Chapter Text
For a moment after the presbytery door opened, Sullivan was confused. “I thought you were at work,” he half-accused his boyfriend.
A vague flutter of Sid’s fingers told him to lower his voice. “I am,” came a whisper. “Lady F.’s in the kitchen. So’s Mrs. M.”
The smile that had started to spread over Sullivan’s face reversed course. This news complicated things. Mrs. McCarthy, he knew, had intended to spend the afternoon visiting various people around the village who were donating prizes for or running booths at the fast-approaching harvest fair. Father Brown had tried to take advantage of her plans by inviting Sullivan and Sid for tea. Opportunities for the three of them to share a relaxed atmosphere had been rare since the conclusion of the Dunwich murder investigation, as the parish secretary had been throwing herself into her work and spending more time than ever in and around the presbytery.
“It’s still bothering her,” Sid had explained to Sullivan a few weeks back. “That other parish she helped clean up. Not so much the idea that no one’ll catch it if her or the Father start to...you know...get a little barmy – she seemed to feel better about that once I said I’d watch for it – but that she might go fuzzy at all. Least I think that’s why she’s been doing so many extra things lately. Trying not to dwell on it, and maybe hoping that if she stays busy it’ll hold off any going soft that might be in the cards for her.”
Remembering this remark now, Sullivan’s nascent frown deepened. “What's going on that’s important enough to distract Mrs. McCarthy from the fair? And to pull Lady Felicia in, as well?” The teatime trio that Father Brown had hoped for had been reduced to a duo barely forty-eight hours before, when the Countess had informed Sid that she had a tea of her own to attend. Since he took tea at the presbytery several times a week, he couldn’t use it as an excuse to beg off driving her. Sullivan had come over despite this change because he found greater enjoyment in the Father’s company every time he was in it, and he saw no reason to waste the opportunity.
“The fair is the important thing that’s got them both inside. Lady F.’s got some big new plan for it that she couldn’t wait to share, so instead of going over to Lady Medrow’s this afternoon she wanted to come here. And she’s so eager about it that she’s probably gonna come looking for me in about five seconds,” he added, glancing backward, “so you should get in here and hear her out with the rest of us.”
Sullivan stepped over the threshold and followed his boyfriend into the kitchen. “Inspector’s here,” Sid pointed out unnecessarily. He’d already switched into what he and Sullivan referred to as ‘public mode,’ and his voice came out bored.
“Good afternoon, Inspector,” Father Brown greeted as if he was surprised to see him. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“And,” Mrs. McCarthy tacked on with a mildly exasperated air, “will you be staying for tea? If so, then Sidney, I will need you to bring in another chair.”
“Oh, you must stay, Inspector,” Lady Felicia insisted. She seemed to be nearly vibrating with excitement. “What I’ve come to say will involve you, too, and your men. Everyone, really.”
“Lady Felicia has had an idea for the harvest fair,” said Father Brown.
“Yes, Carter mentioned as much.” Sullivan sent a dismissive glance after Sid as he disappeared deeper into the house in pursuit of another seat. “As it happens, security for the fair is what I came to discuss. I’ll need to know if the plans are changing.”
A glint in Father Brown’s gaze relayed appreciation of this fast excuse. “Then your timing is perfect. So perfect, in fact,” he turned to the eager-looking Countess, “that I’m tempted to think it’s a sign in favor of your idea.”
“Hmpf.” Mrs. McCarthy spoke over her shoulder from where she was arranging a plate of biscuits. “I think it would be more prudent, Father, to hear what the idea is before we start identifying marks of approval from Above.”
Father Brown’s eyebrows rose briefly as he considered this. “I see your point, Mrs. McCarthy. Fortunately, here’s Sid with a chair for the Inspector, so as soon as you’re ready, Lady Felicia can fill us all in on her plans.”
When they were seated, Lady Felicia took a deep breath and leaned forward over her steaming teacup. It was the exact same pose, Sullivan imagined, that she had been sharing gossip in since she was a pinafored child pouring drinks for her dolls. “I had a call this morning from the Viscountess Ramsleigh. Eleanor and I were at school together, so she was hoping that I would buy some theatre tickets.
“Her daughter, whom I haven’t seen in years now but who apparently grew into an aspiring playwright, is about to stage her first production. It isn’t being put on at any of the major theatres – in fact, I’ve never even heard of the house before – but Eleanor naturally wants to make sure that there’s a good audience for opening night.
“I took a box, of course, but I also wondered if we might be able to use this play to our advantage here at home. All of us in the WI are constantly trying to find new ways to draw people to our fundraisers for St. Mary’s.” Mrs. McCarthy nodded in agreement, though her expression remained skeptical. “The play will open just a few weeks after the harvest fair. The story it’s based on is usually associated more with May Day than with autumn, but I don’t think anyone will mind that.
