Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Over the next thirty minutes, Winnie moved swiftly over the changes of responsibilities for each staff member. The teen boys would be esquires, Mrs. Birdwhistle would help ready the horses and knights to get them out earlier, and Mrs. Fogg needed to find better non-WWII tents.
“We want a lot of them,” Winnie explained, “in bright, happy colors, like a circus.”
A few looks were exchanged, but Winnie pushed forward.
Albert Fogg was next. “We’re going to be giving you a mic that actually works,” she said, and his face brightened. “But of course, that means your level of enthusiasm has to increase, too.”
He gave a short nod, then peered down at his paper.
Winnie blew out a quiet breath. Those had been the easiest changes. Now for Mrs. Porter and the food.
“I know we’ve been pushing the authenticity factor, but after trying the food myself, and hearing a lot of feedback from guests, we’re going to be changing up the menu…entirely.”
Matthew crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. Mrs. Porter’s lips thinned so much, they were no longer visible.
“Are you sayin’ me food ain’t quality enough?” she asked .
Winnie squared her shoulders. “Unfortunately, it’s true, as was evident by the uneaten portions of cabbage chowder—mine included—filling the garbage cans.”
Looks were exchanged, but Winnie continued. “I need to warn you, Mrs. Porter, that at the next faire, there will be more food options from other vendors apart from yours. I’m planning on bringing in your usual event foods, hot dogs, hamburgers, cotton candy. You’ll have to up your game if you want to stay relevant, which, by the way, I have full faith in your ability to do so.”
With Mrs. Porter still pouting, Winnie shifted to Mrs. Jones, ready to rip off another Band-Aid.
“We’ll need more entertainment,” Winnie said. “A lot more.”
“We need nothing more than the jousting,” Mrs. Jones said stubbornly.
Winnie made to explain how her reasoning was flawed, but she caught Matthew staring down at his packet, shaking his head in silence.
“Any thoughts you’d like to share, Matthew?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“All right, well you let me know when you do.”
“Oh, I will.”
Winnie returned to Mrs. Jones, reminding her of the boredom experienced by the guests. “With more to do, they’ll actually want to stay for longer,” Winnie explained. “We’ll have falconry, archery, carnival games, fire breathers, jesters, merry-go-rounds, maybe even bumper cars. There needs to be enough for adults and children to be entertained at all times.”
“Carnival games and rides?” came a whisper from the back. “She’ll turn it into ruddy Blackpool.”
Winnie had no idea what Blackpool was, but she didn’t think it was meant as a compliment.
“Rides are cheap and effective,” she said, defending her choice. She’d had to do the same with Mr. Wintour that morning, but she was sure they’d be a big hit. “More than anything, kids love them. If children are happy, their parents will be happy, and if parents are happy, they’ll be more likely to come back, stick around, and spend more money.”
The group fell silent again, so she moved on to her final and most challenging of topics—the jousting.
“Now I know we all love the jousting, but even that spectacular event can be improved upon. We’re going to up the tournament to twice a day with much more than the six clashes I saw on Saturday. There will be a script to follow with the winner pre-determined. And finally…we’re removing the damsel in distress.”
It was as if a thick, dark cloud of smoke slipped into the room and hovered above each person, so quickly the tension returned.
Seven hands shot up, Jess’s being the first. “Um…no damsel?” she asked.
“Don’t worry,” Winnie reassured her. “You’re not being let go. I’ve got so much more for you to do that I know you’ll love. We’re going to turn our damsel into a knight in disguise who will win some of the matches and reveal exactly who she is at the end of the tournament. It’s so much more modern and inspiring to allow our damsel to receive equal treatment.”
“But…” Jess began, “I’ve never jousted before. And I don’t have any of the armor or expertise or anything.”
“Oh, that’s fine,” Winnie said with a wave of her hand. “When you’re up against the men, we’ll be fudging the rules anyway, so you’ll be able to win and won’t be hit.”
Jess sent a furtive glance to her husband, who rested a reassuring hand on her knee. Winnie knew this one would be a hard pill to swallow, but she had complete confidence that it would be a crowd favorite.
One-by-one, she responded to the other concerns shared.
“The original damsel has always been a favorite.”
“You can’t tell me the majority of people wouldn’t rather see more jousting than a waif.”
“How are we supposed to score correctly if the winner is already chosen? ”
“No one knows how to score jousting in this day and age anyway.”
“The knights can’t handle that much jousting. Twice a day, every weekend, for five months?”
