other townspeople play the besieged Saxons.”
“But what does Queen Winifred
do?
”
“Well, after the Norman soldiers land, they are led by Baron Guy de Boissy. The queen rides toward him and says, ‘Forsooth, sirrah, begone from this noble city.’
“‘
Merde
to that,’ he roars… that’s French, you know.”
“I know,” said Cynthia sweetly. “Do you know what it means?”
“Something French anyway,” said Mrs. Pomfret bravely.
Cynthia told her what it meant.
Mrs. Pomfret’s mouth fell open in dismay but she rallied quickly. “Then he shall say ‘zounds’ or something. Then he is struck by Winifred’s beauty. ‘If you come to France with me, fair maiden,’ he says, ‘I wilt not attack thy town.’
“‘I wilt,’ says the queen. They set sail after the townspeople have cheered Winifred to the echo, throwing roses under the hoofs of her white palfrey.”
Cynthia narrowed her eyes. It was all silly, childish nonsense, she knew. But she could see herself on a white horse with the cheering crowds around her. She could imagine David looking at her with admiration and the Maguire sisters being forced to play the part of Saxon peasants. She would insist that they darkened their skins with burnt cork.
“Now, Mrs. Pomfret,” she said, bestowing a glittering smile on the postmistress. “Only consider. A Saxon queen should be fair. Molly is dark. But I will save the day for you. Now, I know I am going to amaze you, but
I
shall play the part of Queen Winifred. Now, not another word. I do not want to be embarrassed by gratitude. Lord David will play the Norman king, of course… or leader.”
Mrs. Pomfret summoned up her small stock of courage. “But I-I h-had set my h-heart on Miss Maguire,” she stammered.
“You are ungrateful,” said Cynthia with a steely note in her voice. “Molly is American, and you cannot have an American as a Saxon queen.”
Mrs. Pomfret shook her head dumbly. Her courage had fled. She only hoped Molly would understand.
Molly was very sympathetic. She sat in the dark kitchen of the post office later that day with Mary and Mrs. Pomfret. The girls’ bicycles were propped around the back of the shop to escape the eagle eyes of Giles. Molly had found that young man’s attentions unwelcome and boring. It was bad enough to have him always present at the house, without having him spoiling their cycling tours.
“Let Cynthia take the part,” said Molly. “She
is
very beautiful. Mary and I will watch from the sidelines. I must say I am surprised Lord David is going to take part. I thought he would be too grand for the town pageant.”
“Oh, he
is
,” said Mrs. Pomfret. “He told me he wanted to have nothing to do with it, so the main male part is to be taken by the mayor, Mister Henderson, as usual.”
“Cynthia won’t like that,” said Molly thoughtfully. Mr. Henderson was pompous, fat, and florid. The idea of him bearing Cynthia off to France suddenly made her giggle.
“When is this all to take place?” she asked.
“Next week—on Saturday,” said Mrs. Pomfret, putting a plate of hot buttered crumpets on the table. “We never have much rehearsal because it is always a little bit the same. You know, an invasion and so on. Last year it was Queen Elizabeth and the Spanish invasion.”
“And who took the part of Queen Elizabeth?
“I did,” said Mrs. Pomfret, flushing slightly. “It was the most marvelous moment of my life. But you see I couldn’t this year because I wrote about a
young
queen and I did so want it to be you.”
“Don’t worry,” said Molly gently, “I couldn’t have taken the part. I can’t ride a horse, and you couldn’t have Queen Winifred riding down to the waterfront on a bicycle.”
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Pomfret, made stubborn by disappointment. She did not like Lady Cynthia. “A few years ago Mister Henderson insisted on using his new motorcar in the pageant. It was all about Druids—”
“Invading
“But what does Queen Winifred
do?
”
“Well, after the Norman soldiers land, they are led by Baron Guy de Boissy. The queen rides toward him and says, ‘Forsooth, sirrah, begone from this noble city.’
“‘
Merde
to that,’ he roars… that’s French, you know.”
“I know,” said Cynthia sweetly. “Do you know what it means?”
“Something French anyway,” said Mrs. Pomfret bravely.
Cynthia told her what it meant.
Mrs. Pomfret’s mouth fell open in dismay but she rallied quickly. “Then he shall say ‘zounds’ or something. Then he is struck by Winifred’s beauty. ‘If you come to France with me, fair maiden,’ he says, ‘I wilt not attack thy town.’
“‘I wilt,’ says the queen. They set sail after the townspeople have cheered Winifred to the echo, throwing roses under the hoofs of her white palfrey.”
Cynthia narrowed her eyes. It was all silly, childish nonsense, she knew. But she could see herself on a white horse with the cheering crowds around her. She could imagine David looking at her with admiration and the Maguire sisters being forced to play the part of Saxon peasants. She would insist that they darkened their skins with burnt cork.
“Now, Mrs. Pomfret,” she said, bestowing a glittering smile on the postmistress. “Only consider. A Saxon queen should be fair. Molly is dark. But I will save the day for you. Now, I know I am going to amaze you, but
I
shall play the part of Queen Winifred. Now, not another word. I do not want to be embarrassed by gratitude. Lord David will play the Norman king, of course… or leader.”
Mrs. Pomfret summoned up her small stock of courage. “But I-I h-had set my h-heart on Miss Maguire,” she stammered.
“You are ungrateful,” said Cynthia with a steely note in her voice. “Molly is American, and you cannot have an American as a Saxon queen.”
Mrs. Pomfret shook her head dumbly. Her courage had fled. She only hoped Molly would understand.
Molly was very sympathetic. She sat in the dark kitchen of the post office later that day with Mary and Mrs. Pomfret. The girls’ bicycles were propped around the back of the shop to escape the eagle eyes of Giles. Molly had found that young man’s attentions unwelcome and boring. It was bad enough to have him always present at the house, without having him spoiling their cycling tours.
“Let Cynthia take the part,” said Molly. “She
is
very beautiful. Mary and I will watch from the sidelines. I must say I am surprised Lord David is going to take part. I thought he would be too grand for the town pageant.”
“Oh, he
is
,” said Mrs. Pomfret. “He told me he wanted to have nothing to do with it, so the main male part is to be taken by the mayor, Mister Henderson, as usual.”
“Cynthia won’t like that,” said Molly thoughtfully. Mr. Henderson was pompous, fat, and florid. The idea of him bearing Cynthia off to France suddenly made her giggle.
“When is this all to take place?” she asked.
“Next week—on Saturday,” said Mrs. Pomfret, putting a plate of hot buttered crumpets on the table. “We never have much rehearsal because it is always a little bit the same. You know, an invasion and so on. Last year it was Queen Elizabeth and the Spanish invasion.”
“And who took the part of Queen Elizabeth?
“I did,” said Mrs. Pomfret, flushing slightly. “It was the most marvelous moment of my life. But you see I couldn’t this year because I wrote about a
young
queen and I did so want it to be you.”
“Don’t worry,” said Molly gently, “I couldn’t have taken the part. I can’t ride a horse, and you couldn’t have Queen Winifred riding down to the waterfront on a bicycle.”
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Pomfret, made stubborn by disappointment. She did not like Lady Cynthia. “A few years ago Mister Henderson insisted on using his new motorcar in the pageant. It was all about Druids—”
“Invading
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