Page 48 of The Affairs of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #2)
The origins of the Canons Ashmore Fair went back into history, at least to mediaeval times: it was mentioned in the records of the former priory.
But there were some who believed it was even older than that, and that it had begun as a horse market in Roman times, when people from the surrounding areas brought in horses for the Legions to purchase as cavalry replacements.
The British were known to be great horsemen and great horse-breeders, and their tough little mounts, ideally suited to the rough terrain, could go all day without tiring.
Though the High Street pubs, cafés and shops naturally hoped to benefit from the increased number of people flocking in, the main part of the fair took place on Poor’s Field, a large meadow on the south edge of the village.
It was here that the horse and cattle sales took place, and here also that the other attractions were set up: the merry-go-round, the coco-nut shy, the shooting gallery, the roll-a-penny; the tented freak shows; the boxing booth; the stalls selling produce and locally made goods; the food vendors and the beer tents.
Each stall paid a tithe of its profits for the day to the church, which distributed the money to good works.
And there was a series of light-hearted races – Gretna Green, egg-and-spoon, three-legged, wheelbarrow – with prizes donated by local tradesmen.
And in the evening there would be dancing.
Kitty was surprised when the carriage that brought her, Giles and Alice to the show ground was met by a committee of the great and good, headed by the rector, with a brass band playing something celebratory – Alice thought it was meant to be ‘See the Conquering Hero Comes’, but it sounded as though one or two members were trying to play ‘Rule Britannia’ instead.
The rector was effusive. ‘Such an honour . . . So delighted you have consented to open our fair . . . our humble endeavours . . . good causes . . . God’s work comes in many forms . . . a few words to lift our hearts and set us on our way.’
‘You want me to make a speech?’ Giles said blankly, spotting a draped and decorated dais in the background, with people already gathering around it. He had not expected this.
‘If you would be so kind. I know we will all take great inspiration from your thoughts on the occasion,’ said Dr Bannister. ‘Your late father and grandfather, sadly, found the date of the show too, er, challenging . . .’
Yes, thought Giles. Straight from Cowes to Scotland. They would never be at home in August.
‘But records show your great-grandfather was a great supporter of our little fête. And we would deem it a great honour,’ he added, turning to Kitty, ‘if her ladyship would graciously condescend to present the prizes later.’
Kitty managed not to giggle, bowing her head to hide the twitch of her lips.
She understood now why Hatto had insisted on dressing her so elaborately for what she had assumed was a private walk about some stalls at a country fair.
It was her first experience of being a Great Person, and she felt utterly fraudulent.
She was grateful for the very wide hat her maid had urged on her: it did give her a certain amount of cover.
Giles allowed himself to be led up onto the dais, like a French aristocrat mounting the scaffold, and managed to assemble a few suitable words while Kitty stood smiling at his side.
There was enthusiastic applause, a small child presented Kitty with a posy, and then the villagers and visitors, all in their summer best, dispersed eagerly to get at the stalls, attractions and victuals.
Alice slipped away with them, determined to enjoy herself.
Poor old Giles and Kitty, she observed, were going to be escorted by the committee.
She decided to walk round the whole thing first, to get the lie of the land and choose what she might spend her money on, then go and look at the horse sale.
‘M’lady,’ somebody said, and curtsied to her, and she realised it was two of their own maids – Tilda and Milly – almost unrecognisable in their best dresses and straw boaters.
All the servants had the day off to allow them to come to the fair.
It was an annual treat for them, like the Boxing Day Ball.
‘Are you having a nice time?’ she said.
‘Yes, thank you, m’lady,’ they said in chorus, then hurried away, giggling.
Somehow, it was funny to see people in the wrong context, and she felt like giggling herself.
William wandered disconsolately about the various stalls, unable to enjoy them because Tabby had promised to come to the fair with him, but then at the last minute, just last night, had told him that she had to work.
‘But I might be able to get off later in the afternoon. If I can, I’ll come and find you.
You don’t need to go looking for me,’ she had said.
