“She’s gone down to the butcher’s, always does on a Monday. Talked about lamb chops for dinner, very nicely she does them, too, makes the mint sauce herself, famous for it. But you should see her this afternoon, if that helps; she’s planning on going with me to watch the archery contest. Imagine one being held again at Mucklesfeld after all these years; of course there’s no telling if Giles would have been pleased or not. There was no reading him at all during the last twenty years.” Finally drawing a much-needed breath, he stood staring at me in awkward schoolboy fashion. That he was aware he’d been babbling, I doubted. Some strong emotion had him by the throat, forcing a series of gulps as he now looked pleadingly at me.
“Miss Mayberry… Livonia… how is she? Last night in bed, I remembered the skeleton I loaned Georges LeBois. I’m afraid I didn’t think much about it at the time, not then being acquainted with any of the contestants. It seemed a harmless enough prank, since I’m given to understand that a show like
“That would have been a straight survival show; this one is a mix of romance, if you can call it that, and life’s nitty-gritty.” I studied the weeping willow. “Livonia did seem a little upset at the thought of your lending the skeleton, but I don’t think she will hold it against you if you want to be her… friend.”
“A friend! Dear Mrs. Haskell, my feelings for her go so much deeper! But would one so lovely…” he went on in this vein at such length that I couldn’t not help wondering how much of his reading was confined to medical journals, but he was a dear man-or I was prepared to assume he was, so I listened, made sympathetic noises, was tempted to pat him on the head and tell him he was a good boy, and tried not to look relieved when he wound down. I didn’t mention lunch for fear he would invite me in and offer me a Marmite sandwich while continuing to wax rhapsodic about Livonia. I could have told him about every quivering breath she took, but a perennial schoolboy had to grow up sometime and do his own finding out.
Remembering his providing the tablets that had cured my headache, I wished him well before bidding him a firmly motherly goodbye.
The weather had now turned sufficiently chill to make me glad of my jacket, and thinking that another decent cup of tea would be welcome, I returned to the same cafe. Shepherd’s pie sounded good and just right for a Monday that had seen said meal served up in many an English household when what was left of Sunday’s joint wasn’t sufficient to be served cold.
The place was crowded, and I was joined at the table for two by a woman in a pink wooly hat and beige raincoat who proceeded to surround her legs and mine with shopping bags that should have needed six arms to carry them. She very kindly told me the haddock would have been a better choice, and then seemed to feel she owed me her life history, which I would have reveled in at any other time. The son-in-law with the ring through his eyebrow who’d never worked a day since the first kiddy was born, and them all three of them such sweet little things, though it was shame Emma-just four as of last Wednesday-every now and then showed signs of a temper that had to come from her other granny who’d had trouble with all of her neighbors going back years, but of course it did no good saying anything…
The waitress, rushed off her feet, was a little slow bringing out our meals, so to show her I hadn’t been in any rush, I ordered the treacle tart and coffee, heard about Mrs. Pink Wooly Hat’s other daughter-the one who’d never given a moment’s worry, except that she did keep changing jobs, and although it couldn’t be said she was living above her means…” Sneaking a look at my watch, I discovered it was a quarter to two, fifteen minutes before the archery contest was due to start. And start on time I knew it would. One of those unpleasant rules of life is that nothing starts late when you hope it will. Also the contestants would be galvanized to punctuality either in the hope of gaining points for themselves or because of a growing team spirit.
I hoped my hasty departure did not offend my table companion, but it was as I expected on reaching the end of Mucklesfeld’s drive and rounding the rear of the house. Mr. Plunket and Boris were adding a final couple of lawn chairs to a row some yards in front of the ravine. Even now, two chairs were occupied by Mrs. Spendlow and the woman I had sat next to in church. I nodded and smiled but did not go over to them. The contestants were grouped together on the lawn above the terrace near the fountain and a motley assortment of worse for wear statues. Perhaps not all of the contestants; I couldn’t see Judy, although being diminutive she could have been invisible inside the huddle. Georges and the crew were positioned close to the house wall. A sturdy, middle-height elderly man in a jacket and cap moved between the two groups, occasionally extending a hand, palm up, as if testing the wind. There didn’t seem to be much of one, but Charlie Forester-for that’s who he had to be-had in his manner of moving and the tilt of his head the look of an expert on all things nature. I could see the bows and arrows on a table alongside Georges’s wheelchair and the round target on a tree to the forefront of one of several small, unpruned groves.
