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‘I am sorry I could not help you further. If I learn anything else, I will certainly let you know.’
Mark had to be satisfied with that and they moved on to other topics, which diverted him for a time, but the reality was that he had made very little progress. So much for his promise to Jane that he would find a solution.
* * *
All the arrangements for the fair had been completed. Mark had sent his men to mow the field, mark out the lines for the races and set up some of the stalls the day before. An archway festooned with bunting had been constructed at the gate where Mrs Caulder would sit at a table to take the entrance money. Others would be manning stalls of produce and overseeing the competitions. Mark had donated a pig as a prize for a skittles competition and others had donated prizes for various races and feats of strength. There would be bowls and apple bobbing and later in the evening dancing to the music of a fiddle and a lute. Lady Wyndham had agreed to open proceedings. All they needed was good weather.
On the day, Jane was woken early by Bessie drawing back the curtains. Sunshine streamed into the room. She rose and went to the window. The sky was an overall azure, not a cloud to be seen. ‘A good omen, we have been blessed with fine weather,’ she said to Bessie. ‘I’ll dress and have my breakfast in the kitchen, then I’ll drive over to Ten Acre Field.’
‘It is still very early, Miss Jane.’
‘I know, but there is still much to do. The pale-blue muslin, I think, and the matching pelisse.’
She was not the first to arrive. The villagers were all used to rising early, especially in summer, and were already going about their allotted tasks. Mark was there, in his shirt sleeves, busily helping to erect a dais for the opening ceremony and the prize giving. His coat and cravat hung on a nearby post. He smiled at her, a little sadly, but it was a smile. ‘Have you prepared your speech?’ he queried.
‘Me? Oh, no, Mark, I am not going to make a speech,’ she protested, trying vainly to take her eyes from the sight of his bare chest under the open neck of his shirt.
‘But it’s your project. Without you it would never have happened.’
‘It is just as much yours, Mark. You make the speech.’
She moved on, checking this, checking that, speaking to everyone, her spirits rising a little as she went. If nothing else was right in her life, this project was. Mrs Caulder arrived and sat at the entrance to the field, a jar for the money on a table in front of her. ‘Henry will be here in good time to conduct the prayers,’ she told Jane, who was becoming anxious in case no one arrived.
* * *
One by one they came, paid their sixpences and wandered round to see what was on offer. It was not only the Hadlea and Witherington residents, but people from further afield who arrived in an assortment of carriages. Jane had not thought about what to do with all the vehicles, but Mark, as ever, came to her rescue by suggesting they line up alongside the drive at Broadacres and his stable boys would see to the horses, for a small fee to be added to the funds. ‘I’ll go and tell the lads and bring my mother back,’ he told Jane, hanging his cravat loosely about his neck and slipping his arms into his coat.
While he was gone her father, mother and sisters arrived. In spite of the dreadful cloud hanging over them, they were determined to put a good face on it for Jane’s sake and the ladies were elegantly dressed and carrying parasols for the sun was warm. ‘Lord Bolsover is back,’ Sophie whispered to her. ‘We saw him arriving at the Fox and Hounds. We stopped so that Papa could get down and speak to him. I think they argued. Papa looked very flushed and his lordship angry.’
‘Where is Mark?’ Isabel demanded. ‘I expect him to escort me.’
‘He has gone to fetch his mother,’ Jane said, wishing Sophie had not told her about Lord Bolsover and hoping he would not decide to patronise the fair. ‘He will be back soon.’
She left her family to make sure everything was ready on the dais for her ladyship. The Rector was there, sitting on one of the chairs provided. ‘We shall do well out of this, Jane,’ he said. ‘Mrs Caulder has already taken three pounds at the gate, though I fear some of the boys have managed to squeeze through the hedge without paying.’
‘Never mind. They will need to pay if they want to enter the competitions.’
Mark’s curricle drew up and he helped his mother from it and up on to the dais, where she stood, in unrelieved black, looking about her at the colourful throng, regal but not distant. Mark helped her to a seat and then stepped forward, nodding to a boy at the side of the platform who was holding a brass bell by its clapper. The boy began ringing it, watching in glee as people stopped what they were doing and turned towards him. ‘Enough,’ Mark commanded, as everyone gathered round the platform. The sound stopped on a last echo.
