Well over an hour had passed since the Fete had started and the three cold and wet girls  (Darlene, Kylie and Tracy)  were either becoming accustomed to their ordeal or were, by this time,  too numbly apathetic to care.  They still smiled brightly at the throng as they climbed the ladder.  Between immersions, as they patiently and resignedly awaited their next turn,  they were contriving to restore their ruined coiffures to some kind of order.

Kylie's bikini top had early on started to cause trouble and on her third downward trip had come adrift altogether, the strap breaking and the insubstantial bit of fabric fluttering down into a crowd of hooting youths, whose anxiety to capture it as a souvenir had caused a minor riot,  after which  one person had required immediate and urgent medical attention and another was to limp painfully for several weeks thereafter.

This unfortunate mishap had clearly left her with a few questions to answer when next she was next  in the terrifying presence of her short-tempered father, who might be away for the day, but would surely find out when he returned - this being a small and tightly knit community whose microscopically small-minded denizens delighted in gossip.   She could feel, in an anticipatory way,  the weals on her backside already,  as she rubbed her exposed bottom.  The germ of a GREAT IDEA was forming in her young and bucolic mind.  Something to do with sheep and lambs. (You've guessed it already, folks, haven't you? - author)

To those watching from the opposite side of the square, her one remaining covering, a tiny and triangular piece of black cloth,  looked not unlike her pubic forest and several people mistook it for precisely that, immediately wandering over to take a closer look, only to turn away,  regretfully,  when they realised their mistake.

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Beatrice had indeed attracted a large audience for her dance routine, but was finding it tiring in the heat and had just taken her second break of the day.  The piper,  too,  was getting tired and more importantly,  thirsty.  This gentleman had  just taken himself off to the Royal Oak for a bit of much needed lubrication, as he put it.  He was to be away for quite some time and his playing was not, alas,  of quite the same high standard afterwards as early in the day.

The involuntarily idle Beatrice wandered around the square, looking at first one attraction and then another, followed by a devoted group of admiring young men who were still not entirely used to the sight of this hitherto fully covered girl in all her glorious nudity.  Each  stand she visited benefited from her presence because of this following and she soon became quite popular with the other exhibitors, many of whom were seeing this hitherto distant and otherworldly girl in a new light.

On the whole, things were going pretty much as planned.  There had been a couple of disasters, as was inevitable at such events.  The lady fire-eater, supported by a group of concerned friends,  was being offered glass after glass of cold water after a slight misjudgment on her part.  The Sword Swallower had just been admitted into the Intensive Care Unit of the local hospital,  with a punctured gut,  after he too had somewhat optimistically overestimated his capabilities.  Otherwise all was fine.
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Julia was taking her third  and final bow after her last knife throwing act.  There were present a few ladies of a venomous and jealous nature who had hoped she might be the victim of another mishap, such  as had visited the fire eater and the sword swallower, but these sour-faced viragos had been disappointed.  It must be said in the defence of these women, that they did not wish Julia's death -  not quite!  However, a few flesh wounds and the sight of copious amounts of her aristocratic blood splattered across the square would have made their day.  Alas!  They were fated to suffer yet another disappointment to add to the many that their sad and barren lives had already known.

It was getting hotter all the time and Julia was taking a refreshing drink of lime juice cordial, when she heard a rhythmic slapping sound that had not been heard before.  It seemed to be coming from the general area of the Spotted Lady, poor old Dorothy.  Beatrice came running across to her cousin, her face flushed.

"I know what that placard was now, Julia!  It invites all and sundry to come and slap Dorothy's bottom in return for a payment of £1.50 per cheek per slap!   It's already an amazingly popular attraction!  The queue gets longer by the minute!   I can't believe the money she's taking - it could even be she gets to make more than you and I put together!"

Julia was about to say that Dorothy was welcome to make as much money as she liked and that it was only a bit of fun anyway, when pride took over.

Hell!  She would never submit to being outdone by that ill-favoured peasant with the ever open legs!  She swore that nothing would allow her to be bettered by that woman.  Whatever it took, she would be the more lucrative attraction.  Whatever!

As Julia fumed away to herself, Mrs Jenkinson, smiling broadly, came over to the two cousins, her eyes fixed triumphantly on the shapely and lovely blonde.  Now she had her!  Only the sight of Julia stretched out on the Pagan Altar would better the slapping of Dorothy's ample buttocks  as a money spinning attraction!

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Is the proud Julia doomed?  Will she be humiliated by the evil Mrs Jenkinson?  Is there no escape?

I haven't quite made up my mind and must go to bed now,  in any case.

To be continued.