Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Winnie pulled out her tablet beneath the shelter of the tree and scribbled down everything she noted about the event.
No shelters
No vendor booths
Disappointing field list
Garbage everywhere
Bathrooms too close
Her list continued to grow as she listened to the people who passed her by.
“There ain’t much to see, is there?” a husband asked with a young girl atop his shoulders, her little raincoat and hat covering everything but her eyes. “The flyer made the event seem a lot bigger than it is.”
“It was advertised as authentic,” his wife responded, a baby strapped to her chest. “Maybe authentic means small?”
No website
No events
Too authentic
Winnie’s fingers began to ache as the conversations and notes continued.
“I’m not eatin’ that food. If I don’t, ’ow can we expect the children to?”
“Where’re the birds o’ prey? They had ’em last time.”
“These pathways are ’orrible. They shoulda told us it weren’t suitable for prams.”
After a solid twenty minutes, she lifted her hand from the tablet and shook her fingers out, intent on carrying on with her notes.
In the next moment, however, she caught sight of a short, jolly-looking woman approaching her with a large, purple umbrella and dark plum-colored boots.
Winnie paused in her writing, then smiled as the woman continued directly toward her. This was Mrs. Wintour. Who else could match Mr. Wintour’s bright smile and radiating warmth?
“Good morning,” Winnie said, turning off her tablet and walking forward to greet the woman. “You must be Mrs. Wintour.”
“Oh, please, call me Jane,” the woman confirmed. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. My husband wished to apologize for not being able to make it out here. He’s had a bit of a rough morning.”
“I heard he wasn’t feeling well,” Winnie said. “I hope I didn’t make things worse by having him stay up late last night.”
“Oh, not at all. He’s been in remission with his MS, but late nights do sometimes affect him. Even still, he stays awake most evenings, always drinking his cocoa and reading late until I force him to bed.”
She ended with a smile—a smile Winnie couldn’t really return. MS. Of course. Now all the wincing and groaning and shifting in discomfort made sense. Her heart twisted. She’d had a high school friend whose mother had MS. It had been terrible to watch her suffer through it.
“Now,” Mrs. Wintour said, not appearing affected in the slightest, “I’ve been told I have the pleasant task of showing you around the festival. Are you ready?”
“Absolutely.”
Together, the two of them wandered around the grounds, Winnie being polite and keeping her opinion of the small nature of the event to herself. Aside from what she had already found—the jousting grounds, food, and toilets—she was also shown the medieval paraphernalia displayed within one of the old tents, the stables just barely visible through the woods, and the area where the falconry took place.
“We’ve had to scale back on that, as well,” Mrs. Wintour explained as Winnie took more notes.
Signs needed everywhere
Return falcons
Where are the knights?
Two dozen people now walked around, far better than the handful from before, but those numbers would hardly benefit the event as a whole.
Winnie thought back to the words she’d heard, the event being called “authentic.” She knew Matthew was the one behind that thought process. After all, he had been the one to gloat about how theirs was the most historically accurate event of all time.
She sniffed with contempt. This authenticity would be one of the many things they would no doubt disagree on. After all, the festival wasn’t entirely historically accurate because, according to her research that morning, medieval era jousting very often led to death. Matthew obviously fudged the lines enough to ensure the safety of the knights, so he was willing to bend at least to a degree, right?
As they continued around the small grounds, Mrs. Wintour introduced her to Mrs. Birdwhistle, a member of the festival staff with dark red lipstick and a vibrant, oversized beanie to match.
“The Birdwhistles have been here for nearly two decades,” Mrs. Wintour explained. “They take care of the stables. Mr. Birdwhistle is also one of the knights here.”
“Oh, perfect,” Winnie said, facing the woman with an excited expression. “So he’ll be jousting today?”
Mrs. Birdwhistle nodded. She seemed friendly enough as she responded in her thick, Yorkshire accent. “Yes, they should be arrivin’ soon enough. They stay in’t stables until just before the joustin’ begins at eleven.”
Winnie pulled up her watch.
10:30
“Do you know if there’s a schedule of events or something, so I know what’s going to happen and when?” she asked next.
Mrs. Wintour shook her head. “There isn’t much need for a schedule when there’s only one event. Matt— We thought it best to focus purely on the jousting.”
Clearly, Mrs. Wintour had been about to say “Matthew.” Yet another thing her son was responsible for—getting rid of anything that might take away from him being front and center of the faire.
“And the jousting is only once a day?” she asked next.
Mrs. Birdwhistle nodded. “Once a day, every Friday and Saturday from May to August.”
More events
More jousting
Bring out the knights earlier
“And you never cancel due to the rain?” Winnie continued.
Mrs. Wintour smiled. “We wouldn’t be English if we did.”
