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“You’ll see tomorrow when the gates are opened,” he said dismissively, catching her arm and drawing her toward a nearby stall. “What will you have?” he nodded toward the array of pies and buns on display. She opened her mouth as though to decline.

“You’ve not eaten since this morning,” he pointed out. “I’ll take two,” he said nodding toward the pies.

“Mutton or beef?” asked the vendor.

“I would like a currant bun, please,” Lizzie interrupted him.

He amended his order and passed her the glazed bun. They walked the rest of the length of the field in silence as they ate in companionable silence. Then he bought a bottle of beer for himself, though Lizzie insisted she would rather have orange juice. He looked skeptical and she pointed out the many orange stalls littered about the field.

“You’d get precious little juice out of most of them. They boil them to make them look them fresh.”

“Boil them?”

“Just one of the tricks to spruce them up. How about a lemonade?” She looked relieved and accepted this offer gratefully. He bought her a cup of the cloudy stuff and they carried on their way. “You know where we are yet?”

She glanced about and shook her head. “No,” she admitted regretfully. “It just looks like a sea of tents in all directions to me.”

“It’ll be ten times worse tomorrow. All you’ll see then will be people as far as the eye can see.” Her eyes widened and he pointed into the distance. “The camp field is that way.”

“I’ll have to take your word for that,” she said, and at this point, he was hailed by an old acquaintance.

“Ben! That you, love?” The woman who had been sauntering past them halted so abruptly that the large decorated hat perched atop her burnished curls quivered violently.

“Connie, aye it’s me.”

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She clasped his arm and beamed up at him, touching his cheek with a lilac glove. “Frank said he hoped you’d be joining them this season. How are you, love?”

“Good, yourself?”

“Oh, I’m grand,” she said heartily. “I wintered at Brighton. Took the air like a proper lady and now I’m back better than ever.”

“Frank tell you I’m married?” he asked casually, knowing full well he wouldn’t have had the chance.

Connie’s painted mouth fell open. “I was just wondering who this must be!” she exclaimed archly, turning to survey Lizzie appraisingly.

“Connie, this is Lizzie, my wife. Lizzie, this is Connie, an old family friend.”

“How do you do?” Lizzie asked with scrupulous politeness.

“Pleased to meet the woman who got him up the aisle,” Connie said humorously. “So, you stood by your man in his time of need, did you?” the older woman carried on, casting Lizzie a puzzled look. She might as well have said ‘you don’t look the type’.

Benedict watched Lizzie’s face redden. “We’ve only been wed four days,” he said, to cover her confusion

“Why, you’re still a bride,” Connie said with a laugh. “Small wonder you’re so covered in blushes!” She prodded her parasol into Lizzie’s side and laughing uproariously at her obvious discomfort. “Wish I could still blush like that,” she said with a twist of her lips. “Mine comes out of a rouge-pot these days. You’ll have to stop by our tent. I’ve got a couple of new girls, but Niamh’s still with me and I’ve got a new girl for Salome. I’m expecting her to really draw the crowds.” She lowered her voice. “Her last keeper was a lord of the realm, no less.”

Benedict cast a quick look at Lizzie. “How about Alfred?” he said, steering conversation into safer waters by asking after Connie’s hired muscle.

“Oh, Alfred,” she answered with a spasm of irritation. “That great lummox ran off with my Amazonian she-warrior at the end of last season. I’ve not seen hide nor hair of either of them since.”

Ben grinned. “Well, he deserved some luck. Always unlucky with the ladies was Alfred,” he reminisced.

“I hope she robs him blind!” Connie snapped, forgetting her benevolence a moment. “Properly left me in the suds he has! Anyway,” she said, “I can’t stand here gossiping all day. Got to get back to my girls. Without me there to keep an eye on them, they’ll be sitting around on their arses, the lazy mares!”

“See you, Connie.”

“Cheerio!” she waved an airy farewell and moved away in a cloud of perfume.