‘We do indeed. And what do you intend to do with your day off until then? I shall be catching up with some correspondence, I think.’
‘I have no special plans, my lady. A day of indolence and sloth seemed most appealing.’
‘Very good. I shall leave you to it. Perhaps we might meet here for a light lunch at about one o’clock?’
‘That would be splendid, my lady.’
At a quarter to seven that evening we convened once more in the kitchen. There had been a certain amount of conspiratorial chuckling while we chose our outfits earlier in the afternoon, but now that the moment had come to set off, it didn’t seem like such a clever idea.
Lady Hardcastle had taken Colonel Dawlish’s dress code somewhat more literally than I should have and had decided that “riding togs” meant jodhpurs, loose blouses and riding boots. I had no riding clothes of my own (I was, and remain, thoroughly terrified of horses) but Lady Hardcastle had spares. The difference in our heights made things a little interesting, but her second-best boots hid the excess length in the jodhpurs and the rolled-up sleeves of the blouse gave me something of a raffish air, so I was declared to have passed muster.
I opened the front door and peered out, trying to make sure that no one would see us dressed in so unladylike a fashion, but Lady Hardcastle was in more mischievous mood and gave me a hearty shove to get me out onto the garden path. She locked the door behind us and we set off down the lane to the village.
We passed no one on the lane, but my relief at having gone unnoticed was short-lived. The usually tranquil village green had been transformed in just the few hours since we’d last seen it and there, where the most excitement one might usually expect on a Sunday evening would be the dying moments of a genteel cricket match, was the brash excitement of a travelling circus. A fence, six feet high and formed of colourful canvas panels stretched taught between tall poles, surrounded an encampment that filled almost the entire green. Brightly coloured pennants flew from the fence poles with bunting fluttering between them. There were glimpses of tents and cages within, but the enormous Big Top dominated the encampment, red and white striped and bedecked with yet more bright pennants and bunting.
As we approached we could hear cheering from the other side of the green as the parade marched back inside the enclosure. We were just in time to see the elephant make its stately way in through the main gate and to hear the last boom of the band’s bass drum before the villagers, chattering excitedly, began to disperse.
The village was crowded with locals out enjoying the warm evening air, and visitors from all around come to see the circus on the green. Old Joe was already doing a brisk trade in food and drink at the Dog and Duck and the mood was buoyant.
There was, I realized, no chance whatsoever of us not being noticed and so I decided that there was nothing for it but to be brazen. Together we strode towards the circus entrance, our hair flowing loose down our backs and the mouths of the villagers falling open one by one as we passed. I heard a matronly, ‘Well I never,’ from someone I thought I recognized as Daisy Spratt’s mother and at least one, ‘Shameful,’ but by and large the reaction was rather pleasing. Several young men doffed their caps and bowed as we passed and there was a loud, ‘Wah-hey,’ from a lad in a small group that contained Arthur Tressle – obviously the cricket team.
The local police had been on hand to maintain order, though their presence was scarcely necessary in such a good natured crowd. Constable Hancock caught sight of us and came over to bid us good evening.
‘I say, ladies, don’t you look...’
‘Delightful?’ suggested Lady Hardcastle.
‘I was thinking more along the lines of “surprising”, m’lady, but there’s delight to be had, that’s for certain.’
‘You’re very charming, constable.’
‘Are you dressed up for something special, m’lady?’ he asked, obviously trying hard not to look anywhere he felt he shouldn’t.
‘We’re having dinner with a friend of mine from the circus,’ she said with a grin.
‘Are you? Are you indeed? Well I hope you have a most pleasant evening, m’lady.’
‘Thank you, constable.’
‘And you, too, Miss Armstrong.’
‘Thank you, constable,’ I said and curtseyed.
He was about to stammer something else when Sergeant Dobson appeared.
‘Ladies,’ he said, touching the brim of his helmet with his finger.
‘Good evening, sergeant. I trust we find you well,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘Very well indeed, m’lady,’ he said.
‘They’re going to dinner in the circus, Sarge,’ said Hancock.
‘Then you’d better let them get on with it, hadn’t you,’ said Dobson. ‘And put your tongue away, lad. I’m sure they don’t want to see you drooling.’ He winked at us and led the mortified constable away.
Laughing, we carried on to the main circus entrance.
A red, wooden arch bearing the legend “Bradley & Stoke’s Carnival & Circus” in golden lettering marked the gateway to the wonderful otherworld within. The walkway beneath it led to an ornate wooden structure with another red and gold board above it reading, “Admissions”. Two ticket windows were each manned by a smiling old woman of more than seventy years in red tunic with gold trim. As we approached, it became apparent that the women were identical.
‘Good evening,’ they said in unison.
‘Er,’ said Lady Hardcastle, looking from one to the other. ‘Good evening.’
‘Welcome to...’ said the first.
‘...Bradley and Stoke’s...’ said the second.
‘...Carnival and Circus,’ finished the first.
‘How may we...’ said the second.
‘...help you?’ asked the first.
‘I’m Lady Hardcastle.’
‘Ah yes...’ said the first woman, consulting a piece of paper on the counter before her.
‘...Lady Hardcastle. Colonel...’ said the second.
‘...Dawlish is expecting you. Please...’
‘...wait a moment and...’
‘...I’ll let him know...’
‘...you’re here.’
Lady Hardcastle and I exchanged glances.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘That will be...’
‘...splendid,’ I finished. ‘It’s a lovely...’
‘...evening.’
The two old ladies laughed and clapped delightedly. Then the first took a whistle from the counter and blew it sharply three times.
‘I’m Milly,’ she said, putting the whistle down. ‘And this is my...’
‘...twin sister Molly.’
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, ladies,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘And this is my... my good friend Florence Armstrong.’
I raised an eyebrow but her look said, ‘Play along.’
‘Good evening, ladies,’ I said.
‘It certainly seems to be a magnificent circus. Have you been with it long?’ she asked.
‘Sixty years this...’
‘...November,’ they said.
‘Young girls we were then,’ said Milly. ‘We were...
‘...acrobats,’ said Molly.
‘Oh, how wonderful,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘What a life you must have led.’
‘We had our...’
‘...moments,’ they said.
‘Alas,’ said Molly, ‘time passed and our...’