburst.

“How long can this last?” Luanne muttered. “It’s going to take forever to get my car out of the pasture, and I have a date at seven.”

“With the biker from Florida? Is he going to plan your estate?”

“In my dreams. No, with a corporate vice-president who’s suffering from PMS, as in postmarriage syndrome. His wife ran off with his secretary. The poor man’s totally lost. You’re planning to drive home with the girls after the banquet, right?”

I was about to reply when there was a veritable cacophony from the combatants. Swords flailed. The crowd livened up and began to shout. Babies and toddlers wailed. Anderson caught Benny off guard and sent him staggering back. Undaunted, Benny rushed him, his sword above his head. Both went sprawling on the ground. Benny had gone down on his back, and was struggling like a turtle on its shell as Anderson lumbered to his feet and stamped his foot on Benny’s chest.

“I proclaim the Duke of Glenbarrens to be the grand champion!” Lanya said.

Everyone clapped and cheered, but most of them were staring at Benny, who was motionless. I heard whispers and mutterings as we waited. Anderson removed his foot, calmly placed his sword in its scabbard, and offered his hand to Benny. I was ready to go for medical help when Benny at last knocked aside Anderson’s hand and made it to his feet. They pulled off their helmets, bowed to Lanya, then acknowledged the crowd with nods. Their faces were as red as stewed tomatoes. Benny’s beard was a sodden mass. His eyes narrowed as Anderson joined Lanya and held up his fist.

“You should have taken my bet,” Edward said as he slipped by us.

Luanne exhaled. “That’s enough combat for me. I’m going to see if I can beat the traffic out of the pasture. Call me tomorrow and tell me about the banquet.”

“Are you sure you’ll be home?”

“No, but the veep gets maudlin after a couple of glasses of wine. He was having an affair with his secretary, so he feels betrayed by both her
and
his wife. The last time we went out, he locked himself in a stall in the men’s room for forty-five minutes and sobbed so loudly the maître d’ called for an ambulance.”

“This is your idea of a hot date?” I asked. “Maybe you should pick up a pizza and head for the psych ward at the hospital.”

“Talk to you tomorrow,” she said, fluttering her fingers above her shoulder as she disappeared into the crowd moving toward the tents.

She had made good her escape by the time I reached the food court. On a nearby stage, a play was in progress, presumably a farce since one of the actors was wearing a donkey’s head while a woman in a white apron and cap chased him with a rolling pin. A banner taped on the backdrop identified them as the
fools aplenty traveling
T
hespians
. I wryly noted that their choice of obscenities, such as “bollocks” and “sodding,” were carefully chosen from early English literature to protect the sensibilities of young ears.

Caron and Inez were dealing with a long line of whiny children and grumpy parents. Lady Marsilia d’Anjou and her flock of ravens were doing a brisk business from a wooden cart, although I suspected the hot cross buns were cold. If she was selling relics on the side, I didn’t want to know about it. The Brownies trooped by, all sporting pointed ears. It seemed appropriate.

I browsed the stalls and tents for another twenty minutes, looking for something for Peter. Nothing caught my fancy. I conceded defeat and headed for the farmhouse, where I could slip into my civilian clothes for a while and drink something with ice cubes in it. Tepid ale might be authentic, but it was hardly satisfying.

The living room was uninhabited. I went into the bedroom to change, then realized I was at the mercy of the innumerable hooks on the back of the gown. I limited myself to obscure yet colorful Anglo-Saxon swear words as I went into the kitchen. I heard low voices in from the screened porch. Having no excuse for eavesdropping this time, I continued out and found the Threets sitting on the sofa.

“You look very nice, m’dear,” William said. “You must seriously consider joining ARSE. Too many of our members are either college kids or old fogies like us.”

Glynnis sniffled. “Percival so loved attending the fairs.”

“I’m sure he did,” I said. “Would you please help me with the hooks?”

“You’re not leaving?” William said, alarmed. “You’re supposed to sit at the head table at the banquet. It’s a rare honor to be invited. Lanya and Anderson sat at King Leopold’s table at the last tournament, but only because they’re old friends. We usually find ourselves at the back, where we can barely see the entertainment.”

“Percival was despondent,” Glynnis added, taking a lace handkerchief from under her cuff. “Inconsolable.”

“The hooks?” I said brightly.

She rose and released all the hooks. I assured them I would attend the banquet, then fled to the bedroom and put on my shorts and T-shirt. Feeling as if I’d been released from a straitjacket, I returned to the kitchen and found a cup and a cooler of sodas and ice. Anderson came into the kitchen and caught my wrist before I could pull up the pop top. His hair was damp from a shower, and he’d changed back into his duke suit.