Crowned By Kindness

It's the last day of the Medieval Faire, the sky is darkening, and the announcer has been dropping increasingly un-subtle hints about what time the grounds will close to the public.

It's hard to blame them; people have been telling stories about last year, where many of the stalls had to pack down in the pouring rain, because of delays in being able to get their cars and trailers within carrying distance from their stalls. This year, a rule has been handed down that no sales will be allowed beyond a certain time, to encourage people to finalise purchases promptly. It isn't the first Faire to put such rules in place, but perhaps it says something about Society that these rules are seen as necessary.

Regardless, it makes me even more determined to find my last purchase, something I've been seeking all weekend.

I've received a number of compliments for my costume, particularly the floral crown I made, all bright green wound with pale ribbons to compliment my white gown and dark skin. I'm quite proud of it, but going around the Faire and seeing people in bright crowns and sparkling tiaras has made me determined. My floral crown will last only a few days, severed from the life-sustaining plants it was made from. I want one that will last.

My friend and I stop at a stall. The main attraction appears to be books, and a truly impressive number of embroidered fabric, but nestled between them are a number of tiaras. They are simple in design, with enough variety to appeal to any taste, and they sparkle like a dragon's hoard.

The stall is manned by a woman alone, her attention on the embroidery hoop in her hand, but she sets it aside as soon as we stop and stands up. "Welcome! What caught your eye?"

Part of me feels foolish, like I should be blushing. "The crowns, mostly."

She smiles. "Then indulge your inner magpie and try one on. Your own crown is magnificent, by the way."

I beam, proud of my handiwork, and relax a little. Many of the stalls around us have started stealthily packing down, especially those who have mostly sold out of their stock, but this lady seems to be in no particular rush.

The tiara on the end of the row is silver, set with (likely glass) diamonds. Discreet, and it would match my dress well, but perhaps a little too well. The next is a similar design, but black jewels set in a more subdued antique gold. The middle one is bigger, clear crystal against gold, followed by a similar one in blue that my friend gravitates to. The second-to-last tiara is somewhere in between, looping diamond patterns in bright gold setting, topped with evenly spaced white pearls. I pick it up. "How does it sit?"

Many of the people in costume have been wearing their tiaras as the headbands that they use as a base, or straight across the forehead. (Though I suspect the help of ties or combs with those ones...)

The lady picks up the last tiara, clearly modelled on the bandeau tiaras from the late 1800s and early 19oos, probably inspired by some country's Crown Jewels. "However feels most comfortable to you, but I find just behind the fringe line is best."

She demonstrates. Not across the centre line of the head, like a hairband, but midway between the hairline and the peak, a little behind where a fringe would sit, if I'd ever been able to stand the style. “Coincidentally, this is where coiled hair traditionally hid a base circlet. Hair structure has always been a vital part of tiara-wearing."

She sounds knowledgable, the kind of person who studied history because they enjoyed it, not just to dress up in pretty clothes and pretend to be a princess. I try the tiara as she suggested, and it does work. Not so far forward that it's at risk of sliding off, but neither so far back that you can barely see it. I pull out my phone to use as a mirror.

It even looks good with my floral crown, as much as it would without it. I want this tiara, and my friend's squeals of delight do nothing to change this. "How much is it? I mean, they are for sale, right?"

The lady smiles again. "I'm not mean enough to let people try them on and then refuse them. All the tiaras are thirty dollars each."

I laugh at her joke, and immediately wonder if I have enough. Between getting here and food, I'd spent a good chunk of my luxury money already.

She politely turns her attention to my friend, who is also buying an Object of Sparkly Happiness, graciously offering privacy as I check my bank account.

Twenty-four dollars.

Six dollars seems like so little, in this economy, but now it was the yawning chasm between me and the one thing I wanted. I wondered if she did hardship discounts, but I'd never ask. Artists tended not to be rich, and she would have had to spend money to stock the tiaras, not to mention booking a stall here at all.

The lady looks back at me, tilting her head and frowning. "I can do some degree of discount, if you're a bit short."

Was my expression that transparent? "Are you psychic?"

She laughs again. "No, but I can tell when someone desperately wants something and has just realised their bank account disagrees."

Her humour takes the sting out of the shame and disappointment. "How much can you do?"

She shrugs. "How much do you have to spend?"

It's kinder than asking how much I have to live on until payday. "Twenty-four."

She nods. "We'll do that, then. If you're bothered about the $6, pay it forward some day in the future, when a friend is short on something they want."

The generosity is as unexpected as it is desperately welcome. "Are you sure?"

The nod is firmer, this time. "I do a larger discount for children paying with their own pocket money, and at this stage of the weekend, anything I don't have to pack up and haul back home is worth a few dollars."

The ability to offer discounts at the smallholder's discretion is a privilege, I know. At the same time, it's such a wonderful idea for children and teenagers too young to hold a job and wanting to take home something from a day out when the world is so expensive already. I'll take my blessings where they're offered, and hope that telling everyone I know about this amazing lady is word fame enough to repay her. "Done, do you do card?"

She gestures to a sign: "This Shoppe Doth Honour The Lady Visa and Master of the Card". The drawing, amateurish, of a man and woman holding playing cards with familiar credit card symbols on them, makes me laugh. "That's awesome."

The lady grins ruefully. "It was funnier pre-COVID, when I was the only person doing card payments and people had to ask." She holds out a card reader. "Tap away."

I do, and the satisfying beep nearly makes me jump for joy. My saviour picks up a book and makes a notation, likely a record of rapidly-diminishing stock. "All yours, have a wonderful what remains of the day."

The weekend has been amazing, between the living history and the jousting and all the performances. From the people selling bodices and costumes, to the lady doing hair braiding, to everyone selling their own art, the skill and dedication has been awe-inspiring.It's genuinely wonderful to look and see what people can come together to create.

Yet this simple kindness, someone who saw how much I loved the thing she was selling and went just that little bit further to make sure I could have it, stands out above the rest.

I can barely speak, I'm so overwhelmed, but she looks like she understands. I take a business card, if only to figure out where to leave a ten-star rating, as a horn blows.

She looks up. "That's the end of the program. You'd better start moving, before the crowd gets overwhelming with everyone trying to get out at once."

As if on cue, the Announcer begins to speak again, pointedly reminding everyone of the closing time and to please exit the grounds quickly. We practically skip away, headed for the far ends of the field-turned overflow car park.

I'm leaving her such a nice review when I get home...