Page 13

Lizzie bit back her exclamation of annoyance at this treatment and instead straightened herself, for she had realized her dress was disheveled from sleep. Even worse, she had forgotten her bonnet and her hair was straggling about her having come out of its neat bun.

Seizing her courage, she turned resolutely to Frank who seemed the more polite of the two. “How do you do,” she said with polite formality.

He grinned at her and offered his hand which she shook. “It’s nice to meet you, Lizzie,” he said cheerfully. “Welcome to the family.”

“Thank you.”

She turned to Jack, who pulled his hand out of his pocket. “Likewise,” he drawled.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” said Lizzie dryly as she shook his hand. Frank threw back his head and laughed heartily, though she thought Jack looked a little taken aback.

“You’ll have to bring her over to the campfire tonight to meet Ma,” Frank said. “And take your supper with us.”

Benedict shrugged. “We’ll have to see how we go.”

“You coming with us now to help us set up the booth?” Jack asked. “If you want back in the business, you’ll have to do your fair share.” Lizzie saw Jack quail at the look Benedict turned on him.

“Ready to pay me now for your third of the business, are you?” Benedict asked in freezing tones. “The way I look at it, I legally own the lion’s share.”

“None of that now,” Frank said heartily. “None of that! We all know Ben’s always pulled his weight and none could say any different. As for what Jack owes, he’s good for it. Not going anywhere now, is he?”

Jack flushed and looked away and Benedict relaxed. Lizzie quickly deduced Frank must be the peacemaker, and she wondered what their birth order was. If she had to make a guess, it would be that Jack was the youngest.

“We’re heading over to the booth now,” Frank added affably. “It’s as good an opportunity to show it to Lizzie before it’s full of – ” He bit back the words he’d intended. “Punters,” he finished after a moment’s hesitation.

Benedict cast her a speculative look which immediately put Lizzie on her guard. “Aye, that’s true enough,” he conceded. “Fetch your cloak.” He turned away and started a low toned conversation with Frank before she could raise any objection to this plan. And what, pray, did they mean by ‘the booth’?

The manner he had of barking out orders was certainly not likely to endear him to her any time soon, she thought grimly as she jammed her bonnet on her head and threw her cloak about her shoulders. As soon as she rejoined them outside, the four of them set off across the field toward the flapping white tents she had initially mistaken for sails.

As they grew closer, she saw the size and shape of the tents varied. Some were as big as a marquee and their signs gave wild boasts that they contained a whole theatre troupe or even a ballroom. Others were so small; they were little more than a sheltering tarpaulin pulled over a table piled high with oranges or gingerbread.

Lizzie gaped with rounded eyes at the painted banners which made their grand boasts. ‘Returning from a triumphant tour of The Americas’ claimed The Philmore Players. She turned to Benedict wanting to ask him if the tent really held a portable stage, but he was deep in conversation with his brothers, so she held her tongue.

“That’s our pitch over there,” Jack said suddenly, pointing to where a loaded cart sat squarely in the middle of an area marked out by wooden stakes hammered into the ground.

Benedict narrowed his eyes. “It’s a fair spot,” he said grudgingly. “Though we’re next to the clowns.”

Lizzie followed the direction of their gaze and saw a strange assortment of people arguing over a pile of poles and strings.

Frank shrugged. “They draw a crowd; you can’t deny that, Ben.”

“I can’t stand clowns,” Benedict scowled.

Lizzie, who had never been to see such an act, stared hard. She found it hard to believe that so quarrelsome and tense a bunch could be capering clowns. Not one of them looked remotely merry. Suddenly one of them threw down his armful of sticks and began jumping up and down on them in an explosion of wrath. His fellows quickly fell silent and avoided each other’s eyes as they went about their tasks in perfect silence.

Benedict and Jack walked past them without acknowledgment, though Frank raised a friendly hand which was ignored. When the Toomes’ reached their wagon, they immediately began unpacking the contents.

Lizzie stood to one side. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked, clearing her throat. She was still wondering exactly what the Toomes brothers were purveyors of.

“Just stand there and look pretty,” Frank quipped with a wink.

Not bothering to make reply to so foolish a comment, Lizzie turned instead and looked with interest at the industrious activity all around her. As far as the eye could see there were stalls and tents being erected. She was flabbergasted that Greenwich Fair could be such a huge event. She had, had no notion that it could be so vast.

Opposite her, a man was hammering a post into the ground with a sign bearing a naked depiction of Adam and Eve, made decent only by the judicious placement of fig leaves. She was just wondering what their business could possibly be when another started unloading crates of bottled beers and liquors and carrying them inside. It was a public house, she realized with disbelief, her mouth falling open. Her bosom swelled with indignation at their daring to take a biblical name for their den of iniquity!

“Told you we had a prime spot,” Jack said, nodding toward the beer tent.

Behind her, the Toomes brothers were moving purposefully and briskly as their own booth started to take shape. It was a large square tent of off-colored white, and to Lizzie’s eye it looked rather devoid of interest. All around her she saw colored flags and bunting, but there seemed precious little to entice a passer-by into the Toomes’ enclave.