Grace looked slightly uncomfortable so I knew Nora was right.
‘We have to charge entry,’ she said. ‘It’s a fête to raise funds for the club, after all.’
‘That’s fair,’ I said, before Nora could say anything. ‘Come on, Nora, let’s go and put up the sign at the gate.’
‘And you can get a card table from the club house,’ called Grace, as we set off. ‘You’ll need something to put the tin on when you take everyone’s money.’
The club was even more full of activity as we made our way to the entrance of its grounds. We nearly bumped into a tall young woman carrying a slightly torn fire screen in the direction of the white elephant stall – or rather, she nearly bumped into us.
‘Sorry!’ she said, and I realised she was Grace’s beloved Miss Casey. ‘Do I know you two? You’re not in the club.’
I hoped she wouldn’t remember having seen me in my disguise just the previous week.
‘You met us with Grace, the day she joined,’ said Nora. ‘I’m her cousin.’
‘Oh, of course,’ said Miss Casey. And that was when I noticed the little badge fixed to her hat ribbon. I might not even have noticed it if I hadn’t seen such badges before. It was a small yellow button and on it were the words ‘Votes for Women!’ Mabel had been right about her old schoolmate after all. ‘Are you helping with her dog show?’
We told her we were.
‘Well,’ said Miss Casey. ‘I may see you there. Now I’d better get this jumble over to the stall. Someone will buy it, although I can’t imagine who. Or why.’
‘Did you see her badge?’ I said, as Miss Casey went off with her fire screen and Nora and I reached the gates of the tennis club, where a curious crowd was already gathering to look at the painted banners announcing the fête and its attractions.
‘Yes,’ said Nora, as we tied the sign to the bars of the gate. ‘You never know, Grace might end up devoting herself to the cause after all. If only to impress her heroine.’
‘Goodness,’ I said. ‘You might be right.’ I should have known that the only thing likely to make Grace support the cause was the miracle of finding a grown-up suffragette whom she wanted to impress.
The fête was officially open by now, and the first attendees were arriving by the time we arrived back at the tent, where Grace had affixed her other sign to one of the poles.
‘Here’s the table,’ said Nora. ‘And jolly difficult to carry it was too.’
Of course Grace didn’t thank us for lugging bits of furniture around the club for her.
‘Put it down here,’ she said, rummaging around in the box and producing a notebook. ‘That’s where you two are going to take people’s money and write down their particulars, if they’re entering their dogs. You can bring out a chair from the stacks inside after we’ve put the rest of them out’
‘But there’s two of us,’ protested Nora.
‘Well, one of you will have to stand!’ snapped Grace, who looked as if she were at the end of her tether. Barnaby, who is of course always at the end of his tether in a literal sense, barked crossly. ‘We don’t have enough chairs. Lots of the attendees are going to have to stand too.’
‘All right, calm down,’ said Nora. Unsurprisingly, this didn’t go down well with Grace.
‘Calm down!’ she said. ‘I can’t calm down! Not with Barnaby refusing to do his tricks!’
‘Oh dear, is he?’ I looked at Barnaby, who did seem to be in an even more rebellious mood than usual. ‘Maybe he doesn’t like the prospect of sharing the stage with other dogs.’
‘I don’t think he does.’ Grace really did look worried. ‘Come, Barnaby. Please give me your paw.’
And Barnaby did hold up one woolly paw, though he did it with what looked to me like very bad grace.
‘There you go!’ I said, encouragingly. ‘Maybe he had what do you call it, when actors don’t want to go on stage?’
‘Stage fright,’ said Nora. ‘Maybe Barnaby has tent fright.’
‘Well, whether it’s stage fright or tent fright, lots of actors seem to get it, but then when they’re actually on the stage they feel perfectly fine,’ I said. ‘I’m sure he’ll be quite all right.’
‘Maybe,’ said Grace, but she still looked a bit worried.
‘Why don’t you go behind the tent and practise?’ I said. ‘And Nora and I will set out the chairs in the tent.’
‘All right,’ said Grace. ‘Come on, Barnaby.’
It didn’t take us long to set the chairs out, not least because there really weren’t very many of them. If the show was well attended, most of the audience would have to stand. When we were finished, we went behind the tent to find Grace, who was holding the paw of a slightly-calmer-looking Barnaby.