“My thought was, what if we take scenes from the play and have them acted out during the fair? Not on a stage, but in the crowd, as if it’s a real-life story unfolding over the course of the day. If we advertise it well – I don’t know how, exactly, perhaps as a ‘sneak peek at a promising new playwright’s upcoming London debut’ – I’m sure we’ll pull in people who wouldn’t otherwise come. I hate to say it, but our fairs do start to feel a bit repetitive around this time of the year.”
She wasn’t wrong. Even Sullivan had noticed the trend, and this was only his second autumn in Kembleford.
“And,” the Countess went on, “it will do more than just attract a larger number of people. Staging scenes throughout the day will encourage those who come to stay longer, since they won’t know when the next part might begin. The longer they’re at the fair, the more money they’ll spend, especially on refreshments. Everything earned at the refreshments tent,” she added for Sullivan’s benefit, “goes directly to St. Mary’s.
“Better still, we can add a few new attractions to go along with the theme of the play. I was thinking of an archery competition and a costume competition, each with a small entrance fee, and of selling tickets for the final scene. We can hold that inside an extra-large marquee; I saw one being advertised for rent recently that would be absolutely perfect.” Her proposal spent, Lady Felicia straightened up and beamed around the table. “Well? Don’t you just love it?”
It was Father Brown who broke the bemused silence with a gentle comment. “I think we’ll be better able to say how we feel once we know what the play’s about, Lady Felicia.”
“As well as who will be paying for all these extra ‘attractions,’” Mrs. McCarthy added. “Your idea sounds very promising, so long as the play is suitably moral, but any marquee large enough to hold a ticketed show in will likely cost more to rent than the refreshments tent could ever hope to make in a single day.”
“Oh, don’t worry about the cost. As I said before, this is all to support the daughter of an old school friend. And for St. Mary’s. And for just plain fun, honestly. I’ll pay for anything extra that’s needed. As for the play – I was saving the name for last, because it’s really the best part – it’s a piece of classic English folklore.”
Sullivan’s eyes widened in realization as Lady Felicia sat up even straighter than before, almost preening as she prepared to name the play’s topic. Classic English folklore. Usually associated with May Day. An archery competition. No, no, no, anything but-
“Robin Hood, to be exact,” the Countess announced. “Annabelle Burkiss has written what I’m told is an exciting new take on Robin Hood.”
“That’s bleedin’ brilliant,” fell out of Sid’s mouth before he could stop it.
“Sidney!”
Oops. “Sorry, Mrs. M. Serious, though,” he turned back to his employer, “it’s brilliant.”
“I knew you’d like it,” she smiled past Father Brown at him. “I don’t suppose you’d also like to play the lead role?”
“Oh, no,” Tommy muttered. “No.”
Sid aimed a mild kick at him under the table. “Uh, yeah? He’s only my ble-...one of my childhood heroes.” The balloon of anticipation that had been threatening to carry him towards the ceiling deflated as quickly as it had swelled. “But...if we want this to be good, which we do, and get lots of people in to give money for the church and all that, then shouldn’t we have actual actors?”
“No, see, that’s part of the allure!” Lady F.’s eyes were sparkling. Sid had known she was excited – she'd said about eighteen times in the car how she wanted to tell him right then, but also wanted to do a big reveal for everyone all at once – but these were high spirits even for her. “We’ll keep the cast list a secret, but let it be known that everyone involved is local. Then there will be even more reason for people to come and stay all day. They’ll want to see which of their friends have roles, and if Annabelle has followed the usual storyline then we’ll have new characters to introduce all the way to the end, when King Richard comes in.”
“Have to get a horse for the last bit,” Sid pointed out. “Can’t have a king walking home from the Crusades.”
“No, we certainly can’t. And we’ll have to put some thought into who should play him, too.” Her gaze slid to the person between herself and Sid. “You’d cut a fine royal figure, Father Brown.”
“I’m flattered, Lady Felicia, but I’m not sure I should mix the temporal and the spiritual that way.”
“If the Church and the State being embodied in the same person is too Henrician for you, Father Brown, then why not play Friar Tuck?” Tommy had pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger, and looked pained. “It’s a strictly ecclesiastical role, even if the Friar is portrayed as a drunkard and a glutton half the time.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” lamented Mrs. M., crossing herself. “Please, Inspector, must you encourage them?”
Sid ignored the parish secretary’s agonies and twitched his head towards his boyfriend instead. “I hear his sarcasm and raise by an invitation.” The boyish grin unfurling on Father Brown’s face told him that the priest was already in, but he continued anyway. “C’mon, Father. You’re not gonna try and convince us that you don’t want to run around in the woods with me committing acts of derring-do, are you?”
“Lying,” Father Brown replied solemnly despite his gleeful expression, “is a sin, so I will refrain from even attempting it.”