He’d had grand visions of winning her a doll at the shooting gallery – he had quite a good eye – or perhaps impressing her by standing up for a round with ‘Pugnacious Jack Pugsley, the Wycombe Wonder’ (though William had never been a boxer and was rather afraid of fisticuffs, but it was hinted that, for half a crown, Pugnacious, a romantic at heart, would go easy on you if your sweetie was watching and even pretend to be knocked down).
Or he might take her on the merry-go-round where, sitting behind her on one of the galloping horses, he would be licensed to put his arms around her waist and perhaps give her a squeeze. Even just strolling about the various stalls had offered the hope that she would let him hold her hand.
Listlessly he examined the stalls of local tradesmen, sampled a morsel of Shelloes pork pie and a sliver of Hillbrow cheese, expended six balls on the coco-nut shy without dislodging anything, and consoled himself with a half of summer ale at one of the beer tents.
He bought himself a bacon and onion pastie and walked on, eating it.
The crowds were growing more dense, and he almost bumped into Ellen and Mabel, walking together arm-in-arm, before he saw them.
‘’Lo, William,’ Mabel said, giving him a grin. ‘You got a bit of summing on your chin – looks like onion.’
He wiped his face vaguely with the back of his hand.
Ellen glanced at him, then away again indifferently.
She was pretty, and rumoured to be walking out with Tom Trapper, the chimney-sweep.
William was troubled by an embarrassing memory of Speen and Hook telling him that, and then sniggering over some joke about a sheet of paper with a hole in it, which he didn’t entirely understand and certainly didn’t want to.
He hated the way the two valets talked about women.
He blushed at the memory, which caused Mabel’s grin to widen, and caused him to remember, with further scalding, that they had said Mabel would do it with anyone, and had urged him to ‘give it a go’.
‘Are you having a nice time?’ he mumbled, trying to be polite and rid his mind of inconvenient images.
‘Yeah, prit’ much,’ Mabel said. ‘Be more fun with a chap to show us round,’ she added. ‘Want to?’
‘Oh, Mabel,’ Ellen sighed disapprovingly.
‘Never mind her,’ Mabel said. ‘You can take me in the Hall of Mirrors if you like. They say you see stuff in there that’ll knock your eye out.’
William didn’t want to go in the Hall of Mirrors with Mabel. With Tabby would be a different thing. But he was not often solicited by members of the female persuasion, and hardly knew how to refuse.
‘I haven’t got much money,’ he mumbled stupidly. What he had, he wanted to save in case Tabby did make an appearance later.
‘Well, you’re no use to us, then, are you?’ Mabel said, and shrieked with laughter. ‘Go on, mutton-head, I’m not interested in you. I seen your mum, though, over by the gate. She’ll look after you.’ And the two walked on, leaving William feeling badgered and belittled.
And was his mother really here? If so, she could only have come to check up on him.
She didn’t approve of fairs – or of pleasure in general.
Pleasure was the Devil’s way of tricking you into sin: that was her belief.
If you were enjoying yourself, something somewhere was wrong.
He really didn’t want to bump into his mother.
But which way to go to avoid her? He turned on the spot, trying to look in every direction at once, in case he saw his mother’s greenish-black best hat bobbing towards him.
What he did see – only a glimpse between heads and shoulders, but the eye of love was keen, and he was sure he was right – was Tabby’s jolly straw boater decked with artificial cherries, and beneath it her golden hair, which was a colour different from everyone else’s, so you couldn’t mistake it.
She seemed to be on the arm of a man, but William was unable to see which man.
Her boss, perhaps? Or her father? He tried to hurry after her, but the crowds were so thick they impeded his progress, and by the time he reached the place where she had been, she was long gone.
Then he started to doubt he had actually seen her.
He wandered on, from stall to stall, without purpose.
If she was here, she had said she would find him, but in such a throng, would she be any more successful than him?
Alice examined the horses and ponies tied up for sale, which gave her both pleasure and pain: pleasure because she loved all horses, pain because some of them were so old and poor she feared for their future.
She wished she had lots of money and could buy them all so they’d be safe and cared for.
She stopped to stroke a very thin pony with a dull coat and hipbones that stuck out like a cow’s, and it flinched away from her hand as though it expected to be struck.
But then it sighed, and even leaned against her fingers a little, as if remembering better days.