“We’ll build up your stamina. And we will no longer be holding the events weekly. It drains too much money and resources. Instead, we’ll be holding the faire twice a month, only on Saturdays, throughout the summer. The knights can handle that. I have faith in you.”
“What about the historical accuracy?”
“What about it? We’ll still have it to a degree, of course. Otherwise, we’ll be adding in fantastical elements based on your own recommendations, and cosplayers will be encouraged to attend, as well.”
The tightness in her neck crept higher as the questions continued, and all the while, she struggled to keep Matthew’s continuous scoffs and shakes of his head out of the corner of her eye.
After today, things would be better. She just had to keep reminding herself of that. Things would get better. They had to.
“We have three weeks to make all of these changes and pull off a spectacular faire,” Winnie ended. “We’ll be postponing the event until then, allowing us more time to finish everything before the busy season picks up. It will be a lot of work in the beginning, but I promise, with all of us working together, you won’t regret the effort you put into this.” She smiled encouragingly, though most eyes remained on the packets in their hands. “Before I meet with each of you individually to go over more details, are there any other questions, comments, concerns?”
No one said a word aloud. Matthew whispered something to the knight beside him again, but his friend barely managed a smile this time.
Winnie sighed. It was now or never. “I’ve seen you whispering a lot back there, Matthew. I’d love to hear what you have to say, if you can be brave enough to share it. ”
Matthew peered up at her, confidence emblazoned across his features. “I was just saying that none of this is going to work.”
Winnie drew steadying breaths, though what she really wanted to do was chuck her clicker at Matthew. Still, words would pack far more of a punch and reveal that she was still in control—of her mood, of her emotions, and of the faire.
“All right. Tell me, then, Matthew. Why won’t any of this work?”
He remained leaning back in his chair, a bored look on his features. “The festival isn’t about bumper cars and carousels and twenty-first century damsels. It’s about immersing people in history.”
Nearly every single person in the group nodded, but Winnie didn’t let it faze her. “I can see that,” she said, “but don’t you think a faire could?—”
“Festival.”
She paused at his interruption. “Excuse me?”
“It’s not a faire.” For the first time since arriving in the room, he leaned forward in his seat, speaking very carefully. “It’s not a faire, a carnival, a Wild West event, or even a renaissance gathering. It’s a medieval festival .”
Winnie stared. The entire staff exchanged wide-eyed glances, a few individuals shifting uncomfortably as the tension grew palpable between her and Matthew.
“So this minor detail is so important to you that it trumps all the other things you could have brought up?” she challenged.
He raised his brow. “Perhaps if you were more focused on the minor details of what the event actually is, you wouldn’t be attempting to change what is at its heart.”
She could almost hear the other staff members calling out, “Oooh burn,” like her older brothers would have.
Unfortunately, the thought only made her defenses rise.
She pulled on her metaphorical boxing gloves and peered down at him. “What is at the heart of this festival , Matthew, is a dying, failing event. ”
His eyes turned an icy blue.
“I know it’s difficult to hear,” she continued unapologetically, “but the magic is gone. It is not there. Not a single person looked like this”—she waved a hand up to the screen where the happy faces from the first slide bore down on the group—“at your festival two days ago. And I can almost guarantee that you haven’t seen so many looks in the last year. Tell me I’m wrong. Any one of you.”
She looked around her, but no one said a word—including Matthew.
“You see?” she said, knowing she was pouring lemon juice in an open wound now. “You must want the magic to return. You said yourself that it was your favorite thing about the event. Not the accuracy of the past, but the magic of the past. I think you know deep down that the only way to do this is to lose this authenticity obsession you have and add just a small amount of modern magic.”
Mrs. Birdwhistle delivered a barely discernible nod in response to Winnie’s words, and it was just enough to settle her nerves as Matthew continued to stare her down.
After a moment, he shrugged, leaned back in his chair, and pulled on his carefree look once again. “I’m glad you’re so confident, Miss Knox. You should know, though, before you make any of these changes, my father will hear about this.”
Don’t, Winnie. Don’t you do it.
And yet, she couldn’t help herself.
“Careful, Matthew,” she began. “Your Malfoy is showing.”
She didn’t know about Sir Cadogan in Harry Potter . But she certainly remembered the antagonist.
To her sheer delight, she managed to coax a few snickers from the group. Matthew, however, turned a deep, delicious red. Like an apple ripe for the picking.