“Father Brown, really!” Mrs. M. squawked.
“And since this is all for St. Mary’s...”
“Well,” Sid helped him along, “I mean, it’s your duty to help out, innit?”
“I think that case could be easily made, yes.”
“Wonderful!” Lady F.’s tone was exuberant. “There are two of our roles filled before we’ve even left the table.” Sid felt a happy laugh rising in his throat. Cash backing from the House, the carnival atmosphere of a big harvest fair, play-acting as an absolute legend like Robin Hood with the Father japing alongside him...this was going to be really, ridiculously brilliant. “Now if we can just find such ideal players for the others-”
“'Ideal’ is hardly the proper word for any of what you are suggesting.”
The ice in that statement sent a shudder clear around the table. All eyes went to Mrs. M., who had drawn herself up into such a rigid posture that Sid could almost believe she’d approach tallish if she’d been on her feet. “You all seem to be overlooking the fact that this is a completely unacceptable theme for a church fundraiser.”
“Oh, please, Mrs. McCarthy,” Lady F. dared after a beat. “It’s a romance! A tale of true love against the odds! It ends at the altar, for Heaven’s sake! There’s nothing immoral about that.”
“Except the groom’s chosen profession of brigandry, of course,” Tommy put in.
“A very fair point, Inspector,” said Mrs. M. fiercely.
Sid frowned. He was starting to think that the other man wasn’t just wearing his public face, but might actually disapprove of Lady F.’s idea and – worse still – of Robin Hood in general. “So?” he retorted. “Yeah, fine, he’s an outlaw.” You didn’t seem to mind breaking the law with me the other night. “But it was bad times, wasn’t it? King John stealing the throne, then charging high taxes in exchange for nothing, and all that.
“And he turned out alright in the end, didn’t he? Robin Hood?” Sid pressed on when Tommy looked as though he might cut in. “Married the person the powers that be said he wasn’t allowed to, for one thing, and all out of love.”
Tommy’s mouth slammed shut into a thin line of surrender, so Sid turned to the other objector in the room. “Got the approval of the pious king who’d just come back from Jerusalem or wherever, too. Reckon Rob didn’t have to do much briganding once he had that.” When something like regret softened Mrs. M.’s hard stare, he crossed his arms and settled back in his chair. “Might even’ve turned into a half-decent member of society at the end.”
Father Brown cleared his throat but said nothing. Eventually it was Mrs. M. who spoke. “I will not argue that there is a positive message to be found in some of the stories about Robin Hood.” Her voice was surprisingly level. “However, his redemption from outlawry is not the part of those stories that people tend to revere when they think back on them. That is what I object to, not...not anything else.”
Sid could make no response to that, because she was right. It had been the idea of living free, doing daring deeds, and making beautiful people swoon that had captured his imagination as a lad, after all.
Fortunately, Lady F. came to his rescue. “Well, this is a ‘new take.’ Perhaps Annabelle has chosen to focus on more positive things than forest revels and sword fights. Even if she hasn’t, we can smooth any rough edges. If anyone from here happens to be inspired to attend the play in London and notices differences, they’re unlikely to complain about them. And we can use the wedding scene with Robin and Maid Marian, underneath the marquee, as an opportunity to really play up the good messages of the story.”
Mrs. M. still didn’t look pleased, but the worst of her vehemence seemed to have vanished. “Will you play him that way?” she asked Sid. “...Good?”
“I’m gonna play him as Robin Hood, Mrs. M.,” Sid told her truthfully. “But seeing’s how he’s never been a bad guy in my book, I don’t think you’ll be too worked up when it’s all said and done.” He paused. “...We c’n still have a little sword fighting, though, can’t we?”
“It would hardly be a Robin Hood tale without it,” Lady F. assured.
“And here,” Tommy ground out, “is where my objection comes in. With all due respect, Lady Felicia, your proposal stands to make my job, and that of my men, much more difficult. Making swords and archery equipment accessible at an event designed to draw in the entire local population? As much as I would like to think that there won’t be at least three attempted homicides, I’ve been in Kembleford long enough now to know better.”
Sid and Father Brown exchanged a glance. Sid read the same sentiment in the priest’s look as he himself was feeling. On the one hand, he wanted to argue, to stand up for Lady F.’s amazing idea and all the money it would undoubtedly raise. On the other, he didn’t want to do anything with his public face on that might affect his and Tommy’s private relationship. And this was Kembleford. If an old lady could be killed with a letter opener in the middle of a town assembly like Nora Dunwich had been, it was no great stretch to imagine that someone might die at a fair featuring actual weapons.
Once more, though, Lady F. had a response. “I thought you might raise that concern, Inspector. It’s perfectly valid, and the last thing I want is for our church fairs to get a reputation for murder. That’s why I said earlier that my idea involved your men.”