Mrs. Birdwhistle excused herself shortly after, and Winnie and Mrs. Wintour continued on, passing by the food next. Winnie purchased one of each item from the menu, despite the woman behind the makeshift counter looking more than perturbed at having to do any work at all, despite Mrs. Wintour standing right there.
More polite vendors
More food options
More drink options
More payment options
As they walked away with Winnie’s container of food that reeked worse than some of the subways in New York, she continued with her questions.
“Why no other food vendors?”
“We thought it better to simplify,” Mrs. Wintour said after another moment of hesitation.
We ? Fat chance. “Matthew is the deciding factor when it comes to the event, right?” Winnie asked flat out.
No point in beating around the bush any longer.
Mrs. Wintour opened her mouth, then closed it again. Clearly, she didn’t wish to criticize her son, which Winnie couldn’t help but admire. But if she was going to improve the faire, she was going to need some answers.
“I’m not asking to get anyone in trouble,” Winnie said with a reassuring smile. “There’s usually someone in charge of these things. If I know who it is, then I know who to work with more.”
Relief shone clearly in Mrs. Wintour’s eyes, despite the reticence that remained. She glanced over her shoulders to where the stables were hidden in the thick trees. “Matthew has worked so hard on this. He has such a passion for it. To have it fail…” She broke off, shaking her head with a sigh. “I just feel for him and his struggles, especially when it used to be such a grand affair.”
“Did it?” Winnie asked, holding up her tablet, fingers and pen at the ready.
They stopped beneath another tree, though the rain had mostly disappeared altogether.
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Wintour said with wide eyes. “Hundreds of people would attend each weekend. We’d often sell out. The jousting was always a crowd favorite. But little by little, people just stopped coming.”
Winnie jotted down a few notes. “Has anything been done to bring more people in?”
“We’ve advertised,” Mrs. Wintour responded. “Put up flyers, had a spot or two on the local stations, but nothing has really been working. Matthew thinks people are simply out of touch with history and have lost interest altogether.”
Huh. That was interesting. And also entirely wrong. “Is that what you think the problem is?”
Mrs. Wintour shook her head. “No. I believe that is a mere fraction of the problem. The reality is, the magic is gone, and Matthew—we—don’t know how to get it back. We just want to help him. This event has been his passion for so long. To have to say goodbye would be devastating for him.”
Mrs. Wintour’s sincerity, her goodness, touched Winnie’s heart, and her empathy soared.
“Empathy has no place in a business-centric world, Winnie.”
Her dad’s voice echoed in her mind, but she readily set it aside. That was one thing on which she and Dad fundamentally disagreed.
“I understand,” she said softly. “I’ve worked with many individuals whose businesses are their passions. You have my word that I’ll do whatever I can to help this event flourish again.”
Mrs. Wintour’s smile was worth Winnie’s empathy. “My husband was right. You are perfect for the job.”
At the end of the small tour, Winnie and Mrs. Wintour ended in front of the jousting grounds.
“Hopefully that was beneficial for you,” Mrs. Wintour said. “I know there isn’t much to see, but if there’s anything else I can help you with, please, let me know. ”
Winnie nodded. “I think the only thing I might need is a list of the staff specifically working for the event. Other than that, I’ll be great for now.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Mrs. Wintour said. “I can get a list sent to you within the hour.” Winnie nodded her appreciation as Mrs. Wintour sighed. “Well, I’d love to watch the jousting with you, but I’m afraid I’ve got to see how Arthur is fairing.”
Winnie thanked her for her time and help, asked Mrs. Wintour to say hello to Mr. Wintour, then faced the jousting area as the woman walked away.
That had been far more helpful than Winnie could have hoped for. She wrote down a few more things on her tablet, then checked the time.
11:06
The jousting was six minutes behind schedule. She looked around her, more people gathering toward the makeshift fence. How long would they all be waiting?
Five minutes later, a crackling sounded nearby, and Winnie looked around before finding an older man setting up an overhead canopy on the far side of the area. Soon, he stood behind a microphone, and the crackling sounded again just as his voice blared through a speaker next to him.
“Mornin’, ladies and gentlemen,” came his Yorkshire accent through the speakers. His thick, gray beard bounced as he spoke in the most monotonous tone Winnie had ever heard. “I’ve been told to inform you that the joustin’ will be a bit delayed as the horses and knights prepare for this dangerous sport. We ’ppreciate your patience at this time and will keep you updated. While you’re waitin’, feel free to browse the tents, get yourself a bite, and stay tuned. You’ll not want to miss this.”
The speaker crackled again, then the mic was turned off, and the man headed into the woods.
Winnie pulled in her lips. With his lack of excitement, she wasn’t sure he was the best choice to get the crowd riled up. Sure enough, a few people grumbled around her as they wandered off. How many more guests would they lose due to their tardiness?
