Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The following morning, Winnie stood at the front of the meeting hall, greeting the faire staff with a smile as they entered the large room and made their way to the seats she’d set up an hour before.
The meeting hall—which had been refurbished a few years before from Foxwood’s old carriage house—was warm, inviting, and large enough to be an event venue in its own right. At two stories tall, the hall boasted shining wooden floors and black, brown, and white stone walls. Wooden eaves framed the roof in perfect uniformity while three large candelabras cast light across every inch of the setting.
Why they didn’t hold weddings, receptions, work parties, or other events there was beyond Winnie. That would be one of her first suggestions to Mr. Wintour as soon as she finished with this little project on the side.
That’s what she’d decided to call her work with the faire—a side project. Not only did it help her manage her expectations, but she was also fairly certain it would drive Matthew a little crazy, and that was always fun.
She recognized a few of the faces as the staff began to file in, though she consulted the list Mrs. Wintour had given her the day before to name the rest.
Mrs. Birdwhistle sat on the front row with her husband, Hubert. Mr. Fogg, the monotonous announcer, and his wife, the also-emotionless woman who’d sold tickets at the front entrance, sat beside them. Two teenage stable hand boys came in next, then Dorothy Porter soon after, looking every bit as annoyed at having to be there as she had selling food to Winnie a couple days before. The woman rolled her eyes, then took a seat in the back row, pulling out her phone instantly.
More continued to fill the room, and Winnie fought the urge to make herself look busy. Instead, she stood calmly beside a table, papers situated neatly across it with a projection ready on a blank screen behind her. Avoiding eye contact and fiddling with papers would ease her discomfort, but it would also make her look unprofessional, so she maintained focus on those walking in, smiling to help put the staff at ease.
This was always the most nerve-wracking part of the job—meeting the group of individuals whose lives she was going to change.
“Good morning,” she greeted with a smile as more entered. A few of them responded with hesitant nods. “Come in. Have a seat. Is it warm enough in here for you all?”
Mrs. Birdwhistle spoke as the rest of them merely nodded. “Quite toasty, yes.”
Winnie had come in earlier to ensure the place would be as warm as the stables next door. The Wintours certainly cared for their horses. After speaking with little Ava and Lilly the day before, Winnie now knew the love of the animals stretched from old to young at Foxwood, which was always lovely to hear.
She’d been like that once, entirely in love with horses. Before Dad had hit her with a reality two-by-four. Now she avoided them at all costs, aside from the occasional stolen glance here and there.
Setting her thoughts aside, she greeted a few others—Jess, the woman who’d played the damsel, and her husband, David Newell, who played another knight, both of them appearing around Winnie’s age.
“Come on in,” she encouraged as the final knight—James Pryor—hesitated in the doorway.
He moved forward and took a seat on the back row, glancing to the others with uncertainty.
Winnie knew she had Matthew to thank for much of the staff’s reluctance. She could only imagine what he’d said to them about her.
At this point, though, it hardly mattered. Her plans had already been greenlit by Mr. Wintour earlier that morning, so they were good to go.
“I’m going to let you run with this,” he’d said. “I trust you to make the best decisions for the festival. But I will say, you’ll be met with resistance.”
She fully expected as much—from one individual in particular who had yet to show his face.
Big shocker there.
Mr. Wintour had encouraged her again that morning to stay strong. “If my son gives you any grief, simply send him my way.”
Matthew would just love to be sent to his daddy for misbehaving, wouldn’t he? As appealing as it sounded, Winnie wasn’t sure she’d ever do such a thing. They had made some major progress yesterday in the sunshine at the park. She’d received some good insight from Char, found out Matthew wasn’t married after all, and realized if she teased him, she could maintain control of their professional relationship.
Of course, that was easier said than done with a man who looked better in a bun than she did.
Eight o’clock rolled around, and each member of staff had arrived apart from Matthew, but she wasn’t going to wait for him.
She faced forward with a smile. “Good morning, everyone. I…”
Her words faded as, true to form, Matthew appeared in the doorway with an innocent expression, wearing jeans, a dark green jacket, and a thin white t-shirt. He looked at the group, paused, then sauntered in as if he owned the place.
All right, technically, he would one day, but that was beside the point.
She waited as he scooted past the others on the back row and finally took a seat with a loud sigh. His frown from yesterday was gone, replaced with an easy half-smile that revealed he knew exactly what he was doing by coming in late.
Well, so did she.
“Glad you could join us today, Matthew,” she said.
“Me, too,” he responded.
Be like Fort Knox.
She drew a settling breath. “All right, allow me to start again.” She smiled at the twelve individuals before her. “Welcome, everyone. I just want to begin by thanking all of you for coming in this morning and getting here on time. I know it’s not easy some days.”
No one responded. That was fine by her. She could get through her plan quicker if they listened more than talked.
“So,” she continued, “as my email said, I’m Winnie Knox. I’ve been hired by Mr. Wintour to help with Foxwood, specifically the faire, over the next few weeks.”
The woman in charge of the faire’s entertainment—Sue Jones—pulled open her phone, her purple fingernails swiping up and down on her screen.
A promising start.
“First, I’ll share a little about myself,” Winnie continued, telling them all about where she grew up and where she now lived before moving on. “I’m a hard worker, quick on my feet, easy to adapt, and I love team playing. My philosophy in life is, if everyone works hard together, nothing is unachievable.”
Mrs. Birdwhistle smiled up at her, but no one else reacted.