‘You can practise inside now,’ I said. ‘We left a space at the far end of the tent for the show to take place.’
Grace didn’t say thank you, but she didn’t say anything else either. When she and Barnaby were ensconsed inside the tent, Nora and I arranged ourselves outside with the notebook and cash tin. We scanned the tennis-club grounds, which were rapidly filling up with visitors. I noticed quite a few people with dogs.
‘I wonder if they’re all here for the competition,’ I said. Nora had taken first turn on the chair, so I had a better vantage point. ‘Look at that jolly little brown and grey one with the fluffy legs. I hope he’s entering.’
And it turned out that he was.
‘This is Ruffles,’ said his owner, a nice-looking middle-aged lady in an excellent hat, accompanied by an equally friendly-looking young woman, whom I assumed was her daughter. ‘Are we the first competitors?’
‘Yes,’ said Nora, taking the offered tuppence and putting it in the tin box. From the tent came a volley of loud barks. ‘You’re a bit early, actually.’
‘Who’s that?’ said the young woman, pointing at the tent, where Barnaby was still barking his head off.
‘That,’ said Nora grimly, ‘is the entertainment.’
A few minutes later quite a number of competitors and their owners had gathered outside the tent. It turned out that Mrs. Sheffield had spread the word about the competition among her dog-loving friends, and they were all eager to both help the club and show off their canine companions. I slipped into the tent while Nora sat at the table and received their pennies.
‘Grace!’ I whispered. ‘It’s nearly time to start. We’ve got lots of dogs outside.’
Grace turned a harassed face towards me. ‘Is Mrs. Sheffield there? We can’t start without the judge.’
I stuck my head outside the tent and saw Mrs. Sheffield approaching, with none other than my mother and Julia by her side. Thankfully Harry and Frank were nowhere to be seen. I didn’t want to see Harry at all, and I didn’t particularly want Frank to see me being Barnaby’s dogsbody (so to speak).
‘She’s just arriving now,’ I told Grace.
Grace sighed. ‘Well, I suppose we’ll just have to hope for the best,’ she said and, taking a deep breath, she led Barnaby out of the tent. I followed them.
‘Grace!’ cried Mrs. Sheffield. ‘And Barnaby. Oh, and Mollie.’
‘We’re ready to start the show,’ said Grace. She looked at Nora. ‘If everyone’s paid.’
‘They have,’ said Nora. She handed Mrs. Sheffield a piece of paper. ‘And here are the names of the competitors.’
‘Excellent, excellent,’ beamed Mrs. Sheffield. She turned to the gathered crowd, which was surprisingly large now. The competitors must have invited friends along.
‘Welcome, everyone, to Barnaby’s dog show!’ she said. ‘This is Barnaby.’ She pointed at Barnaby, who was sitting at Grace’s feet looking reassuringly docile. ‘And he is pleased to welcome all his little friends to help support our wonderful club.’
I wasn’t sure he actually was pleased, but at least he wasn’t barking at anyone. For now.
‘If you’ll all follow me into the tent, Barnaby will give a demonstration of his skills, helped by my young frie
nd Grace Molyneaux.’
And Grace did an actual curtsey. Inexplicably, the crowd seemed to like this, and there was a polite round of applause. With Mrs. Sheffield and Grace (and the suspiciously well-behaved Barnaby) leading the way, everyone trooped into the tent. Nora and I, of course, had to stand at the entrance to hold the tent flap open.
‘Well done, Moll,’ said Mother as she and Julia passed by. ‘It all looks very good.’
Of course, there weren’t enough seats for everyone, but no one seemed to mind too much. When everyone was inside the tent, Grace took Barnaby to what I thought of as the stage (even though it was just the chairless space at one end of the tent) and turned to address the crowd. Nora and I had stationed ourselves to one side near the front row of the audience, in order to help if the Menace decided to misbehave.
‘Though I’m not sure what we could do if he did,’ I whispered, remembering the time he had escaped from my clutches when I was taking him for a walk. If it hadn’t been for Frank, I’d have never have recaptured him. I found myself wondering where Frank was – I knew he and Harry must be at the fête somewhere – but I couldn’t think of it for long because Grace had finished her opening speech.
‘And now,’ she said, ‘Barnaby will demonstrate his amazing skills. Sit, Barnaby!’
