“And I expect my father will, too,” Derek said hopefully. “So we can do everything. Coconut shies, fortune-teller, test your strength, shove-ha’penny, archery—”
“Egg-and-spoon race.”
“Three-legged race. It’s almost like Carnival at home, only different.”
“Ben told us about Carnival in Port-of-Spain, Mummy. They all dress up in fancy costumes and play music in the streets and dance.”
“Dance!” Derek was scornful. “I’d rather race a donkey. Father’s going to buy me a proper horse next birthday. I’m too big for my pony.”
“You’ll squash the poor little donkey,” said Belinda, and they all went off into gales of laughter.
As they quieted, Daisy overheard a censorious mutter from Laurette, behind her. She wondered whether the French in general disapproved of children having fun, or was it just Laurette? She hoped Laurette’s own children, on holiday with their governess, were enjoying themselves more than if their mama had gone with them.
They reached the gate and paid their sixpence apiece admission. Daisy knew most of the villagers—the population hadn’t changed much—so she was quickly surrounded by old acquaintances eager to admire the twins. Oliver and Miranda revelled in the attention, but inevitably they wanted to get out of the pushchair. Miranda ended up riding on Alec’s shoulders, and Frank obligingly hoisted Oliver to his. Along with the slow drift of the crowd, they made for the makeshift dais where Geraldine was to make her introductory speech.
Geraldine kept her remarks admirably brief. The vicar whisked her away to admire the winners of the various displays; during the lunch hour his wife had whipped round affixing blue rosettes to the longest runner beans, the biggest vegetable marrow, the most perfect rose, the greatest variety of wildflowers stuffed into a jam jar by some enterprising schoolchild.
Daisy found Martha and went with her to have her fortune told. As the fortune-teller was the district nurse, nicely got up in a black-and-red robe of shiny artificial silk, the fortune was vague but optimistic. Martha was happy to be told that someone dear to her would soon appear.
Coming out of the tent, she said, “She must mean Sam, don’t you think?”
Or the baby, Daisy thought, murmuring a sound that could be taken for agreement.
“Does she really know?”
“Darling, I haven’t the foggiest. I’ve heard her mother was a wise woman.”
“Wise woman?”
“A sort of village witch, regarded by many people as having uncanny powers, and often very knowledgeable about herbal medicines.” That might be why she had gone into nursing.
“Oh, a Myal-woman.”
Whatever a Myal-woman was, Martha was content with her acceptance of the perceived similarity, so Daisy didn’t upset the applecart by asking for an explanation.
They went to look at some of the stalls. One was selling knitted baby clothes: caps, jackets, leggings, mittens, and socks.
“Oh, Daisy,” Martha cried, “I haven’t started sewing for the baby! Do you think Mr. Pearson would let me buy some material?”
“Of course, or whatever clothes it’ll need.”
“I’d rather make them. But I don’t know how to make things like these, for cold weather.”
“It’s happy I’d be to teach you, madam.” The woman minding the stall, almost as pregnant as Martha, was the Welsh wife of a village shopkeeper. Her knitting needles clicked away busily as she spoke. “This very minute, if you like. I’ve spare needles and wool in my bag and a spare chair right here beside me.”
Martha looked at Daisy. “Would that be all right? Would anyone mind?”
“It sounds like an excellent idea. I’ll come back in a bit and see if you want to have a look at anything else, or go straight to have a cup of tea.”
Daisy went in search of her children. Miranda and Oliver were sitting on Alec’s and Frank’s laps, mouths agape at a Punch and Judy show. They didn’t even notice their mother’s arrival. Frank said he was quite happy to continue to help Alec with them, and Alec said if they got fretful, he’d take them back to Mrs. Gilpin. So Daisy went to find Belinda and the boys.
She came across Raymond. He was staring gloomily at a white elephant stall as though trying to decide whether there was anything among the bits and pieces he could conceivably bring himself to buy.
“Hunting for bargains, Raymond?”
He gave her a look that spoke volumes. Taking out his gleaming gold cigarette case with the diamond initials, he opened it and started to offer it to her. “Oh, you don’t, do you?” He lit one for himself and slid the case back into his breast pocket. Then he pointed at the display and said, “I’ll take that. Please.”