“In my experience,” she pushed on, “as a consultant, my presence is usually met with a lot of reticence and fear. Hopefully I can ease both to a degree by letting you all know right now that I’m not here to fire anyone or to make your lives more difficult. I am purely here for the benefit of the faire.”
A sniff that sounded suspiciously close to a scoff echoed from the back row. She couldn’t be sure who’d done it, but Matthew looked far too innocent sitting there in the back row.
“That being the case,” she continued, ignoring his behavior, “I do expect you to work hard, to be open to the changes that are going to be made, and, most importantly, to be honest with me. If something’s not working for you, let me know, and we can adapt. This first event is going to be a lot of work, but I’m sure you’re all capable of rising to the occasion. I can promise you if we put our heads down and work together, we’ll be fighting fit, and you’ll be thrilled with the response we get.” She gave an encouraging smile and a nod to the group. “So…are you ready to get to work?”
A few heads bobbed here and there. Mrs. Jones, who had since put her phone down, folded her arms stubbornly with no reaction, and Mrs. Porter stared out of the window with a look of boredom that rivaled a child in church.
Everyone else appeared hesitant. Everyone but Matthew, that is. He whispered something to the knight beside him, and both of them smiled with ducked heads.
That was fine. She’d give Matthew his freedom for now, allowing his confidence to grow. But if he didn’t stop soon, she knew what to do.
“I’d love to ask you all a question as we start,” she said. “What is your favorite part of the event?” She waited in silence. “Anyone?”
Finally, Ben Watson, one of the teenagers, raised his hand. “Picking up the horse manure.”
His joke landed him a few snickers from the group, especially from his friend beside him.
Winnie smiled. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. Anyone else?”
Mr. Birdwhistle spoke next, his thick, gray mustache covering his entire upper lip. “It may seem biased,” he said in a deep, thick accent, “but I enjoy the joustin’.”
“Not biased at all,” Winnie said with a shake of her head. “I expected this would be a favorite. How many of you would say the same?”
Everyone aside from Matthew and Mrs. Jones raised their hands, her purple nails now being chewed on absentmindedly.
“Wow, so almost all of you.” Winnie looked to Mrs. Jones. “And yours?”
She shrugged. “All of it.”
“I won’t fault you for that,” Winnie said with a friendly smile, even though she received nothing in return. “And what about our fearless leader, the man behind the plan. What do you think, Matthew?”
She was fully expecting a half-baked response like Mrs. Jones, but instead, he said, “The history.”
“Ah, yes. Hence where the authenticity comes into play.”
He gave a single nod.
“What is it about the history that’s appealing to you?” she asked.
“The magic of it all. It’s what makes the festival worth it.”
Winnie couldn’t help but notice the irony in his statement. He loved the authenticity of the faire because of the magic of the past? How was magic in any way factual?
Still, the entire group nodded in agreement with their leader, the tension in the room finally lessening.
“It may come as a surprise to you all, but I agree with Matthew,” Winnie said.
A few people smiled at her joke. Matthew’s eyes merely narrowed with suspicion.
“I loved the jousting,” she continued, “but it was the magic of the jousting, of the past, that really got me excited. That magic is what makes people want to come back.”
She faced the projector, holding up her clicker to shift to her first slide. Dozens of photos from other renaissance faires she’d found on the internet appeared on the screen, everyone smiling, participating, and cheering.
She paused, avoiding Matthew’s gaze and drawing a deep breath as she sent a prayer heavenward. This was where things usually got dicey.
“Unfortunately, that magic is what is missing from our event. So that is our goal—to bring the magic back. Because?—”
“And you know this how?” Matthew’s words cut through her own, daggers from his blue-eyed gaze threatening to crumble her defenses.
She’d expected his response, so she fortunately had one of her own.
“Evidence,” she stated. “As pure and simple as that.”
She clicked to her next slide, her “evidence” stacked up in conversation bubbles that appeared one at a time.
“Each and every one of these are direct quotes from guests who attended the faire on Saturday.” She turned and read them aloud to the others. “Not worth the money. There was nothing to do. Even my kids were bored. Absolute pants.” She paused. “That one, I assume, means terrible?”
A few nods moved about the room, then she continued.
The quotes went on and on, the staff reading along as Winnie continued. Mrs. Birdwhistle was nodding. A few of them were scowling. Mrs. Jones wasn’t even bothering to read the board at all.
And Matthew? His jaw was twitching beneath his whiskers more ferociously than she’d ever seen before. More than anything, she’d put these quotes up for him. He needed to see that his obsession with historical accuracy and authenticity was killing his faire.
Luckily, she knew how to resuscitate it.
“As I’m sure you can all agree,” she continued, “we want this at our faire.” She shifted back to the photos of joy and laughter. “But in order to get this, a lot of change is going to be required of each of us.”
One by one, she picked up the packets she’d compiled for each staff member, delivering them as she explained further. “We’ll go over each person’s individual tasks more in depth later, but right now, we’ll just have a brief overview so it’s not super overwhelming, all right?”
A few heads bobbed up and down.
Matthew whispered something again to the knight beside him, whose shoulders shook with silent laughter. Matthew met Winnie’s gaze, then, a clear challenge in his eye, which she met without hesitation, handing him his own packet. He took it with a smirk at the knight, then flipped through it with a disinterested gaze.
But Winnie wasn’t worried. She’d receive the last word. Matthew just needed to wait and see.