“Now,” she said, “if no one else has any questions, I’ll excuse you all to go about your work, take some more time to read through your packets, and prepare a bit for when we meet individually. Sound good?”
Half of them nodded, and the other half stared at their papers still with bewildered stares. Matthew merely kept his gaze on her.
“Thank you all again for coming,” she said. “I’ll be in touch.”
She gave a nod, then the group stood as one and filed toward the door.
Winnie rolled out the tension from her neck the moment their eyes left her, and she stacked her belongings together before noting the others speaking with Matthew as they left the room.
He nodded at them reassuringly, worried brows across the mark, and Winnie shook her head, her teeth clenched. There they all were, seeking reassurance from their boss after the big, bad Winnie shook up their lives.
This faire, the festival—whatever the heck they all wanted to call it—was never going to work if he continued to undermine her. They needed to know she was in charge now, and Matthew needed to be the one to tell them. Otherwise, who knew what revolution would be on her hands?
Honestly, as the American, wasn’t she the one who was supposed to revolt?
She cleared her throat. “Matthew?”
All eyes fell on her, a few people darting out the door to no doubt avoid being caught in the crossfire.
“Yes, Miss Knox?” he asked.
How she hated that. It was as if he was trying to elevate her above the others. “Can I speak with you for a minute? Alone?”
Matthew audibly sighed, and the others left him with hesitant glances as he rejoined her at the front of the room.
“You beckoned,” he said, hands behind his back.
His hair wasn’t pulled into a bun today. Instead, it looked even more like the knights in the movies. Long enough to reach his ears, curly, unkempt—yet perfectly appealing.
Winnie knew she ought to keep their conversation civil—to speak with him in a light, teasing manner as she had the day before or to be as calm and polite as she’d been throughout the meeting.
However, her irritation over his lack of respect had mounted all morning, and frankly, she was over it.
“You can drop the act, okay?” she said, her lips void of any smile as she folded her arms across her chest. “I know you’re upset with me for being here and for the changes I’ve made. But this is our reality now, so we may as well stop fighting each other on everything, or it’s going to be a very long, very miserable few weeks for us both.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “Or I just need to outwait you.”
Good grief. The man was utterly impossible.
Instead of rising to his bait again, however, Winnie raised her chin. She was the consultant. It was her responsibility to put out the fires that she’d started—whether she’d done so inadvertently or not. And she knew exactly how to do just that.
“I’m sorry,” she stated.
Matthew narrowed his eyes, obviously trying to decipher if she was lying or not.
She didn’t blame him for being suspicious. Not when they’d argued only days before about her refusing to say sorry for words she believed were justified. While she still felt the same way, she also knew that nothing softened a person more than a heartfelt, truth-based, excuseless apology.
And Matthew needed a little softening.
“Really,” she said. “I’m sorry about all of this. I’m sorry that your dad gave me this job. I’m sorry that I accepted it. And I’m sorry that you now have to work with me, a tasteless American who likes A Knight’s Tale , has never read Harry Potter , and could not care less about getting her centuries correct.”
His shoulders lowered a degree, his eyes less cold than before as he searched her expression, clearly attempting to see if she was in earnest or not before he finally nodded.
“Thank you,” he mumbled. “I appreciate that.”
A weight began to shift off Winnie’s shoulders. “You see? I can apologize.”
He gave her a knowing look. “But only when you believe it’s warranted.”
“Exactly.”
They swapped small smiles, and the weight lifted even more.
“I suppose I ought to say my own apologies, then,” he said, averting his gaze. “And be more sincere than last time.” He cracked his knuckles in front of him. “I am sorry for being rather…inattentive during your meeting. And for being less than supportive. I will behave better next time.”
“I appreciate that,” she said, her heart softening.
Sure, he was mostly a pill, but really, he was just a guy who’d lost his figurative baby. She should be a little more considerate of that.
“For the record,” she began, “I don’t blame you for being so upset about this whole thing. I would absolutely have the same reaction as you, were our roles reversed. But I just know that if we could find a way to work together, we could make the festival even better than it was before. We just need to focus on what we can agree on first.”
His shoulders lowered. “I suppose you’re right. The difficulty will simply be in finding things to agree on .”
“On the contrary,” she said. “I already know something we feel the same about.”
“And what is that?”
“Two words: cabbage chowder.”
A smile broke out on his lips. “You’re right about that.”
