On her way out of the marquee, Daisy crossed paths with the local GP coming in. Dr. Hopcroft was a slight, rather shy man. She had met him and his tubby wife two or three times as dinner guests at Fairacres, though she had never had cause to call for his medical advice.
“Hello, Doctor,” she greeted him. “Are you here in your professional capacity?”
“Strictly speaking, no.”
“And leniently speaking? Your services have been called upon?”
“Just a broken toe. A young fellow won a coconut, tossed it in the air, and failed to catch it.”
“Good gracious, I never thought of the coconut shies as dangerous. I’m just on my way to the archery butts to find my daughter. Do you happen to know where it is?”
“Over at the foot of the hill. They have straw targets set up with the slope behind them, so that if anyone overshoots the arrows hit the ground rather than supplying me with patients.”
He looked mildly pleased when Daisy laughed at his little joke. He obviously missed the note of uneasiness in her laughter, but she heard it herself and was anxious to be on her way. “Then I hope your enjoyment of the fête won’t be spoilt by any further accidents,” she said fervently.
“We medical men must always be prepared. You’d be surprised how many people fall over guy ropes at these affairs. I keep my bag in the fortune-teller’s tent.”
“And the fortune-teller is the district nurse. Most appropriate. I must be going. Please give my regards to Mrs. Hopcroft in case I don’t come across her today.”
“I’m supposed to meet her in here.” He scanned the still-crowded marquee.
Daisy hurried on her way. The hill, so-called, was the low, shallow ridge between Fairacres and the Dower House. The drive from the lane to the mansion curved around the southern end. Some quirk of geology had created on the west side a short stretch of steep slope which was ideal as a backing for the targets. However, the slope was not too steep to support a fair number of hazel and hawthorn bushes, ideal for an ambush.
She passed several acquaintances with a smile and a wave. When she reached the butts, Belinda was fitting an arrow to the bow under the guidance of Raymond. The boys were nowhere to be seen. As Daisy watched, he helped her pull back the string, aim, and loose the arrow. It hit the edge of her target.
“I did it! We did it. Thank you, Uncle Raymond.” Turning towards him, she saw Daisy. “Mummy, did you see? My first five arrows didn’t even reach the target. Derek said I should do press-ups to make my arms stronger. He has to do them at school. But at least I got one arrow in the target.”
“Well done, and thank you, Raymond.” Did the diamond magnate have a soft side after all? “Where are Derek and Ben, pet?”
“They’d nearly finished when I got here. You get six arrows for sixpence and they didn’t want to do it again. Besides, it was time for the three-legged race. Come on, if we hurry maybe we can see them finish.”
The three-legged race—behind schedule as events at the fête always were—was just about to begin in the meadow by the lane. Unlike the other children’s races, which were mostly watched by parents of participants, it garnered a crowd of spectators. Belinda wormed through to the front. The people she passed, glancing back, parted to let Daisy follow her.
Kneeling on the grass behind a row of cross-legged small children, Bel pointed. “There they are, Mummy.”
The starting pistol cracked. Eight pairs of boys, aged from about eight to fifteen, started to stagger down the fifty-yard course. Cheers, jeers, laughter, and cries of encouragement emanated from the crowd.
Derek’s right leg was bound with a scarf to Ben’s left. They were better matched than most, about the same height and weight, and fiercely determined. They only fell three times, while some gave up after a few feet and others fell with practically every step. However, an older pair had obviously been practising. They stumbled but caught themselves up and won by twenty yards.
Derek and Ben made it across the line in second place, to shouts of “Well done, Master Derek! Well done, Blackie!”
Oh dear, Daisy thought. She had noticed the curious glances at Ben, the people who stopped talking when they saw him and muttered together after he passed. No one had spoken to her openly about his colour. Most of the villagers must have known by then that he might conceivably be the next viscount and owner of Fairacres. She’d hoped the possibility would protect him against slights.
Afraid that he must be upset, Daisy made her way through the throng as quickly as she could, trailing Belinda by the hand.
The contestants had been separated from their partners. The winners already sported blue ribbons, and a half-crown first prize was tucked safely in each youth’s pocket. Edgar was pinning red rosettes on Derek’s and Ben’s lapels. He shook their hands, said, “First next year, eh?” and turned to the third place pair, the only others who had completed the course.