I hoped my hasty departure did not offend my table companion, but it was as I expected on reaching the end of Mucklesfeld’s drive and rounding the rear of the house. Mr. Plunket and Boris were adding a final couple of lawn chairs to a row some yards in front of the ravine. Even now, two chairs were occupied by Mrs. Spendlow and the woman I had sat next to in church. I nodded and smiled but did not go over to them. The contestants were grouped together on the lawn above the terrace near the fountain and a motley assortment of worse for wear statues. Perhaps not all of the contestants; I couldn’t see Judy, although being diminutive she could have been invisible inside the huddle. Georges and the crew were positioned close to the house wall. A sturdy, middle-height elderly man in a jacket and cap moved between the two groups, occasionally extending a hand, palm up, as if testing the wind. There didn’t seem to be much of one, but Charlie Forester-for that’s who he had to be-had in his manner of moving and the tilt of his head the look of an expert on all things nature. I could see the bows and arrows on a table alongside Georges’s wheelchair and the round target on a tree to the forefront of one of several small, unpruned groves.
Mrs. Foot came out the door by which Judy, Livonia, and I had entered the house on arrival. I heard her asking Georges if he would like a nice cup of tea, only to be rudely ignored. At which moment I heard Mr. Plunket’s voice raised in what sounded like a greeting, and turned to see Celia Belfrey seat herself in queenly fashion, and to my amazement Nora Burton-alias I knew who-take the chair next to her. Before I could finish gaping, Tommy Rowley joined the audience with Mrs. Spuds, who waved at me in friendly fashion.
But this was not the moment for pondering. Lord Belfrey made his appearance, went up to the group of contestants, and was heard offering words of encouragement and warnings to take care. Echoes of which were then instilled in a crusty, confident voice by Charlie Forester.
“Safety first, for your own good as well as others. Never-repeat, never-turn if someone calls your name or there are any other interruptions. That’s the way serious accidents happen.” He rumbled informatively on longbows and recurve bows. “The thirty-five-pound bows cause more damage than the twenty-five, which will be used this afternoon, along with target arrows-wooden ones with wooden fletches.”
“It all sounds rather intimidating,” I heard Alice say, but with an edge of laughter. “Do we get a good practice in first?” Charlie assured her that they’d all have the basics down pat before firing their first arrows.
Livonia and Molly stood in what to me looked like nervous conversation, while Mrs. Malloy, having actually replaced her high heels with lace-up shoes she must have borrowed, pivoted this way and that, pulling an imaginary bow, eyes narrowed in deepest concentration. Lord Belfrey retreated to stand alongside Georges. What, I wondered, would be his reaction upon approaching his cousin Celia? Would something deep in his being cry out in recognition upon beholding her hired companion? My thoughts had been so occupied with this question I had forgotten the absent Judy, but in turning my head to see if I could detect anything from Nora Burton’s posture, I saw Judy emerge in the familiar hiking jacket from the ravine at a fast pace. Head down as if to carve out more speed, she did not look up until nearing her fellow contestants still hearkening with various signs of interest-Mrs. Malloy’s the least-to the words of Charlie Forester.
“So sorry to keep you all waiting,” Judy said with remorseful embarrassment. “Afraid I lost track of time down there hunting for a few final pieces of stone to finish the wall. Have to go inside and wash my hands, but will speed on back.”
Mrs. Foot, who had the entry door open prior to going back inside-perhaps to make herself one of those cups of tea that no one else seemed to appreciate-held it for Judy and they went in together. At that point, I became increasingly absorbed by what was going on immediately in front of me. If the entire audience and crew had got up and left, I wouldn’t have noticed.
Charlie continued his flow of instructions while the bows were handed out by a blank-faced Boris, hindered rather than helped by Mrs. Foot, when she returned from the house. Provided with their sporting weaponry, the women-still absent Judy-wandered around in circles, occasionally pausing to bump into each other.
“Line up your stance and look directly at target when preparing to shoot,” instructed Charlie, moving, bravely in my opinion, among them. There was quite a bit of turning when being spoken to, despite having been told this was taboo, and much dropping of arrows.
“If you don’t listen, I’ll never make shooters out of you. Anchor index finger to corner of the mouth. That’s not your finger, it’s your wrist,” he informed Mrs. Malloy, who bared her teeth in a smile. “Keep shooting arm straight,” he told Alice. And then to Molly: “Make sure nock is firmly on string.”
What was a nock? I wondered.
“Elbow high,” he said to Livonia.
How very confusing it all was! Which elbow; hadn’t he just said to keep the shooting arm straight?
“Don’t release, still practicing!” For the first time he raised his voice when looking at Mrs. Malloy, who indeed appeared poised to let fly.
Judy came out of the house. Lord Belfrey crossed the lawn toward the audience, halting midway for what seemed like a full minute before moving slowly on. A joyous barking rent the air and… could it be? Yes! It was! Thumper came flying into view, colliding with his lordship and several others-the audience having grown since I last looked. What was to have been a family affair had turned into a village outing. Knowing it was me he had come to see, bless his dear faithful heart, I hurried to greet him before he could further disrupt the archers. I was kneeling on pebbly ground, holding his wonderful furry warmth close, when there was a scream to my rear followed by a torrent of exclamations.
Heart in my mouth, I released Thumper, ordering him to stay, and raced back to the source of whatever had happened. Georges, for once looking anxious, was wheeling himself at speed in the same direction, the crew hurrying along with him, while Lord Belfrey and Tommy Rowley came up behind me. On the ground, encircled by the other contestants, lay Judy. Charlie was kneeling beside her. For a long-excruciatingly long-moment I was sure she was dead. There was an arrow protruding from her chest that had to be close to her heart. Tommy brushed urgently by me, but before he could take medical action, Judy opened her eyes and against instructions from all sides sat up, looking dazed but sounding quite coherent when responding to the babble of questioning coming from all sides.
“I’m fine,” she kept repeating.
“But how’s that possible?” Livonia stood twisting her hands. “You’ve got an arrow…”
“So I have.” Judy looked down and-without a blink-pulled it out. “It must have gone in the notebook in my jacket pocket.” She managed a shaky laugh. “How lucky I am, although,” she added ruefully, “I think I may have sprained an ankle when I went down.”
Here was something for Tommy, at Lord Belfrey’s anxious urging, to examine. While doing so, he admonished Judy in a very grown-up doctor voice for removing the arrow herself. He talked about tetanus shots, and for all the grimness of the situation I sensed his awareness of the glowing looks bestowed on him by Livonia. But the troubling question hung heavy in the air: How had Judy come to be shot? No one asked until Tommy rose to his feet, saying the only injury appeared to be the ankle, which was already beginning to swell.