“Cat’s meat and hot wine would be better.” They shared a laugh before she continued. “But there’s more than that. I’m sure we both feel the same about getting Mr. Fogg a new microphone. And his need to be more enthusiastic. Not Geoffrey-Chaucer-level, but just a little more passion.”
Again, Matthew relented with a nod. “Yeah, I can agree with you on that, as well. ”
“You see?” she said, feeling lighter than a lance looked in Matthew’s hands. “This is only the beginning. I just need to be more tactful, you need to believe in me, and together, we can create something amazing.”
For the first time since the start of their conversation, Matthew’s eyes met hers and remained. A storm seemed to be raging within him as he watched her before he finally spoke aloud.
“I do believe in your abilities,” he said, much to her surprise. “My dad wouldn’t have hired you otherwise. The problem is believing in my own.”
She waited, tipping her head to the side as she listened intently to what she could only assume was a very difficult confession to make.
“The truth is,” he continued, “I’m at a loss. I don’t know how to make the festival profitable again. Everything I try to do just brings more failure, and I don’t know what to do anymore. No one has more to lose than myself, which is why…” He paused, his blue eyes focusing even more intently on her. “Which is why I need you to understand something.”
Winnie sobered further, nodding as she waited in silence for him to continue.
He drew a deep breath. “While you may know business, and while some of the changes you’ve suggested will do the festival good, some of them will take away the heart of what we’re trying to do here—which is to share our love of the medieval world with those around us. Without that beating heart in the center, there is no amount of quid, success, or prestige that will comfort us if this fails. I know I speak for the entire staff when I say, if our passion is no longer there, if our heart isn’t in this project any longer, we will lose the desire to make it succeed. I’m sure you and I can both agree on this as well—that if there is no heart or passion involved in what we do, then why would we do it at all?”
His words were like an ax to a tree, cutting down Winnie’s defenses and chopping her to the ground. He’d taken her whole existence, summed it up in one sentence, lit it on fire, and now watched the branches burn to ash, just to prove that she’d been wasting away the last decade of her life.
Of course he had no idea what he’d done. How could he have any clue as to how miserably she’d lived her life, coasting from job to job, trying to find passion and heart but always out of luck? And what sort of hypocrite would she be if she agreed with his words—that there was no purpose to the last ten years of her life because there had been no passion in the last ten years of her life?
“So what do you think?” Matthew asked, completely unaware of the turmoil raging within her.
Winnie scrambled for a response. His words were sound. But they weren’t hers. Nor were they a part of her plan or her research. How was she supposed to keep the passion and the heart at the center of the festival when she couldn’t even do that in her own life? If she agreed with him, she would render herself completely useless for the job, and she’d fail. Again.
Be like Fort Knox.
Dad’s words snuck through her mind, reminding her once more to be blunt. To stick to her guns. She couldn’t flop this time. She couldn’t waste the money Mr. Wintour had entrusted her with. She couldn’t disappoint their family and allow the faire to fail.
More than anything, she couldn’t risk Dad’s reputation being negatively affected by her messing things up. He’d vouched for her abilities. If she didn’t succeed, who knew if he’d ever help her find a consulting gig again? Then she’d be right back to where she was years before, jobless, passionless, heartless. A major disappointment to the Knox family as a whole.
Swiftly, she picked up the branches of her defenses, then stuck them around her chest in a makeshift protection.
“I see where you’re coming from,” she stated diplomatically, her voice as wooden and hollow as her fortifications. “I agree that heart is very important, but…you need an event that earns money. Not an event that offers a hi story lesson.”
The second the words left her mouth, Winnie’s heart shriveled in her chest. She sounded just like Dad.
“You don’t need to ride horses, Winnie,” he’d said. “You need a reality check.”
How painfully she’d received those words as a teenager. How excruciating they’d been. And now, she was reciting the same thing back to Matthew, who’d finally had the courage to humble himself and ask to keep the heart of the festival the same. Was she really so stupid to have responded so defensively?
Matthew didn’t react for a minute, his expression remaining unchanged until he looked away with a single nod, the ridges in his jaw returning.
“Well, thank you for that,” he said, backing away with his eyes on the door behind him. “Now I know what to expect from you in the future.”
Then he turned around and left her in the assembly hall alone, the echoing of his shoes reverberating in her ears and in her soul.
Long after cleaning up the meeting, long after speaking with each staff member alone, Matthew’s words remained swirling around in Winnie’s mind because she just couldn’t find an answer to his question. If there was no heart or passion involved in what she did—then why was she doing it at all?