“The king is dead,” said Bill. “Long live the king!”
“Long live the king!” we chorused.
We sat up past midnight, talking, laughing, and quaffing, but the day’s intense emotions and dramatic events finally caught up with us and it was time to bring our gathering to a close. While Bill exchanged last-minute pleasantries with the other men, Calvin stepped to one side and beckoned to me.
“I have something for you, Lori,” he said. He reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a folded slip of paper. “Jinks asked me to give it to you.”
I unfolded the slip of paper and saw in the flickering firelight a handwritten copy of the honey cake recipe.
“Oh,” I said softly, and felt my throat constrict. “Thank him for me, will you?”
“You can thank him yourself,” said Calvin. “They encourage visitors in the place I’ve found for him. I’m going to make sure everyone goes to see him, especially Lady Amelia. She’s had her eye on him, but she’s been too shy to make her preference known. I think it’s time for her to speak up, don’t you?” He glanced furtively at Bill, Lord Belvedere, Sir James, Lord Llewellyn, and Mr. Malvern, then leaned closer to me and said quietly, “It’s not just about money, you know. He needs to be shown how much he’s loved.” Calvin beamed jovially at me, turned, and strode away from the bonfire.
As the darkness swallowed him, I blinked back tears and whispered, “Long live King Calvin the Good!”
Epilogue
The invasion of Finch ended on a sweltering afternoon in late August. My peaceful English village had survived rampaging tourists, eccentric houseguests, and overcrowded evenings at the pub, but King Wilfred’s Faire could not survive the unexpected death of its original merry monarch. At the end of the summer, the Mayne Entrance was closed for good, and all traces of the fair vanished from Bishop’s Wood.
Merlot the Magician shocked Finch’s wine connoisseurs by purchasing six cases of Dick Peacock’s ghastly homemade wine to take home with him. Bill and I decided that his next trick would be to make his own tooth enamel disappear. Magus Silveroak graciously accepted Sally Pyne’s going-away gift of lovingly hand-knitted sweaters, socks, and scarves, but no one believed that the wizard would get much use out of them. Peggy Taxman presented the jugglers with a bag of practice fruit when they departed, and the mime left without saying a word to anyone.
The village’s traditional summer events flourished once Peggy agreed to hold them at the fairground. Grog the basset hound won the newly created Fancy Dress Award at the dog show, thanks to the dashing Robin Hood costume Sally Pyne had made for him. Grant Tavistock and Charles Bellingham took first place in the flower show with their stunning begonias, and the Anscombe Manor junior team won their portion of the gymkhana, which drew large and appreciative crowds to the joust arena.
Will, Rob, Thunder, and Storm were knighted in the arena by King Wilfred the Second, who conducted the entire ceremony on horseback. Bill wore his medieval dude garb to the festivities, but after wearing my costume for one action-packed day, I retired my role as Madame de Bergere and stuck to mundane clothes for the rest of the summer. I didn’t want Alex or Leslie or Jim or Diane—whoever they were—to recognize me as the woman they’d seen crawling away from Edmond’s tent. No bride wants to find out that her wedding planner was her fiancé’s bit of fluff.
Calvin resumed the throne one last time, to marry Edmond and Mirabel in a daylong Rennie extravaganza that involved nearly every performer at the fair. The happy couple was escorted to the Great Hall by the soldiers, squires, and knights, serenaded during the ceremony by the madrigal maidens, and feted at the sumptuous wedding feast by beggars, gypsies, pirates, fairies, monks, snake charmers, Morris dancers, belly dancers, puppeteers, wenches, magicians, wizards, jugglers, acrobats, musicians, and the walking, talking tree. The wedding was the highlight of the summer, and a splendid way to say farewell to King Wilfred’s marvelous, magical fair.
Afterward, the Rennies struck camp and dispersed. Some returned to their regular nine-to-five jobs, others moved on to participate in historic festivals and reenactments all over England, and a few traveled to America, to try their luck on the year-round Ren fest circuit.
Jinks spent seven weeks in the rest home Calvin had found for him, healing from minor knee surgery as well as a major nervous breakdown. Calvin didn’t have to cajole his employees into visiting the rest home. Since the fair was very much like a village, the Rennies knew of Jinks’s crimes before he was released from the lockup in Upper Deeping. They didn’t condemn him because they were, on the whole, a remarkably nonjudgmental lot and because, like Calvin, they sympathized with Jinks’s fears. Not a day went by without one or more of them showing up at the rest home to keep Jinks abreast of the fair’s hottest gossip or simply to keep him company.
Lady Amelia was his most frequent visitor. The slim, raven-haired beauty taught him to play the lute and discovered that he had a fine singing voice that happened to blend exquisitely with hers. When he came to the wedding with her on his arm, he was no longer Jinks the Jester, but Rowan the Bard. The songs he’d composed to perform at the feast were witty and funny and wise, and they didn’t require him to wear a belled cap or to do backflips.
“Lady Amelia reckons he’ll be ready to go back to America in another week or two,” I said. “He’s asked her to go with him, which is just as well, because she’s had her bags packed since July.”
I sat in the study, with my feet on the ottoman and the blue journal open in my lap. King Reginald gazed down at me from his niche on the bookshelves with a satisfied glimmer in his black button eyes. He seemed to think that it was very good to be king.
Is Calvin aware of Lady Amelia’s intentions?
I laughed as the question appeared on the page in Aunt Dimity’s old-fashioned script.