And Barnaby sat. The crowd clapped politely, but they didn’t seem very impressed. I suppose if you didn’t know what a terrible dog Barnaby was, you wouldn’t realise what a significant feat it was to get him to sit on command. They seemed slightly more impressed as he performed his other tricks, and by the time Grace said, in a very theatrical voice, ‘Barnaby, die for Parnell!’ and he flung himself dramatically to the ground, they gave him a proper round of applause.
‘I must say I’m pleasantly surprised,’ whispered Nora. ‘I was sure he was going to make a run for it.’
‘Me too,’ I said. ‘But clearly he likes the attention.’ Barnaby had sprung to his feet and if dogs could bow, he would have been bowing to his audience.
‘Thank you Grace, and Barnaby,’ said Miss Sheffield. ‘And now, can the competitors please make their way over here?’
About ten dogs and their owners joined her. There were a few rather non-descript spaniels, but my favourites were the aforementioned Ruffles, along with a large mastiff who looked as if she didn’t approve of the whole thing, a Newfoundland with a noble expression and a small woolly, white creature that looked worryingly like a miniature Barnaby. And we soon found out why.
‘Oh, it’s Archie!’ said Mrs. Sheffield, as the little woolly dog pranced into place, accompanied by a boy of Julia’s age. She turned to Grace. ‘He came from the same breeder as Barnaby, you know.’
‘Is he … are they related?’ asked Grace. She sounded almost awestruck, as well she might at the prospect of another Barnaby being unleashed (so to speak) on the world.
‘I believe so,’ said Mrs. Sheffield. ‘I suppose we would say he’s Barnaby’s nephew.’ She looked fondly at Archie, whose beady black eyes did bear a strong similarity to those of his uncle.
As for Barnaby himself, he was still sitting at Grace’s feet, but as the competitors got into position in a semi-circle I could tell that he was not impressed by the arrival of the newcomers in what he clearly believed was his domain.
‘And now,’ declared Mrs. Sheffield to the awaiting crowd, ‘let the judging commence!’ And she began to slowly walk past each dog, accompanied by Grace and of course Barnaby. The first to be judged was the disapproving mastiff, whose name turned out to be Bracknell. As the judge and her assistant paused before him, Barnaby let out a short, sharp bark.
‘Hush, Barnaby,’ said Mrs. Sheffield, running an experienced hand over the other dog’s sturdy back, but Barnaby didn’t want to hush. He barked even more loudly at the noble-looking Newfoundland dog, whose name was Lady and who looked back at him more in sorrow than in anger. As Mrs. Sheffield and Grace went from dog to dog, Barnaby got crosser and crosser. The only dog he seemed to approve of was little Archie – at least, he didn’t bark at him. But by the time they reached Ruffles, whose benign gaze only served to inflame the Menace’s rage, Barnaby was yapping away like anything and straining at his lead with all his might.
‘Now, Barnaby, calm down,’ said Mrs. Sheffield. She turned to the crowd.
‘I have made my decision,’ she declared. ‘In third place – Bracknell the mastiff.’ Bracknell’s owner, a morose-looking man with a large moustache, went up to accept his prize. Barnaby barked.
‘In second place,’ said Mrs. Sheffield, ‘is Lady the Newfoundland.’
Lady’s owners, a young couple with a small child, went up to collect their medal. As the small child happily held the medal aloft, Barnaby barked some more and strained on his leash. Grace held onto it with both hands.
‘And the winner is …’ Mrs. Sheffield paused for effect. ‘Ruffles!’
There was a loud round of applause, and I clapped as hard as I could. But as Ruffles’s owners went up to get their prize, Barnaby burst free of Grace’s grip and, barking his head off, bounded towards the newly-crowned champion. Immediately all was chaos. Ruffles, understandably, started to run when he saw Barnaby rushing towards him, and when he set off, all the other dogs joined him – apart from Archie, who raced over to his uncle’s side. Within seconds, Barnaby was chasing Ruffles and the other competitors round and round the tent, with Archie prancing along at his heels. As for the human crowd, they were just gathered in the middle of the tent, mesmerized by what essentially a sort of bizarre dog race, with Barnaby driving around the runners. I couldn’t help laughing, despite being a bit worried about what Barnaby would do once he actually caught hold of his prey. Though I must say that the other dogs seemed to be enjoying it all immensely.
