CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE WAGON WHEELS creaked noisily as the horses trotted over the winding dirt road that led to the fair grounds. The wooden seat was uncomfortable and the odor of damp hay was quite overwhelming, but Edward Lyon, with typical whimsey, had decided that a hay wagon was the best vehicle in which to arrive at the fair. It would set the mood, he claimed. I sat beside him, high up on the wooden seat. A huge mound of hay rose behind us, bits of it spilling over our shoulders when the wagon went over a particularly nasty rut in the road. The wagon creaked, the harness jingled, the horses trotted noisily. Edward Lyon held the reins firmly in his hands, relaxed and apparently at ease.
He seemed to have forgotten all about the incident that had happened two nights before, and evidently he wanted me to forget it too. He had made no allusion to it, and his whole manner had been that of an adult trying to distract a child who has just had a nightmare. He was charming and witty and paid much more attention to me than he did ordinarily. He and Corinne had both insisted that I attend the fair, although I had protested that I had no interest in the event. Edward had practically abducted me this afternoon, and he seemed determined that I enjoy myself.
“I do hope the steer takes the blue ribbon,” he remarked. “There’s a good chance he will. A great brute of an animal, he is. You must come look at him before the judging.”
“I’ll do that,” I said, without enthusiasm.
“It’s a beautiful day for the fair,” he said.
“Lovely,” I replied.
“You’ll get a chance to observe some local customs.”
“Jolly,” I said.
“Sulking?”
“Just bored.”
He grinned. “You won’t be for long.”
I didn’t reply. The wagon went over a large rut. We bounced. I had to seize his arm for support. He laughed, clicking the reins. He was in a fine mood, humorous and expansive, evidently looking forward to the event. I wished I could show a little more interest, but seeing livestock and watching wrestling matches held no appeal for me. I was too preoccupied with other things to be concerned with making merry. My dour mood didn’t seem to bother Edward at all.
“Have you ever been to a county fair?” he asked.
“No, I haven’t.”
“They get rowdy, rather. It’s a very festive affair for the country folks, and festivity means beer and bodies and fights. All inhibitions are forgotten, and the sober, hardworking men who toil in the fields all season long are ready to break loose and let off steam. You’ll see bodies rolling in the sawdust and bloody noses, but it’s all in a spirit of fun.”
“Really?”
“The day really belongs to the young people. Brawny lads take this opportunity to seize a lass they’ve been eyeing all year and pay rather ardent court. Anything goes. They dance the polka and, later on, wander off down to the river. Many a maid is undone.”
“Charming,” I said.
“Does everyone good to loosen up a little,” he remarked.
“I see,” I said.
“Do you dance the polka?” he asked.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Shame. Maybe I’ll teach you.”
“I’m not a country maid,” I replied.
“You look like one in that dress.”
“Do I?”
“You’ve got hay in your hair,” Edward said. “That adds just the right touch. You might have just come from the dairy, finished with milking the cows and ready to gather the eggs. I hope some lusty lout doesn’t mistake you for a farm girl and whisk you off to the polka.”
“It isn’t likely,” I told him primly.
“Never can tell,” he replied, chuckling.
The wagon turned around a bend. I could see the fair grounds ahead, spread out on a stretch of ground that led down to the river. It was like something out of the Arabian nights, I thought—tents of all sizes and colors billowed in the slight breeze. Dozens of stalls were set up, banners and pennants waving from them, and a painted carousel went round and round to the brassy notes of a calliope. It was a vivid patch of color, furious with activity. Hundreds of people milled about already, and more wagons were arriving every moment. Edward clicked the reins and the horses hurried towards the spot.
Wagons, carts, vehicles of all kinds made a ring around the fair grounds. Edward stopped beside a wagon heaped with cabbage. He helped me down, and I brushed hay from my skirts. Livestock stamped behind a roped-in area nearby, filling the air with the pungent odors of manure and sweat. There was a pen of pigs, the squealing animals rolling in the mud. The noise was deafening.