“Are you kidding?” I said. “Calvin’s done everything in his power to encourage and support her intentions. He’s hoping for a wedding by Christmas.”
I’m pleased to know that Calvin continues to regard Lady Amelia with affection. It can be awkward when one’s best friend finds a mate. I was afraid Calvin might feel excluded.
“Lady Amelia’s way ahead of you,” I said. “She’s put Calvin to work arranging their schedule for next year. If a Ren fest doesn’t want all three of them, he’s to scratch it off the list and move on to the next one. He shouldn’t have any trouble finding gigs, though. They’re a talented and experienced trio.”
I’m certain they’ll do well as a team. I applaud Calvin’s decision to give up his grand dream and return to his roots as a humble player.
“Why?” I asked. “Most people think he’s going backwards—changing from a butterfly into a caterpillar.”
Unlike most people, Calvin is at peace with himself. When his dream proved to be more than he could handle, he didn’t become discouraged. He simply recognized his limitations and decided to live happily within them. I have no doubt that he’ll make an exemplary caterpillar. Butterfly wings can be awfully hard to manage.
“Lord Belvedere and Sir James think he’s a fool for letting Jinks off so lightly,” I said.
I’d rather be his kind of fool than theirs. Where they see wickedness and demand punishment, Calvin sees despair and demands compassion. He won’t tolerate cruelty—he would have sacked Sir Jacques if the soldiers hadn’t beaten him to the punch—and to send a sick friend to prison would have been the harshest form of cruelty. Calvin is wiser than even he knows. He refuses to let bitterness poison his heart. He chooses instead to believe in the healing power of love.
“He certainly gives new meaning to ‘Forgive and forget,’ ” I commented dryly.
The old meaning is potent enough. What would he have gained by holding on to anger and seeking revenge? A future shared with Lady Amelia and Rowan the Bard is brighter by far than one filled with regret and resentment.
“Calvin’s smarter than I am,” I said. “I’m still holding on to a sack of regrets.”
>
Such as?
“I wish I hadn’t pegged Calvin as a playboy,” I said. “I wish I hadn’t seen Edmond as a crazed assassin. I wish I’d noticed Jinks’s attempt to seduce me. He would have felt much better about himself if I’d slapped his face. I wish I’d had more confidence in Bill’s ability to defend my honor. I was so afraid that Randy Jack would knock the tar out of him that I couldn’t bring myself to watch the fight.”
What a strange and interesting set of regrets. Would you care to explain them further?
“It’s my imagination,” I said. “It’s completely screwed up. The things I could imagine turned out to be false and the things I couldn’t imagine turned out to be true. Calvin’s not a playboy and Edmond isn’t a crazed assassin, but Jinks was trying to seduce me, and Bill was perfectly capable of defending my honor. What’s wrong with me, Dimity? No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to see what’s in front of me.”
How boring life would be if we could see only what’s in front of us! Your imagination may lead you astray, my dear, but it takes you on fascinating journeys, and you always get off at the right stop in the end. Face it, Lori: You’re not cut out to be a normal human being. You’re meant to be better than normal. Take a page from Calvin’s book. Recognize your limitations and rejoice in them!
“But—”
No buts! Dragons come in all shapes and sizes. Some need to be punched on the nose. Some need to spend time in a rest home. The dragons within us need to be slain. Stop doubting yourself, my dear. Don’t try to be someone you’re not. Let Emma be Emma. I vastly prefer you as Lori.
By the first weekend in September, Horace Malvern’s cows had settled into their old pasture, and Finch had settled into its old ways. The village grapevine quivered with rumors about the wedding that would take place in two short weeks, and Peggy Taxman’s gavel could be heard throughout the land. Nothing had really changed in Finch. Thank heavens.
I attended every committee meeting, not because I was afraid of being landed with an unpalatable job, but because I was eager to get to work organizing the Harvest Festival, the Guy Fawkes Day bonfire, the Nativity play, and the rescheduled bring-and-buy sale. I’d had my fill of spectacle. I couldn’t wait to bring out the frayed linen tablecloths, tarnished tea urns, and increasingly shabby, but soothingly familiar, decorations.
I was much too busy to dwell on the summer of the dragon. I looked to the future, and I let my imagination soar.
King Wilfred’s Honey Cakes
Cakes
½ cup butter
4 cups sifted flour
2 egg yolks
1 cup milk
2 tablespoons superfine sugar
2 tablespoons honey
1½ teaspoons baking powder pinch salt
Topping
1 egg white
1 cup heather honey
3 tablespoons ground almonds
Preheat the oven to 350˚F. Grease the baking sheet.
Cakes
Rub the butter into the flour. Beat the egg yolks with the milk. Combine the sugar and honey in a small saucepan and heat over a low flame, stirring until well mixed. Then stir in the baking powder.
Add the sugar/honey mixture to the flour/butter mixture, alternating with the egg yolks/milk mixture. Mix everything together very well, add the salt, and mix again. Roll out gently on a floured board to approximately a ½-inch thickness. Cut into twenty-four rounds. Place the rounds on a greased baking sheet. Bake at 350˚F for about 20 minutes, or until golden brown. Remove to a rack to cool. When cool, add the topping.
Topping
Lightly beat the egg white. Combine the honey with the almonds. Paint the tops of the cakes with the egg white, then spread the honey/almond mixture over the tops of the cakes. Bake in a very cool oven for no longer than 5 minutes, to set. Eat either hot or cold, and let your imagination soar!
Aunt Dimity Slays the Dragon Page 24