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“Good morning,” Winnie said, turning off her tablet and walking forward to greet the woman. “You must be Mrs. Wintour.”
“Oh, please, call me Jane,” the woman confirmed. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. My husband wished to apologize for not being able to make it out here. He’s had a bit of a rough morning.”
“I heard he wasn’t feeling well,” Winnie said. “I hope I didn’t make things worse by having him stay up late last night.”
“Oh, not at all. He’s been in remission with his MS, but late nights do sometimes affect him. Even still, he stays awake most evenings, always drinking his cocoa and reading late until I force him to bed.”
She ended with a smile—a smile Winnie couldn’t really return. MS. Of course. Now all the wincing and groaning and shifting in discomfort made sense. Her heart twisted. She’d had a high school friend whose mother had MS. It had been terrible to watch her suffer through it.
“Now,” Mrs. Wintour said, not appearing affected in the slightest, “I’ve been told I have the pleasant task of showing you around the festival. Are you ready?”
“Absolutely.”
Together, the two of them wandered around the grounds, Winnie being polite and keeping her opinion of the small nature of the event to herself. Aside from what she had already found—the jousting grounds, food, and toilets—she was also shown the medieval paraphernalia displayed within one of the old tents, the stables just barely visible through the woods, and the area where the falconry took place.
“We’ve had to scale back on that, as well,” Mrs. Wintour explained as Winnie took more notes.
Signs needed everywhere
Return falcons
Where are the knights?
Two dozen people now walked around, far better than the handful from before, but those numbers would hardly benefit the event as a whole.
Winnie thought back to the words she’d heard, the event being called “authentic.” She knew Matthew was the one behind that thought process. After all, he had been the one to gloat about how theirs was the most historically accurate event of all time.
She sniffed with contempt. This authenticity would be one of the many things they would no doubt disagree on. After all, the festival wasn’t entirely historically accurate because, according to her research that morning, medieval era jousting very often led to death. Matthew obviously fudged the lines enough to ensure the safety of the knights, so he was willing to bend at least to a degree, right?
As they continued around the small grounds, Mrs. Wintour introduced her to Mrs. Birdwhistle, a member of the festival staff with dark red lipstick and a vibrant, oversized beanie to match.
“The Birdwhistles have been here for nearly two decades,” Mrs. Wintour explained. “They take care of the stables. Mr. Birdwhistle is also one of the knights here.”
“Oh, perfect,” Winnie said, facing the woman with an excited expression. “So he’ll be jousting today?”
Mrs. Birdwhistle nodded. She seemed friendly enough as she responded in her thick, Yorkshire accent. “Yes, they should be arrivin’ soon enough. They stay in’t stables until just before the joustin’ begins at eleven.”
Winnie pulled up her watch.
10:30
“Do you know if there’s a schedule of events or something, so I know what’s going to happen and when?” she asked next.
Mrs. Wintour shook her head. “There isn’t much need for a schedule when there’s only one event. Matt—We thought it best to focus purely on the jousting.”
Clearly, Mrs. Wintour had been about to say “Matthew.” Yet another thing her son was responsible for—getting rid of anything that might take away from him being front and center of the faire.
“And the jousting is only once a day?” she asked next.
Mrs. Birdwhistle nodded. “Once a day, every Friday and Saturday from May to August.”
More events
More jousting
Bring out the knights earlier
“And you never cancel due to the rain?” Winnie continued.