He took my hand and soon we were in the midst of the fair. It was a spectacle of sight and sound and smell, engulfing us immediately. Wagons heaped with produce stood beside plows. Animals bellowed. Children ran through the crowd, laughing and squealing. A man in a soiled white apron sold steaming frankfurters smeared with mustard, and at the stall beside him a stooped old man with gray hair held the strings of a dozen colored balloons that bobbed in the breeze. Two tall, husky lads were arguing violently beside a barrel of dill pickles, their faces ruddy, their fists clenched. They shouted vile oaths at each other until a girl in a scarlet dress threw herself between them. They all three moved off, arms locked together, to get a pitcher of stout ale at the next stall.
I could not resist the vigor and excitement of the fair. It was a constantly moving kaleidoscope of color, banners waving, music blaring, the very air charged with the abandon of holiday spirit. I saw girls in vividly colored dresses flirting outrageously with solemn looking lads in boots and leather jerkins. Everyone seemed determined to have a good time, and there was something rather frightening in their determination. They moved from place to place, pushing and jostling anyone who got in their way, as though desperate to get all possible pleasure from this. I saw faces tense even as they smiled, and bodies seemed to be hurled with explosive energy. I could see how all this could easily get out of hand. I stayed close beside Edward, excited but somewhat intimidated.
Edward seemed amused by it all, yet he was not a part of it. He wore his finest gray suit, his black boots gleaming with polish, a pearl stickpin in his sky-blue ascot. He was rather like an adult indulgently watching the antics of playful children, but when someone jostled against us, he shot out a strong arm and shoved the person aside, as roughly as anyone. He was amused by the boisterous atmosphere, but it did not touch him.
He kept glancing over his shoulder, as though he were looking for someone, I noticed. He really paid very little attention to anything we were doing. If he stopped at a stall, he glanced down at the merchandise, made a reply to my comment if it were necessary and then turned to look over the crowd, his eyes searching. Once I asked him if he were expecting someone, but he denied it and took my elbow to lead me to the next stall. He was charming, making witty comments now and then about various sights, but the charm was mechanical. I felt he was not really with me, and as the day wore on I noticed a slight edge of irritation in his voice as though something hadn’t turned out as he had expected.
He took me to see the bull that had been raised on one of the tenant farms. It was an enormous beast, fierce looking, with a sleek black coat. It snorted and stamped, tugging at the rope that held it to a stake. As it moved, I could see the muscles rippling under the satiny black. I had never seen such a powerful animal. Edward told me about its line, about the special food that had been given to it. He would make a magnificent stud, Edward claimed.
The livestock auction was held in the middle of the afternoon. A man with garters on his shirt-sleeves banged a gavel and took bids, and a crowd of men examined the animals and bid in loud voices. Edward’s bull had won the blue ribbon, and it fetched a good price, but he did not seem to care much. The crowd was thick around the livestock pens, the air heavy with the odors of manure and damp hay and sweat and stale beer. The sun beat down fiercely, and I felt slightly nauseated as I stood in the crowd with Edward, my arm in his. It was a
fter five when the auction was over, and the atmosphere of the fair had changed considerably.
Business was over. The livestock had been sold. Those who had come solely for this purpose were gone now. Most of the children were gone as well, and those who remained were tired and contrary. There was no longer a light, carefree feeling in the air. Men who had been drinking steadily all day had sullen expressions, and some of them staggered. The carousel still went round, the calliope as brassy and loud as before, but there was a blaring, irritating quality about the music now.
“Are you tired?” Edward asked.
“Very. We’ve been here for hours.”
“What do you want to do next?”
“I’m ready to go,” I said.
“Nonsense. Come, I’ll win you a doll.”
We stopped at the shooting gallery. Edward paid his money and took up the rifle, leaning on the stall and aiming at the balloons that were revolving on a platform twenty yards away. He was cool and precise, holding the gun casually yet firmly, his arm crooked at just the right angle. I listened to the rapid explosions, heard the balloons burst. My head was aching a little, and when Edward put the gun aside and handed me the doll he had won, I took it with a petulant smile. He looked triumphant, proud of his achievement. A little girl with a dirty face was standing with her mother at the next stall, trying to sell flowers that were wilting now. She looked at the doll with longing eyes, and I gave it to her. Edward did not seem to appreciate the gesture.
