“I’m happy to hear it,” said Lady North, looking with some skepticism at Bettina’s attire.
“Maggots, lice, suppurating sores,” said her husband with relish. “It’s going to be bloody work and quite a shock for your average volunteer bandage roller.”
Bettina gave a muffled groan and turned her head aside.
“We are to be a convalescent hospital,” said Lady Emily faintly. She sat down rather abruptly on a chaise longue. “We plan to make our own beef tea and to offer plenty of board games in the conservatory.”
“I’m sure Lord North merely seeks to brace us up with his bluntness,” said John. “But we should be careful not to indulge in any scaremongering.”
“Scaremongering?” said Lord North. “You Whitehall chaps can peddle your propaganda of Berlin by Christmas, but I’m planning to fight back a full invasion, the Hun pillaging up the London Road, bayoneting our children and violating our women.” He banged his fist on a small table, and Bettina Fothergill gave out a slight shriek.
“I feel quite faint at the thought,” she said. “What must you feel, dear Lady Emily, to have your own daughter married to one of…one of them?” There was an uncomfortable stiffening of faces around the room, and Agatha saw Emily Wheaton press her lips together until they were bloodless.
“It’s the damned Prussians,” said Colonel Wheaton. “My daughter’s husband is from Saxony, landowning aristocracy going back to the Crusades. Not the same thing at all.”
“We mean no disrespect to the poor young man,” said the Mayor. “My wife has only been most concerned for you and for your daughter, Lady Emily.”
“My daughter is happily hopping with Mrs. Kent’s nephews and a whole group of young people,” said Lady Wheaton, her voice icy. “I believe your son has also gone with them, Lord North?” she added.
“Yes, he was happy to be spared another official dinner party,” he replied.
“The last day of the hops is always quite the festival,” said Agatha, trying not to sigh. “Country dancing, games, performances, dinner by the river—they will be having such fun.”
“A large festival is it?” said Lord North.
“Impossibly so,” said Bettina. “All kinds of rough types allowed. I never attend.”
“The farm in question is leased from us, and my son and daughter always give their patronage to the farmer on the last day of hopping,” said Lady Wheaton. “We regard it as a duty to participate, and I hope my children are not afraid to offer thanks to those below them.”
“What better representation of the nation for which we fight than town and country, rich and poor, young and old, coming together in the timeless gathering in of the crops of the field?” said Lord North. “I believe Lady North and I would like to take a look at these festivities.”
“Are you sure?” said Colonel Wheaton. “Our Lady Mayoress is correct that it can become quite colorful and raucous.”
“What is this ‘raucous’?” said the Professor. “My child has been at this entertainment, n’est-ce pas?”
“Oh, it’s just country dancing and local entertainment,” said Agatha.
“All perfectly proper,” said Colonel Wheaton. “Only I wasn’t sure our lovely wives would care to sit on a plank over two barrels just to watch a lot of people gallop about the grass.”
“Quite pastoral,” added Mr. Tillingham. “Though as with all good pastorals, one delights in spotting the storm on the horizon and the wolf hidden in the thicket.”
“There are wolves?” asked the Professor.
“Figure of speech, dear sir,” said Mr. Tillingham. “Some years they have quite a good Gypsy band. I took a young Italian artist once and he was quite struck.”
“Well, I would love to go,” said Lady North, folding her fan with finality. “To serve the people we must go to the people.”
“Perhaps the poor hop pickers should to be left in peace to enjoy their holiday,” said Agatha. “They have worked very hard, and they may not feel able to celebrate as freely with such eminent visitors.”
“Nonsense, it’s only us,” said Lady Emily. She signaled to the butler. “Would you telephone the farm and let them know we’re coming after dinner? Please mention we intend to be very informal so everyone should proceed as if we were not there at all.”
“The farms of Sussex have the telephone?” said Lord North.
“Mine do,” said Colonel Wheaton. “Put one in every farm kitchen, and now all my farmers know I may telephone at any hour. Keeps them up to the mark, I can tell you.”
“Terrible thing, the telephone,” said Lady Emily. “I refuse to be a slave to it.”
“All our embassies are now connected, of course,” said John. “But it’s not much use for diplomacy what with all the party lines and operators listening in.”
“You might get a funny skit for one of your plays out of that, Mr. Tillingham,” said the Mayor. “The Kaiser’s got a crossed line and the Russians keep calling for vodka. That sort of thing.”
“I don’t do ‘skits,’ Mr. Fothergill,” said Tillingham, his lips pinched to the point of disappearing. “You have me confused with the music halls.”
“Nothing like a bit of humor to liven up a play,” said the Mayor. “Why, your next play might be as popular as Gilbert and Sullivan.”
Mr. Tillingham looked as if he might succumb to apoplexy.
“I’m afraid we are not dressed for the fields,” Bettina pointed out, smoothing her golden gown.
“Indeed on no account should you risk the ruin of so stunning a dress,” said Lady Emily. “We will release you and your dear husband from all obligations, dear Bettina. Our chauffeur shall run you home while the rest of us disperse to find our boots.”
“Well, I’m sure we don’t care to break up your party, Lady Emily,” said the Mayor, looking at his wife, whose face was quivering.
“Oh, you do us a service, dear Mayor Fothergill,” said Lady Emily. “There would not be room for you in the cars.” She smiled in a way that brooked no further discussion and added, “Shall we go in to dinner?”
—
The light was all but drained from the sky and, in the orange glare of a large bonfire, boisterous country dancing was well under way as Agatha and John led the Professor and Mr. Tillingham across the cleared hop field. The Wheatons were a few minutes behind, Emily Wheaton having whispered to Agatha her hope that all would be found in order for the appropriate reception of Lord and Lady North.
“I’m not sure how Emily expects such an event to be anything other than it is,” said Agatha to John as the bonfire made the long shadows dance. Around the field, rough trestles were crammed with hoppers, the Londoners and the locals keeping to their own tables but mingling happily in the dancing. In addition to their own foods, platters of sausages were being heaped hot from coal braziers and baked potatoes plucked from the fire with long iron tongs.
“A pagan revel to its core,” agreed John, sniffing appreciatively after a passing platter. “But it will do Lord North good to be reminded that this is England the ancient and that we fight for her as much as for the prim town and the glittering city.”
“I’m not sure he will appreciate your historical view,” said Agatha as a man slipped to the ground at a table where revelers were making very free with the farmer’s jugs of cider.
In a prime spot, the farmer and his family occupied a long trestle decorated with hay bales and bunting, and to one side Agatha spied Eleanor’s party of young people.
“I see that the attempt to mingle with the people has its limits,” said John as they approached Eleanor’s table, which was distinguished by a linen cloth, silver candlesticks, and a footman hovering with several wine bottles.
“I doubt any of us would enjoy sitting on a rough plank and eating with our fingers,” said Mr. Tillingham. “I for one would appreciate a cold glass of champagne.”
Agatha caught Hugh’s eye, and as she waved her handkerchief at him, a look of consternation crossed his face.
“What are you doing here, Aunt?” he asked, hurrying forward to greet them.