Chapter 16 #2
“They’d nearly finished when I got here. You get six arrows for sixpence and they didn’t want to do it again. Besides, it was time for the three-legged race. Come on, if we hurry maybe we can see them finish.”
The three-legged race—behind schedule as events at the fête always were—was just about to begin in the meadow by the lane.
Unlike the other children’s races, which were mostly watched by parents of participants, it garnered a crowd of spectators.
Belinda wormed through to the front. The people she passed, glancing back, parted to let Daisy follow her.
Kneeling on the grass behind a row of cross-legged small children, Bel pointed. “There they are, Mummy.”
The starting pistol cracked. Eight pairs of boys, aged from about eight to fifteen, started to stagger down the fifty-yard course. Cheers, jeers, laughter, and cries of encouragement emanated from the crowd.
Derek’s right leg was bound with a scarf to Ben’s left.
They were better matched than most, about the same height and weight, and fiercely determined.
They only fell three times, while some gave up after a few feet and others fell with practically every step.
However, an older pair had obviously been practising.
They stumbled but caught themselves up and won by twenty yards.
Derek and Ben made it across the line in second place, to shouts of “Well done, Master Derek! Well done, Blackie!”
Oh dear, Daisy thought. She had noticed the curious glances at Ben, the people who stopped talking when they saw him and muttered together after he passed.
No one had spoken to her openly about his colour.
Most of the villagers must have known by then that he might conceivably be the next viscount and owner of Fairacres.
She’d hoped the possibility would protect him against slights.
Afraid that he must be upset, Daisy made her way through the throng as quickly as she could, trailing Belinda by the hand.
The contestants had been separated from their partners.
The winners already sported blue ribbons, and a half-crown first prize was tucked safely in each youth’s pocket.
Edgar was pinning red rosettes on Derek’s and Ben’s lapels.
He shook their hands, said, “First next year, eh?” and turned to the third place pair, the only others who had completed the course.
Alec was there. While Belinda commiserated with the boys on not winning—it turned out that she had come in second in the egg-and-spoon race, so they were even—Daisy said to Alec, “You took the babies back to the house?”
“They were getting a bit fractious. But as it happened, Mrs. Gilpin ran us down and insisted on removing them for their nap. You’re looking a bit frazzled, love?”
“I was worrying about the potential for accidents with bows and arrows. But they seem to have come through unscathed. Bel says they’re racing donkeys in half an hour or so.”
Alec laughed. “The poor beasts are far too small to cause any serious accidents. I would have said they’re too small to carry kids the size of Bel and the boys.
The owner claims they’re quite capable of bearing an adult, only people don’t like to see them with such a load.
A Gypsyish chap, unless he dresses up à la Gypsy for the occasion. ”
“He’s probably the same man who brought donkeys to the fête when I was a child.
His son, perhaps. Not, I trust, the same donkeys!
He takes them round the country fairs to give rides, but his chief business is, or used to be, hiring them out to farmers.
That business is probably not doing very well.
Most farmers seem to have tractors these days. ”
“Let’s go and look them over. You grew up with horses. You’ll be able to tell whether they’re likely to collapse under the weight of our three.”
“Darling, I always avoided riding as much as I possibly could. Father and Gervaise were neck-or-nothing hunters, of course, and Vi enjoyed going to a meet on horseback, in a ladylike way, though she never followed the hounds. Mother never went near horses if she could help it. They’re so big!
Come to think of it, not riding is probably the only thing she did support me in.
Although I did used to enjoy my pony, which, I suppose, was about the size of a donkey. ”
“Small but sturdy. Yon donkeys have a lean and hungry look.”
“Well, the Ides of March are long past.”
“My concern is for the donkeys, not the children! Come and see them. They’re over that way.”
Daisy slipped her arm through his. They walked back past the starting post of the racetrack, where a group of hefty young men were about to run a hundred yards with their sweethearts—some almost equally hefty—on their shoulders.
The half-dozen donkeys were trudging round a well-worn circle with children on their backs, the first led by an olive-skinned, sharp-featured man in a colourful shirt and a leather jerkin.
They were scrawny beasts, but one was ridden by an extremely fat child who couldn’t possibly weigh less than skinny Belinda.
It didn’t appear any more overburdened than the rest.
“They look all right,” Daisy said dubiously. “They must be sturdier than they look, though I can’t picture any of them actually racing.”
