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Instead of manicured pathways, torn-up grass and muddy puddles lined the way forward. There were no knights in sight, or horses for that matter, and the handful of people who were in attendance wandered around with bored expressions and crying children, all the while clearly looking for something to do.
Something to do. Was there anything to do? Winnie slowly stepped forward, careful to avoid puddles and mud pits as she swept her eyes around her.
A total of two tents were set up—both dark green with weathered canvas that looked as if it had barely managed to live through the worst of World War II. Beyond the tents, a solitary booth stood with a sign too small to read, though Winnie was fairly certain they were advertising food—food that smelled as appetizing as the portable toilets, which, incidentally, were too close to the tents for comfort.
The biggest disappointment of all for her was the list field, which she’d learned that morning was the name of the jousting arena. In reality, it was little more than a small stretch of land cordoned off by rope and a mere rickety fence—the tilt—lined down the center of it to separate the charging horses.
Winnie shook her head in dismay. This was abysmal. No wonder they weren’t profitable. What was Matthew thinking? And why had it taken so long for the Wintours to hire someone to help?
With her mind still reeling, she stood off to the side beneath a large oak tree and pulled out her tablet, shaking her head again as she peered at the nothingness that was before her.
Nothingness…
Nothingness that would be pretty easy to turn into a whole lot of something. With the event in such a terrible state, any improvement was sure to appear monumental. So monumental that Mr. Wintour would be impressed enough with her actions that he would know for certain that Winnie was just the woman to improve Foxwood, too.
A slow smile spread across her lips. With a bit of effort, attention to detail, and the appropriate usage of Mr. Wintour’s budget, this was going to be the easiest, the fastest, and the most lucrative consulting job she’d ever have.
This was simply fantastic.
CHAPTER NINE
Winnie pulled out her tablet beneath the shelter of the tree and scribbled down everything she noted about the event.
No shelters
No vendor booths
Disappointing field list
Garbage everywhere
Bathrooms too close
Her list continued to grow as she listened to the people who passed her by.
“There ain’t much to see, is there?” a husband asked with a young girl atop his shoulders, her little raincoat and hat covering everything but her eyes. “The flyer made the event seem a lot bigger than it is.”
“It was advertised as authentic,” his wife responded, a baby strapped to her chest. “Maybe authentic means small?”
No website
No events
Too authentic
Winnie’s fingers began to ache as the conversations and notes continued.
“I’m not eatin’ that food. If I don’t, ’ow can we expect the children to?”
“Where’re the birds o’ prey? They had ’em last time.”
“These pathways are ’orrible. They shoulda told us it weren’t suitable for prams.”
After a solid twenty minutes, she lifted her hand from the tablet and shook her fingers out, intent on carrying on with her notes.
In the next moment, however, she caught sight of a short, jolly-looking woman approaching her with a large, purple umbrella and dark plum-colored boots.
Winnie paused in her writing, then smiled as the woman continued directly toward her. This was Mrs. Wintour. Who else could match Mr. Wintour’s bright smile and radiating warmth?
