‘Looks like Ruby Sweetman is taking her role very seriously.’ Emelie grinned mischievously.
‘I wonder why,’ said Lionel, with the tone of someone who knew exactly why.
‘Well, Herv is doing the crowning after all,’ Lilian replied.
Herv? The hairy bloke on entrance ticket duty? Well, he must look better out of the sackcloth then, thought Marnie. She couldn’t imagine that Ruby was at the end of a very long queue for his attentions.
She studied the May Queen whilst Lionel and Emelie and Lilian were talking amongst themselves. Ruby looked about the same age as herself, long golden hair, large blue eyes, perfect nose but the overall effect was let down by the mean line of her mouth. She set Marnie on edge; it wasn’t for any reason she could put her finger on. Maybe she was predisposed to not favouring the blonde/blue-eyed combo.
Someone barged past knocking Marnie into Lionel who courteously steadied her. The man in tweed, the one with the flat cap, waistcoat and expensive boots – Titus Sutton. He clapped his hands to summon attention to himself.
‘Ladies and Gentleman,’ he addressed the small crowd. ‘Thank you all for coming to this auspicious occasion where we crown our most beautiful May Queen and honour her.’
‘Lionel, you should be doing this,’ Lilian said to the vicar.
‘Be complicit in a pagan ceremony, whatever would the bishop say?’ replied Lionel.
‘He need never know. Titus is bound to spoil it.’
‘Magic, if you believe that old tripe’ – Titus sniggered behind his hand as if he was in a play and telling the audience something he didn’t want the rest of the cast to know – ‘is at its strongest on May Day, so based on that we should all be in for a wonderful, happy, fruitful year. Protected from the wicked witch of the well.’ He said the sentence with relish and drama and Lilian responded, none-too-quietly.
‘Well, really! She wasn’t wicked. If her spirit heard that, she’d be very cross.’
Titus heard but ignored her and carried on. ‘So, it is with great delight that I ask that the May Queen be crowned. Who crowneth the queen?’
‘I do. Herv Gunnarsen.’
Blond Hagrid appeared from behind them. Blimey, he’s massive, thought Marnie. He’d taken those revolting teeth out and she could see what Lilian meant about him looking as if he’d just walked off a Viking longboat. His real leonine blond hair fell past shoulders wider than a double wardrobe. Yep, now she understood why the May Queen’s heart was melting before their eyes, although hers didn’t quicken in the slightest. It was learning at long last. Hip-bloody-hurrah!
Herv held a floral crown in his hand, yellow flowers twisted with ivy leaves. He lifted it above Ruby’s head with his left hand and with his right he fumbled in his trouser pocket under the sackcloth. He brought out a piece of paper and began to read from it.
‘Oh May Queen. Please protect your people from the old magic that exists in de village. May your goodness and beauty overcome anything dat threatens to harm us.’ There was that accent again. Scandinavian, Marnie guessed. She wondered if he was putting it on to match his Eric the Red image.
‘This year, may you show us where you are so we can lay you to rest and we can all finally be at peace with one another.’
Well, I don’t think Sir Ian McKellan has got anything to worry about, Marnie sniggered inwardly. His acting was about on par with Gabrielle’s.
The big blond man screwed up his script then and attempted to return it to his pocket, except he couldn’t find the gap in the sackcloth. The woman who had been adjusting the queen’s hair earlier bobbed forward and took it from him, otherwise they could have been there all day waiting for him to put it away. Now ready, at last, to perform the final part of the ritual, Herv lowered the crown onto the May Queen’s head, which he had to do at an angle because her face was tilted up to his and if she’d been a cartoon, red love hearts would have been pumping out of her eyes.
A cheer erupted from the gathered throng and Ruby’s head swivelled now so she was proffering her cheek. Hairy Herv bent and kissed it and Ruby’s lips spread into a smile that threatened to engulf her whole head.
‘Let the festivities begin,’ said Titus Sutton and a band consisting of a drummer, a penny-whistle, a tambourine and someone on a triangle started up.
Lilian immediately hobbled over to him with rage powering her steps. ‘Titus, that was unforgivable of you, mocking the ceremony. And to call poor Margaret wicked can only bring bad luck, as if we haven’t had enough. The reason we have to do this ceremony is because she was unjustifiably executed. Vengeful magic of innocents is very powerful.’
‘Dear lady, I apologise wholeheartedly,’ said Titus, hands out at his sides and smiling as a crocodile might try and assure a salmon that he had no intentions of scoffing him. It was quite obvious to Marnie that he was a patronising git. And a liar because he didn’t look sorry at all. Margaret’s curse hadn’t touched him, if his house was anything to go by. Or his wardrobe. He was clad in the very finest of country gentleman’s attire, which must have cost a small fortune. He made Chris Eubank look like Charlie Chaplin.
‘He is an odious man,’ Emelie confided quietly to Marnie. ‘Wychwell has been more than good to him and all he had to do was be reverent today, because it’s important to Lilian. Griff Oldroyd has always made the speech before, but he has laryngitis at the moment. Lilian will be furi—’ She snapped off the word as Lilian came back to them at speed.
‘Well that doesn’t bode well,’ she said with huffing impatience. ‘Not well at all. Mocking poor Margaret. How could he? Wicked witch indeed.’
Lilian’s eyes were shining with angry tears.
‘It’s done, Lilian, the queen is crowned,’ said Lionel in a calm but firm voice, squeezing her hand as he spoke. ‘It will be fine.’
‘Let’s have some mead,’ suggested Emelie. ‘You’ll feel better after one of Lionel’s magic potions.’
A young, slim girl with a blaze of long red hair arrived, with magnificent timing, at their side with a tray of drinks. She was dressed like a wench in a Hammer Horror film.
‘Go on, Marnie, you have to toast the health of the May Queen,’ Lilian urged, nodding towards the plastic beakers which contained bright gold-coloured liquid. ‘Lionel makes it. He and David at the Wych Arms have competitions to see who can make the best mead—’
‘But I always win,’ Lionel broke in, taking beakers from the tray and passing them to the ladies. ‘Thank you, Zoe,’ he said to the wench-waitress. The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled as he chuckled and Marnie thought that he must have been a very handsome man in his youth.
‘They hold a lot of public tasting sessions, so you can see there are worse places to live,’ Emelie smiled and Marnie had to agree with her. As quiet and villagey as it was, living somewhere like Wychwell would be far preferable to living in Redbrook Row at the moment.
As Lilian continued to savage Titus Sutton for cocking up the ceremony with her friends, Marnie indulged in a spot of people-watching, in particular the dynamics between the May Queen and the Viking, which would make a good Midnight Moon title, she mused. Except this story didn’t look as if it would have the traditional happy ending. They were drinking mead now and talking together. Ruby was playing with her hair coquettishly and her body was swinging slightly as she stood in front of him, whilst he had his arms crossed protectively against his broad and impressive chest. Her body language said, ‘I’m yours for the asking, in fact you don’t even need to ask – just take me now.’ His said, ‘I’m being polite but still keeping my distance because I’m not interested.’