Don’t keep people waiting
To bide her time, she opened her food box and eyed the green, orange, and brown slop that had been described above the booth as
Authentic Cabbage Chowder & Spit-Roasted Lamb
Authentic Cream Custard Tart & Rose Pudding
Authentic. There it was again. This had Matthew written all over it.
What the devil is cabbage chowder?
She had zero desire to put any of the food in her mouth, but she had to experience it all to be considered well-informed. So, with shudders and near-gags, she ate a bit of each serving, taking notes about how it was the worst meal she’d ever eaten before the knights came out forty-five minutes late.
The crackling of the microphone sounded again as they finally appeared. “As you can see, our knights are arrivin’,” the announcer drawled. “You’re in for a treat, ladies and gentlemen.”
Winnie was inclined to believe him, if only in this regard. The rain had picked up again as the men emerged from the trees astride their horses, armor glistening with moisture and clanking in the distance.
Which one was Matthew? She couldn’t tell with their faces covered by the visors.
As despondent as she had been with the state of the faire altogether, the image of the knights filing one-by-one into the list was enough to rid her mind of all else but the power and grandeur of these four armored individuals. They may as well have been walking in slow motion, so rousing was their approach.
Each man was covered from head-to-toe in armor, helmets ranging from square around the jaw to pointed around the nose. Atop each helmet plumed giant feathers in a variety of colors, matching the vibrant robes draped over their respective horses.
And heavens, those horses . Black, white, chestnut, brown. They were stunning, captivating. And the power they exuded from merely walking was enough to throw Winnie back into her past filled with riding, jumping, flying.
But she suppressed those memories at once, just like she always did.
A few claps sounded as the knights approached, bringing her back to the present, and she viewed the mere handful of people who remained around the roped-off area. It was a shame, really. More people ought to be witnessing such an arresting spectacle.
“Welcome, Knights of Foxwood,” the announcer said in that same monotonous voice, “and welcome to our guests. The name’s Albert Fogg. I’ll be your announcer this afternoon.”
The knights began to circle the area, riding their horses in a trot for all to admire.
Despite her entire, horrible experience with the event up to that point, Winnie felt a smile tugging at her lips. This was actually kind of enjoyable. Exciting, even. The colors, the performance, the immersion into the past. If they amped this up, there would be no reason for the event not to be packed every weekend.
“We have four knights ridin’ today,” Mr. Fogg continued, reading from a notebook with less enthusiasm than a golf announcer. “As you can see, each knight bears the color of his family, and each horse’s caparison matches his knight.”
Winnie observed the knights as they rode past her, her eyes settling on the black horse. He wore a deep blue cover spattered with golden lions, the animals roaring on their hindlegs.
This had to be Matthew’s horse. Which meant this knight was Matthew himself .
Her gaze shifted to his helmet, the rich blue feather fluttering from the top as he rode past her. Though his visor covered his features, she could almost feel him looking at her.
He would no doubt be wearing a scowl, just like the night before. Would he have smiled at her, spoken with her again in that silly dialect of his had her consulting position been kept a secret from him?
The horse trotted past her, and Matthew made no sign that he had seen her at all as he headed for the top of the tilt.
“Here we have our first knight,” Mr. Fogg said, the mic popping. “Dressed in red and black, Sir Hu—…cl?—…”
Winnie looked to the announcer. That wasn’t a good sign.
“Next, in b—…er…Si?—”
Winnie shook her head. That speaker was certainly going to put a damper on things. Mr. Fogg wasn’t insanely entertaining or anything, but having him explain what was going on had to be essential to watching a jousting tournament, right?
“Cl—…er.”
“What’s he saying, Mummy?” a little voice spoke from nearby.
“I don’t know, love.”
Winnie became frustrated on their behalf. Surely the guests deserved better than what they were receiving.
Better sound system
More excitement from announcer
She looked up from her tablet as the knights finished their circling—Matthew in his blue and gold, and the other three in black and white, red and purple, and green and yellow.
“And finally S—” Mr. Fogg paused, tapped on the mic twice, shook his head, then lowered the microphone to the table, the speakers squeaking loudly before they turned off altogether.
Mr. Fogg merely continued speaking, though his voice could no longer be heard .
When the announcer finished, Matthew and the black and white checkered knight went to one end of the tilt, while the remaining two went to the other side.
Winnie watched with anticipation, wishing she could hear what was going on. But as five minutes passed by with nothing happening, then ten minutes and soon fifteen, she pulled in her lips with frustration. Was this what all the hubbub was about, announcing the knights only to have them do absolutely nothing?
During the wait, two more families left the event, and soon, Winnie was one of the only ones remaining, still scribbling down the conversations she overheard from the others until movement caught her attention from the list.