“I’m too old for dolls,” I said crisply. “I’m not a child.”
“I’m beginning to notice.”
“Then why treat me like one?” I asked.
He narrowed his eyes but did not reply.
“It’s been a long day,” I said. “Shall we leave?”
“Not just yet,” he said. “There’ll be a fireworks display later on. You won’t want to miss that.”
“The cattle have been sold,” I said. “I’ve had enough festivity for one day. The crowd is getting restless.”
“They’re anxious for the wrestling matches to begin. Come, I’ll buy you some lemonade. You’ll feel better.”
I did not complain anymore. I knew that he did not want to go. He was cool and calm on the surface, a pleasant smile on his lips, but there was something else in his manner. We bought the lemonade and stood under the shade of an oak tree to drink it. Edward Lyon leaned against the oak tree, his face in shadows, watching the activity of the fair. His eyes still seemed to be searching, and I knew that he was waiting for something or someone. I sipped the cool lemonade, feeling a little better, yet I was puzzled by his conduct. Edward was not enjoying himself yet he was determined to stay; I could not understand it.
It was after six when the wrestling matches began. This was a big event for many of the men, the main reason they had come to the fair. A ring had been roped off, heavy mats placed over the ground, and country lads with naked chests and oiled muscles stood flexing their arms, ready to fight. There was a prize of money for the champion, as well as a black leather belt with silver emblems. However, the real reason for the contests seemed to be for gambling purposes. Bookies circulated among the crowd, sly, ferret-eyed men who did not belong in the village. Edward explained that they moved from fair to fair all over England, making money from dog races and wrestling matches and the like, swindling the yokels and causing trouble wherever they went. Men studied the various contestants, judging them as one might judge horseflesh before placing their bets. Each seemed to have a favorite, and Edward said that some of the boys who would wrestle had been in training all year long, hoping to win the money.
The sun had begun to sink, a great orange ball in a darkening blue sky. The shadows were long and heavy, spreading over the fair grounds. Two men circled around each other on the mats, fell upon one another in a great tangle of arms and legs. I looked away. I studied the men in the crowd. I saw tensed bodies, glazed eyes, slack mouths, flushed faces. They shouted loudly, crying for blood. In the ring there was a mass of straining, jabbing flesh, and I felt sick. I thought of the Romans who crowded the amphitheater, urging the gladiators to kill. This seemed as barbaric to me.
Edward Lyon had a slight smile on his lips as he watched the fights, amused by them but clearly above this sort of thing. He had nevertheless placed a bet on one of the men who was going into the ring now. I watched his reaction during the fight. As the bodies crashed on the mat, thrashing about, he seemed to enjoy it as much as the others. His eyes glittered darkly. The smile curled tightly at the corner of his mouth. I wondered if there was a streak of cruelty in him, carefully concealed under the fine gloss of manners. The bell rang and the match was over. His man had won, coming out of the ring bruised but victorious. Two men carried the other man out and dabbed his face with a damp towel.
“Looks like I won,” Edward said.
“I think it’s beastly,” I replied. “I feel ill.”
He grinned. “Too much for you?”
“Quite.”
“I’ll just go collect my bet. I’ll be back shortly.”
He went to collect his money. I felt someone tugging at my arm and turned around to find Molly standing beside me, a vivid smile on her red lips. Her curls fell in a glossy black tangle about her shoulders, and her eyes sparkled. She wore a bright blue dress with pink bows at the bodice, which she filled amply. The dress was soiled with perspiration and the skirt was streaked with something that looked suspiciously like grass stains.
“Isn’t it exciting!” she cried. “I’m havin’ the grandest time!”
“I haven’t seen you around today, Molly,” I remarked.
“Oh—” she said, stretching the word out, “Bertie and I’ve been here most of the day, but we’ve been down by the river, watchin’ all the boats and things.” She smiled coyly.