She leaned forward again, just like she had when she’d initially shared her plan. It was the same pose she used when she had something secret she wanted Sid to do and needed to ensure that no one else overheard her instructions. Half the time things said from that position led to trouble, but they always led to fun, or at least a good story.
“The Merry Men can’t consist solely of Sid and Father Brown,” she pointed out. “And the Sheriff will need at least a couple of deputies. Those characters will be in and out of the crowd constantly, and easily able to keep their eyes open for any real crimes in between scenes. I imagine that some of your constables are already planning to ask for time off so that they can attend the fair; if they’re willing to play characters, it will almost be as if you still have them on-duty, after all. Wouldn’t that make it easier for you to roster the men who are actually working?”
“I...ah...” Tommy’s mouth worked as he wrestled with the obvious merits of Lady F.’s suggestion. “You aren't strictly wrong, Lady Felicia, but I don’t know how much attention the men at the fair would pay to their surroundings while they’re acting. Particularly,” he grimaced, “the ones chosen to play Merry Men.”
It was then that Sid had what was easily one of the top three best ideas of his life, just behind turning down the road towards Kembleford for the first time and daring to kiss the man sitting across from him. “Bet they’d pay even more attention than normal if you were there to watch them.”
They knew each other too well for Tommy to not pick up that he was scheming. His eyes narrowed. “I do intend to visit the fair, of course.” Sid was sure he’d said that so slowly just to buy time while he tried to figure out what outlandishness was coming. “And I would be watching them then. But it will be tempting for them to grow lax when I’m elsewhere.”
“Sure. And that’s why you won’t be elsewhere.” He couldn’t restrain his grin any longer. It spread so wide that it made his cheeks ache, and there must have been something a bit too delighted about it, because Tommy’s stare acquired a begging shine of denial. “Can’t be away from the fair and play the Sheriff of Nottingham. He’s in too many parts. Have to be there all day to be him.”
“Oh, that is perfect,” Lady F. gasped. “The crowds will adore it. We,” she addressed Mrs. M., no longer arguing but simply sharing excitement, “are going to make so much money for the church with this.”
“It is rather apropos,” the Father chuckled. “You must see that, Inspector.”
Even Mrs. M. approved. “And having you and several of your officers present all day will discourage at least some immorality. There is much to be said for that.”
“Perhaps so, Mrs. McCarthy,” Tommy bristled, “but the police get little enough respect around here as it is. If I appear as the Sheriff of Nottingham – who, might I remind you all, is generally the villain in Robin Hood stories – we will receive none.”
Sid read his boyfriend’s sudden and real upset. Reaching out with his foot again, he gave what he hoped was a reassuring brush of Tommy’s ankle. “Nah,” he shook his head. “King John’s the problem. Robin didn’t go off and start up the Merry Men on account of the Sheriff. He just gets caught in the middle of it all, following orders.”
“And,” Lady F. picked up the thread of Sid’s argument, “just like with Robin, this version of Nottingham may be different than those others. If the way he’s written concerns you, we can smooth him, too. And there’s no better way of ensuring he’s played as something besides a villain than by playing him yourself.”
Tommy closed his eyes briefly and heaved a sigh that made Sid ache to circle the table and take him into his arms. “You make yet another fair point, Lady Felicia. And it sounds as if you’re all determined to move forward with this regardless of my opinion, so...”
Father Brown swiftly voiced what Sid wanted to say but couldn’t in their current company. “Not regardless, Inspector. If you dislike the idea of playing the Sheriff of Nottingham, then I’m sure none of us wants to force you into it.” His tone gentled as Tommy looked up at him. “You could always spend the day at the fair without playing a role, you know. That would allow you to keep an eye on your men and the crowd while also enjoying the show.”
“Mm...yes...well...” Another sigh. “I suppose we can deal with the additional security concerns of this theme either way. As for the Sheriff, I...I’d like to think about it. And if I opt to play him,” he added, his gaze shifting back to Lady F., “I’ll absolutely need to have a say in the way he’s scripted.”
“Completely understandable,” she agreed. “Preferable, really. Between you and the Father, I’m sure nothing immoral will be allowed to slip into the show.”
“Hmpf,” Mrs. M. let out again. “I would certainly hope not.”
Father Brown smiled. “So that’s all settled for the moment. Lovely. I can’t wait to see the script. I do fear, though,” he directed their attention to the utterly untouched cups in front of them all, “that we may have debated ourselves into cold tea.”
A general groan rose. “I’ll get it,” Sid volunteered, leaping to his feet before the parish secretary could even begin to stir. It wouldn’t hurt anything to build up some extra credit with her between now and the fair. He meant to do his best to play his role in a way that wouldn’t tick her off too royally, but it was Robin bleedin’ Hood. With such a character in his hands, there could be no real guarantees.