“Not much,” said Beatrice. “We were both a little anxious about the parade.” Truth be told, she now thought that Celeste might have had nothing but a cup of tea. Meanwhile she, Beatrice, had breakfasted in a manner that now seemed unattractively hearty. It had seemed a shame to leave Celeste’s toast and gooseberry jam to go to waste, and her own nerves about the day had made her hungrier than usual.
“I’m sure it’s probably just a bit of a shock and lack of food,” said Hugh. “But just to be certain someone should remain with her. Lukewarm tea with plenty of sugar and a light diet for the rest of the day. Boiled egg or that sort of thing.”
He went to wait downstairs while Beatrice struggled to help Celeste out of her dress and stays and under the covers. Celeste felt feverish and shivered at her touch, reduced again to the disheveled and exhausted refugee of the first night.
“You are safe now,” said Beatrice, smoothing the golden hair across the pillow. “You are going to be all right.” Celeste merely turned her head away and closed her eyes. Beatrice sat on the bed and looked with sorrow at the little winged sandals spilled on the floor.
When Beatrice came down to the parlor a few moments later, the Professor had arrived. He stood by the window shuffling his feet and fussing with his watch chain.
“How is my daughter?” he asked. His face seemed tensed for bad news.
“As I said, I’m sure it is nothing to worry about,” said Hugh. “Just a bit of a shock on top of a morning of nerves and no breakfast, I expect. Unless she has any medical condition of which I am unaware?”
“But this is all my fault,” said the Professor, shaking his head. “A child should not be exposed to such roughness. I should not have given my permission for her to participate.”
“She will be fine after a day’s rest,” said Hugh. “I can ask Dr. Lawton to call tomorrow if you prefer?”
“No, that will not be necessary,” said the Professor. “I came at a great pace from the festival, where Mr. Tillingham had desired me to judge with him the marrows. I am much relieved to know my daughter is well.”
“Would you like to go up and see her?” said Beatrice, cheerfully. She was already thinking about donning an apron over her new dress to make Celeste some tea and a lightly poached egg.
“No, no, best she not be disarranged,” he said. “You will tell her I was here, and with your permission, I will call on you later for a further report. I fear I must return to my duties at the fete.”
“Are you sure, Professor?” asked Beatrice, whose duties to her own Latin scholars had been set aside the moment Celeste fainted. She looked to the stairs and thought of the trembling young girl and how much a father’s hand on her arm might soothe.
“You have my thanks for your kind care of my child,” he said as if she had suggested otherwise. “Your young doctor says she will be quite well, and so there is nothing more to be said.” With that he put his hat on his head and almost knocked it off again getting out under the low door lintel.
“It hardly seems fair to leave you to look after Celeste and be deprived of the afternoon’s festivities,” said Hugh as they watched the Professor hurry away up the street. Faint sounds of a carnival organ and the competing cacophony of a brass band hinted at the fete on the marsh below.
“I will be sorry to miss the pig racing,” she said in a dry tone. He laughed. “It serves no purpose to diminish anyone else’s enjoyment of the day,” she added. “You should get back to the fete.”
For a moment, he wavered, as if he wanted to stay. “I trust Abigail will return in time for you to attend the gala dance at the inn?” he asked at last.
“I don’t think Celeste will be well enough, so I will probably stay here,” she replied. While she would have denied any need of a chaperone, no woman could relish attending a public ball alone.
“Nonsense,” said Hugh. “Daniel and I simply can’t abide having to ask strange women to dance. I will come and fetch you myself, and you must keep some of your dance card open for us.”
“But you will have your card full,” she said.
“I am prepared to do my social duty in all corners of the room,” he said. “If you prefer my Aunt Agatha to call for you, I will arrange it?”
“That won’t be necessary,” she said. “I am not a child.”
“About seven then,” said Hugh. “Meanwhile, keep the patient very quiet and I will assume you know how to boil her an egg?”
—
The fete was in full swing, and Agatha, standing in the shade afforded by a flap of the tea tent, set her notebook down on a convenient upturned barrel and looked around with the cautious optimism of one who has prepared well and whose efforts are bearing the expected fruit, but for whom any display of gratification or relaxation of effort would be premature.
“Everything seems to be going marvelously well,” said her husband, coming out of the tent bearing two glasses of cold lemonade and a plate of finger sandwiches. “You have pulled it off, old girl.”
“I am not superstitious,” said Agatha. “But I must refuse to agree with you lest Bettina Fothergill unleash some further outrage on the afternoon.”
“People who say they are not superstitious are fooling no one but themselves,” said John, handing her a glass and setting down the plate. “May I offer you a lucky cheese sandwich?”
“What makes it lucky?” asked Agatha.
“It is not egg salad,” said her husband. “Therefore it is less likely to cause gastric distress after spending much of the day on an open platter under a hot tent.”
“You make my mouth water in anticipation,” she said, peering with great suspicion at the dry edges of the bread. “However, I am completely famished, thank you.”
“That boy Snout, the one with the suspicious donation bucket?” said John. “He was inside treating several pals to iced buns.”
“I’ll box his ears,” said Agatha. “After all we’ve done for him…”
“I gave him a very stern eye, to which he responded by paying for your lemonade,” said John. “He was very charming about it too, so if you make a fuss you should know you may be an accessory.”
“You are incorrigible, John,” she said. “Just because it’s amusing to you does not mean you should allow him to get away with his mischief.”
“One wishes to allow room for the flourishing of personal conscience,” said John. “The dread hand of authority can instill fear, but it cannot build character. I’m sure by the wee hours young Snout will be racked by guilt. But besides, I am on holiday today. I’m going to revel in being an authority over absolutely nothing.”
“You should have warned me,” said Agatha. “I put you down for judging beautiful babies at two o’clock and staffing the cashbox from four to five.” Her husband groaned into his cheese sandwich, but he did not refuse his help. Other husbands happily took credit for the work of their wives, and accepted honors in exchange for their financial donations, but they were often noticeably absent from any of the actual work of philanthropy. Agatha held it to be the greatest of all John’s many qualities as a husband that he always stood shoulder to shoulder with her; or rather, did exactly as he was told.
“I want to tour Daniel’s model trench first, and take a look at Hugh’s ambulance,” said John, consulting his pocket watch. “Will you come with me?”
“I really should perambulate around all the stalls and then check the entertainment program,” said Agatha.
“Don’t you want to see your nephews besieged by adoring young women with a passionate interest in trenching shovels and medical splints?” said John, swallowing the last bite of his sandwich. “I’m sure both boys are completely confounded by all the attention.”
“Oh, very well,” said Agatha. “But if the entire afternoon falls apart it will be your fault for distracting me.”