“Where is your Bertie?” I asked.
“Oh, he’s goin’ to wrestle! Isn’t it wonderful? I do hope he wins! And where is Mr. Edward?”
“He’s gone to collect the money on a bet he placed,” I replied.
“Look, there’s Bertie! I’ve gotta run and wish him luck.”
Molly rushed over to speak to the boy. He was a giant, over six feet tall, his tanned body rippling with muscle. Waves of dark blond hair fell over his forehead, and his dark gray eyes were full of confidence as he wrapped tape about his wrists. His nose was slightly crooked, his mouth thick lipped and sensual. He grinned when Molly touched his shoulder and made a fierce expression for her. Molly giggled and stood up on tiptoes to whisper something in his ear. He stroked her shoulder and drew back his lips, exposing his teeth. Molly pretended to swoon then skipped back over to me as the bell rang for the match to begin.
“He’s just grand!” Molly cried. “Dumb as can be—and fresh! But what can you expect?”
Molly jumped and squealed during the contest, elated. I looked around for Edward, wondering where on earth he could be. Almost half an hour had passed since he left me. The match ended. Bertie had lost. Molly frowned and said he was too confident and really a dumb creature but she was going to let him dance with her just the same. I paid no attention to her chatter. She noticed this.
“Is something wrong, Miss Julia?”
“I was wondering where Mr. Lyon has gone.”
“He should have been back by now,” Molly said.
“I know. I think I’ll go look for him.”
“You’d better wait,” Molly said. “Bertie will be here in a minute, as soon as he’s washed up. We’ll help you look for Mr. Edward. It isn’t a good idea for you to be alone—”
“Don’t be silly,” I said.
Molly looked a little doubtful, but she was too excited to have much concern about anything. She said she would see me later and stood up on her tiptoes to see if she could spot Bertie. I pushed my way through the crowd.
I searched for Edward but did not see him anywhere. I passed stalls with barren shelves, the merchandise all sold or put away. The carousel had stopped a
nd the painted horses looked tired and bedraggled. A man was spreading sawdust over the emptied livestock pens and steam rose from piles of manure. A dog scratched about in an overturned vegetable cart. Those people not watching the wrestling matches walked aimlessly, waiting for the activity of the night. Men were stringing Japanese lanterns around the dance pavilion. A man sprinkled sand over the wooden floor and a huddle of empty chairs around the pavilion waited for the musicians to arrive. I could hear the shouts of the crowd at the wrestling ring, far away now. The sun had disappeared, leaving dark orange banners on the sky. Shadows were thickening, spreading purple over the ground.
Edward was standing by our hay wagon, talking intently with a man I had never seen before. He was short and stout, wearing a black and gray checked suit, an apple green tie and a dark brown derby hat. His face was fleshy, the jowls hanging down, and his small brown eyes shifted about as he talked with Edward. The two men stopped talking as I approached. Both seemed to resent the intrusion. Edward frowned. The man in the derby gave me a long appraising look. He had the look and smell of London about him. He was not one of the bookies. I wondered who he was and what Edward had to do with him. Their abruptly concluded conversation seemed to hang in the air, waiting to be continued. I felt uncomfortable.
“Were you looking for me?” Edward asked, casually. “I thought you would still be watching the fights.”
“I couldn’t take any more. You were gone so long—”
“I collected my money and then ran into an old friend.”
“Oh?”
I waited for an introduction. There was none.
“Are you ready to leave?” I asked.
“I have some business to discuss,” Edward said. “The dancing will start in a little while. I’ll meet you by the pavilion, Julia.”
“Who’s the girl?” the stranger asked, his voice heavy.
Edward ignored this. “I’ll see you later, Julia,” he said.
He had not introduced me to the man. He had no intentions of doing so. There was a moment of awkward silence, and then I turned away. I headed back for the grounds. The men waited until I was out of hearing range before resuming their conversation. My head was throbbing. I wondered why Edward had not wanted the man to know who I was, and I wondered if he were the man Edward had been looking for all afternoon.
The Lady of Lyon House Page 14