Mrs. Foot came out the door by which Judy, Livonia, and I had entered the house on arrival. I heard her asking Georges if he would like a nice cup of tea, only to be rudely ignored. At which moment I heard Mr. Plunket’s voice raised in what sounded like a greeting, and turned to see Celia Belfrey seat herself in queenly fashion, and to my amazement Nora Burton-alias I knew who-take the chair next to her. Before I could finish gaping, Tommy Rowley joined the audience with Mrs. Spuds, who waved at me in friendly fashion.
But this was not the moment for pondering. Lord Belfrey made his appearance, went up to the group of contestants, and was heard offering words of encouragement and warnings to take care. Echoes of which were then instilled in a crusty, confident voice by Charlie Forester.
“Safety first, for your own good as well as others. Never-repeat, never-turn if someone calls your name or there are any other interruptions. That’s the way serious accidents happen.” He rumbled informatively on longbows and recurve bows. “The thirty-five-pound bows cause more damage than the twenty-five, which will be used this afternoon, along with target arrows-wooden ones with wooden fletches.”
“It all sounds rather intimidating,” I heard Alice say, but with an edge of laughter. “Do we get a good practice in first?” Charlie assured her that they’d all have the basics down pat before firing their first arrows.
Livonia and Molly stood in what to me looked like nervous conversation, while Mrs. Malloy, having actually replaced her high heels with lace-up shoes she must have borrowed, pivoted this way and that, pulling an imaginary bow, eyes narrowed in deepest concentration. Lord Belfrey retreated to stand alongside Georges. What, I wondered, would be his reaction upon approaching his cousin Celia? Would something deep in his being cry out in recognition upon beholding her hired companion? My thoughts had been so occupied with this question I had forgotten the absent Judy, but in turning my head to see if I could detect anything from Nora Burton’s posture, I saw Judy emerge in the familiar hiking jacket from the ravine at a fast pace. Head down as if to carve out more speed, she did not look up until nearing her fellow contestants still hearkening with various signs of interest-Mrs. Malloy’s the least-to the words of Charlie Forester.
“So sorry to keep you all waiting,” Judy said with remorseful embarrassment. “Afraid I lost track of time down there hunting for a few final pieces of stone to finish the wall. Have to go inside and wash my hands, but will speed on back.”
Mrs. Foot, who had the entry door open prior to going back inside-perhaps to make herself one of those cups of tea that no one else seemed to appreciate-held it for Judy and they went in together. At that point, I became increasingly absorbed by what was going on immediately in front of me. If the entire audience and crew had got up and left, I wouldn’t have noticed.
Charlie continued his flow of instructions while the bows were handed out by a blank-faced Boris, hindered rather than helped by Mrs. Foot, when she returned from the house. Provided with their sporting weaponry, the women-still absent Judy-wandered around in circles, occasionally pausing to bump into each other.
“Line up your stance and look directly at target when preparing to shoot,” instructed Charlie, moving, bravely in my opinion, among them. There was quite a bit of turning when being spoken to, despite having been told this was taboo, and much dropping of arrows.
“If you don’t listen, I’ll never make shooters out of you. Anchor index finger to corner of the mouth. That’s not your finger, it’s your wrist,” he informed Mrs. Malloy, who bared her teeth in a smile. “Keep shooting arm straight,” he told Alice. And then to Molly: “Make sure nock is firmly on string.”
What was a nock? I wondered.
“Elbow high,” he said to Livonia.
How very confusing it all was! Which elbow; hadn’t he just said to keep the shooting arm straight?
“Don’t release, still practicing!” For the first time he raised his voice when looking at Mrs. Malloy, who indeed appeared poised to let fly.
