“I wasn’t watching where I was going,” I admitted guiltily.
“It’s not your fault,” Arthur assured me. “The axle was clearly defective. When I’m finished here, I’ll get on the blower and advise the manufacturer to issue a recall. You could, of course, sue the company for—”
“No, I couldn’t,” I interrupted. “My husband and I don’t believe in frivolous lawsuits. Bess and I were startled, yes, but there was no real harm done to either of us. As long as the manufacturer issues a recall, we won’t take anyone to court.”
“Good,” said Arthur. “I won’t have to preserve the evidence.”
“I don’t care if you bury the evidence in a deep, dark hole,” I told him, “as long as you can fix the axle.”
“I’m afraid it’s beyond repair,” Arthur replied, “but I can replace it with a better one.”
“How?” I said, taken aback. “Did you bring a non-defective pram axle with you, just in case?”
Arthur was about to answer when a renewed chorus of shouts and laughter reached us from beyond the stone wall. I glanced up and saw the goldfish chasing the red dragon across the sky.
“Who are the kite-flyers?” I asked.
“A veritable horde of Hargreaveses,” Arthur replied, smiling. “Grandchildren, mainly. They’ve designed and built the kites, so it would be a pity for them to miss launch day.”
“Do you throw a party on, er, launch day?” I inquired carefully. “Is that why you’re, um, dressed up?”
“Dressed up?” Arthur looked from his rolled shirtsleeves to his grease-and-grass–stained trousers, then peered at me questioningly. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“I mean . . .” I pointed at my own head, then at his.
“Oh, I see,” he said as enlightenment dawned. “Sorry, I forgot.” He touched a finger to his grapevine wreath and smiled sheepishly. “I was crowned just an hour ago.”
Three
I wasn’t sure whether Arthur was joking or not, but his twinkling eyes seemed to indicate that he didn’t take his title too seriously.
“Are you King Arthur?” I said. “The man who invented the Round Table? Camelot’s head honcho?” I allowed myself a small smile. “My goodness, Bess, we’re in exalted company today.”
“I rule a realm larger than Camelot,” Arthur informed me. “I am the Summer King.”
“Impressive,” I said playfully. “What does a Summer King do, Your Highness?”
“He banishes clouds, promotes sunshine, repairs prams . . .” Arthur shrugged. “The usual.”
I laughed out loud.
“It’s a family tradition,” he continued. “There’s always been a Summer King at Hillfont Abbey.” He reached up to make a minute adjustment to his crown. “The coronation took place early this year because one of my grandsons will be in Chile on Midsummer’s Day. He leaves tomorrow.”
“Holiday?” I asked.
“A working holiday,” Arthur replied. “He’s delivering a paper at an astrophysicists’ conference in Santiago, but I’m sure he’ll find ways to enjoy himself while he’s there.”
“Wow,” I said, authentically impressed. “Your grandson’s an astrophysicist? You must be very proud of him.”
“He’s a good lad,” Arthur said complacently. “He designed and built the biplane kite. He wouldn’t dream of missing its first flight.”
“Naturally,” I said, wondering how many astrophysicists flew kites in their spare time.
Arthur carried the pram’s frame across the track and set it down beside the box trailer. I looked in on Bess, saw that she was contentedly playing with her toes, and trotted over to stand beside the frame. I was ready to offer Arthur an extra pair of hands if he needed one, but when he raised the trailer’s hinged lid, it occurred to me that he might not need my help. If appearances were anything to go by, Arthur was a pram repair specialist.
The box trailer appeared to be filled to the brim with pram parts. An assortment of wheels and frame components lay in orderly piles at one end, while the smaller parts—screws, nuts, washers, and such—were stored in neatly stacked plastic trays at the other end. Arthur pulled a toolbox from between two of the trays and opened it.
“Good grief,” I said, scanning the trailer’s contents. “You really did bring a non-defective pram axle with you.”
“As a matter of fact, I brought quite a few,” he said, selecting a crescent wrench from the toolbox. “I harvest the useful parts from my family’s old prams and recycle the rest. I could build an entirely new pram for Bess, but there’s no need. A simple axle replacement will do.”