A woman dressed in a long gown with dark blue sleeves and braided hair down to her waist ran out into the arena. She screamed dramatically and swooned to the ground before the knight in green and yellow stole her away. The other knights chased after her next in what Winnie could only assume was a horrible attempt at creating drama.
Clearly, they were implying the woman was a damsel in distress, and the knights were now commissioned to rescue her via the jousting competition.
Winnie shook her head. This was the twenty-first century. It was time they stepped into it.
Absolutely no damsel in distress
Once the woman was carried from the arena, the knights returned to their places on the field. Matthew sat astride his horse at one end, while the red and purple knight faced him at the far side of the list. Their lances were handed up to them as Mr. Fogg spoke silently across the grounds.
Winnie watched the knights expectantly. Was she finally going to witness the jousting?
Sure enough, a moment later, the knights raised their lances as a salute to those few still watching, then urged their horses forward.
Winnie’s heart skipped a beat, excitement widening her eyes as Matthew barreled down the tilt. The horse’s hooves rumbled against the ground, ears pinned back and air blasting from his nose in puffs of white steam. Matthew appeared to float atop the black gelding, effortlessly riding even with his clanking armor as he secured his lance between his arm and side, focusing straight ahead.
She could only imagine his blue eyes unwavering from their target, his grip on the lance secure as he drew closer and closer to the other knight until…
CRACK!
Matthew’s lance made contact with the opposing knight’s armor, splintering into more than a dozen pieces that flew out on both sides of the tilt, splaying into the air like wooden fireworks.
Now this was exciting.
Breathless, Winnie looked around her at the joyful smiles on the faces of those still in attendance. Clearly, they all wanted to see more, Winnie more than anyone as she maintained her focus on Matthew.
She was apt to forget all about his mean comments the night before in his dad’s study, replacing the image of his sullen frown with how unbelievably attractive he was jousting on his horse—and she hadn’t even seen his face, for crying out loud.
The imagery, the pageantry, the theatricality of it all made her feel as if she was living hundreds of years ago, surrounded by gallant knights, regal women, and acts of bravery.
The sport that had veritably thrust her into the past and awakened a side of her she didn’t even know existed. Sure, the faire needed a boatload of work, but the jousting? The jousting was a triumph that she could watch again and again.
Unfortunately, the time between strikes took far too long, and after a ten-minute wait, the other two knights finally took their turn riding down the tilt. While still thrilling, these men rode slower and less powerfully than Matthew had, and Winnie found her eyes trailing once more to him at the top of the list.
Matthew had dismounted his horse and removed his helmet to stand with a family on the far side, speaking to a little boy who stood anxious with his pointer finger in his mouth. Matthew smiled at him, then motioned to the horse. The little boy nodded, and, after being lifted up by his dad, reached forward to stroke the black hair of the gelding.
Little-by-little, the boy’s anxiousness clearly decreased as he removed his finger from his mouth and pet the horse more willingly. Matthew nodded encouragingly as he did so, speaking with the family until he moved to the next group of individuals.
Winnie watched the display with a growing warmth in her heart. All the other knights stayed in the arena, away from the spectators. But Matthew spoke with each family on the side, spending time with the kids more than anyone else—a real knight of the people—before his name was called to joust once again.
Winnie couldn’t deny the care he showed by his actions, nor what it revealed about his character. It was obvious he loved the festival. So why was he not doing more to save it?
After he jousted again, driving home the fact that Winnie was really falling for this knightly sport, only two more clashes occurred before the knights stood at the top of the arena and waved goodbye with a raise of their lances and a hand to their armor-covered chests.
Winnie stared after them, her lips parting in surprise. Was that it? Were they really done after only six runs?
Sure enough, the knights dismounted and took off their helmets one-by-one.
Winnie scoffed in disbelief. What a crock.
Once more, her tablet came up.
How does the scoring work?
Who won the tournament?
What happened to the damsel—not that I really care…
Why only six jousting occurrences?
Too long between jousts
Her hand cramped with how much she wrote, but she didn’t stop, the ideas she had for the faire coming fast. Carnival games, rides, treats, edible food, vendors selling goods. And much more jousting.
She had her work cut out for her, and she couldn’t wait.
That is, until she felt a pair of eyes watching her. Sure enough, as she lifted her gaze, she found Matthew staring at her with a pointed scowl. He must have seen her scribbling away on her tablet and was now judging her because of it. Or maybe he was still just upset that she’d been placed in charge of his event. Either way, she wasn’t going to let his sour attitude stop her from doing her job.
She delivered an intentionally over-the-top sweet smile, then raised her tablet to add one more thing to her list of things to change.
And it would be her biggest challenge of all.
MATTHEW