‘Barnaby!’ screeched Mrs. Sheffield. ‘Stop that at once! Oh you terrible dog. Catch his lead, someone!’
But Barnaby was running too fast for anyone to grab hold of his accoutrements. And then, as he rushed past the opening of the tent, someone leapt upon him and managed to grab hold of the harness. Barnaby came skidding to a halt, and his captor gripped on to the lead.
‘Oh my goodness,’ said Nora, ‘it’s Frank!’
He and Harry had arrived after all. And once more he had utilised his impressive Menace-catching skills. His deftness hadn’t totally stopped the chaos, of course, as the other dogs were still running around the tent. But once they realised Barnaby had stopped chasing them, they calmed down, and their owners quickly rushed to reclaim them. Archie, however, stayed by his uncle, gazing at him adoringly with his own little button eyes.
‘My dear young man,’ said Mrs. Sheffield, hurrying towards Frank. ‘Thank you so much. You’re a friend of the Carberrys, aren’t you?’
‘Frank Nugent,’ said Frank, handing over Barnaby’s lead. ‘I’m a school pal of Harry’s.’ For the first time, I noticed Harry standing behind him.
‘Well, I’m very grateful to you,’ said Mrs. Sheffield. She looked down at Barnaby. ‘You naughty dog.’
‘I’m awfully sorry, Mrs. Sheffield.’ Grace sounded as if she might burst into tears. ‘I couldn’t hold onto him.’
I actually felt sympathetic towards Grace. Barnaby had behaved himself for quite a while, but I knew only too well just how powerful the Menace could be when he decided he really wanted to get away. Luckily Mrs. Sheffield was clearly thinking the same thing.
‘It wasn’t your fault, dear,’ she said. ‘I should have known that having so many other dogs around him might … well, might aggravate him. It was my fault.’
She raised her voice and addressed the crowd once more.
‘I’m terribly sorry, everyone. Barnaby just got a little over-excited by all the other doggies. Thank you all very much for coming today, and please join me in giving all the competitors and their owners a very big round of applause.’
The audience, who clearly thought they’d got their money’s worth, clapped loudly and began to file out of the tent. The dogs all tro
tted out, none the worse for their exertions. As everyone made their way outside, I saw Harry and Frank walk out and wondered if I’d be able to find them (or at least Frank) later.
‘Goodness, I need a cup of tea,’ I could hear Ruffles’s owner say to her daughter.
‘I think I need one too,’ said Mrs. Sheffield. She spotted my mother, who was leaving the tent with Julia. ‘I must catch up with Rose Carberry. Can you girls tidy up here and take the table and sign back to the pavilion?’
‘Yes, Mrs. Sheffield,’ said Grace, who still looked a little deflated.
Mrs. Sheffield patted her shoulder.
‘You gave us an excellent show earlier,’ she said. ‘Come and join me in the tea tent once you’ve tidied up here.’ She looked at me and Nora. ‘You too, of course, girls.’
We thanked her and watched as she left the pavilion, Barnaby trotting demurely by her side as if he hadn’t just been chasing ten dogs around a tent just a few minutes earlier. It struck me that he had disrupted a meeting very successfully. Was he a little Ancient Hooligan? Or could we learn anything from his ability to protest? But I don’t think Barnaby is capable of thinking of political goals. He just caused a fuss because he didn’t like not being the centre of attention.
Grace walked over to the tent entrance and looked after Mrs. Sheffield for a moment. Then she sighed and started stacking up chairs. ‘Your show was jolly good,’ I said. ‘Wasn’t it Nora?’
And Nora, with what sounded like genuine sympathy, said, ‘I liked the bit where he died for Parnell.’
‘I suppose he did do all his tricks properly,’ said Grace.
‘And I have to say,’ said Nora, ‘it was jolly funny when he chased all those dogs around.’
And to my immense surprise, Grace stifled a smile. ‘It was very irresponsible of him.’
‘You can tell him so the next time you take him for a walk,’ I said.
‘I suppose,’ said Grace. ‘Come on, let’s get the table back to the pavilion.’ She pulled back the tent flap.
‘Before we go,’ I said. Grace paused at the entrance. ‘I just want to say thank you. Again. For not saying anything.’