“Derek might get his moving. He’s done some riding, hasn’t he? Bel’s only been on a similar creature at the seaside.”
“She’s been on a pony a couple of times, staying with Violet and John. I don’t know about Ben, but it doesn’t seem likely he’s had riding lessons.”
“Oh well, it’s not far to fall if they slide off. We’ll come back to watch. Let’s go and get a cup of tea. I haven’t had a chance yet, with the twins on my hands.”
“I’ve had mine, but I’ll come with you.”
At the entrance to the tea marquee, they met Bill Truscott. “Her ladyship sent me to see if Mrs. Samuel would like a lift back to the house,” he said. “Someone told me she’s in here.”
“She was last time I saw her, and she didn’t look as if she was thinking of going anywhere. Yes, there she is, with Lady John. Alec, I’ll go and have a word while you get your cuppa.”
Violet decided to go with Martha back to the house, to call on Geraldine without the dowager’s oppressive presence. Truscott escorted them out.
Alec had barely time to gulp his tea before they had to hurry back to the donkey track. Of course, the race was nowhere near beginning. The donkeys were no longer patiently plodding round the circle, but their owner was fiddling with saddles and bridles and lengthening stirrup leathers.
Belinda and the boys were there, gazing at the donkeys and apparently discussing them, with Derek posing as the expert to judge from his gestures.
Nearby were another three youngsters of about the same size and age.
Two looked like lads from the farms. The third was a sulky-faced girl in newish jodhpurs and a hard hat, carrying a whip.
A man in good tweeds was talking earnestly to her.
Daisy, with a pang of sympathy, suspected the girl was getting a lecture just like the ones she herself used to get from her father when she balked at mounting a horse.
Perhaps he thought riding a donkey would accustom her to the idea.
The donkey man went over to them. Daisy heard him say loudly and firmly, “No whips.”
The father started to argue.
As soon as the donkey man moved away from his animals, Bel, Ben, and Derek closed in. Each went to a particular mount, stroked its nose, and fed it something produced from a pocket.
“I hope they’ve somehow got hold of carrots or apples,” said Daisy. “I don’t know how a donkey’s insides would react to toffees or cake.”
“Aren’t they omnivorous, like goats?”
“I don’t think so. Let’s pretend we didn’t see. There’s Edgar at the end of the course, ready to present the prizes.”
“He must shell out a pretty penny. I must say I’m impressed by his lord-of-the-manor persona. He seems to know everyone by name.”
“Easy names compared to his moths and butterflies. And dragonflies. He likes people. He just isn’t interested in running the estate except when it comes to leaving parts au naturel.”
Quite a few spectators had gathered by now. The donkey man returned to his beasts and led them to their starting places. They seemed puzzled to be lined up side by side instead of nose to tail. Ears twitched and one brayed.
Derek mounted his donkey in style. The farm boys clambered aboard with less style but equal confidence.
The father helped his angry daughter with detailed instructions for every move.
The donkey man gave Bel and Ben a hand. When everyone was settled, he stepped aside, raised a whistle to his lips, and blew.
The riders dug in their heels, shook the bridles, and added their cries of encouragement to those of the spectators.
The donkeys, used to being led, paid little heed.
After a few indecisive moments, Derek’s superior technique got his mount to start walking.
The others followed, except the one ridden by the girl in jodhpurs.
Perhaps it caught her sulkiness. It stood unmoving, and when her father went to its head and pulled on the bridle, it dug in its heels.
Meanwhile Derek had coaxed his donkey to a trot.
Before the others made up their minds to copy it, he had opened a fair lead.
Then the beast remembered the circles it had been doing for several hours and veered off course into an arc that took it into the path of both the farm lads.
Derek hauled on the reins, but it was determined.
The nearer of its blocked competitors made a slight detour to get past its rear end, speeding up.
The second joined Derek’s mount. Scattering spectators, they circled back towards the start.
The crowd was in an uproar, laughing and yelling advice. Ben was in the lead, with Belinda at his heels, and the remaining farmer’s boy fast closing the gap.
“Go, Blackie!”
“You can do it, Miss!”
“Get a move on, our Jim!”
Suddenly Ben raised one hand as if to shade his eyes. He must have pulled on the reins reflexively, because his steed slowed. Belinda caught up.
The noise from the crowd redoubled.
Without warning, Belinda’s donkey bucked. Her head swung forward and thumped against its neck. Blood streaming from her face, she slid to the ground.