Inherit the Skies

by Janet Tanner

  ‘She used to work here, you know,’ she confided.

  ‘Dolly Shepherd did?’ Sarah asked, surprised.

  ‘Yes. She was a waitress just like us. One night Sam Cody had a mishap in his sharp shooting act. He used to shoot a plaster egg off his wife’s head blindfolded and this particular time something went wrong and the bullet grazed her scalp. Dolly had the nerve to offer to act as stand in. Of course that got her in with Cody and his cronies and the next thing any of us knew was that she was making parachute descents with the Gaudron team.’

  ‘Really?’ Sarah’s eyes widened and she looked at the pretty girl in the blue knickerbocker suit with new interest.

  ‘That’s how it all began – and look at her now! A celebrity in her own right. Not that I’d want to do it, mind you. Imagine launching yourself out of a balloon with nothing but a bit of silk between you and the ground! The very thought of it makes my hair stand on end. But Dolly seems to enjoy it – and look where it’s taken her!’

  A customer had signalled for Sarah’s attention and the conversation had come to an abrupt end. But as she hurried to take the order a small pulse of excitement was beating deep inside her. The thought of parachuting certainly did not frighten her as it frightened Becky – she could think of nothing more exciting. And knowing that Dolly had once been a waitress just as she was made her feel for a moment as if some of the glamour of Dolly’s exciting life had somehow rubbed off onto her. Her feet flew as she hurried between the tables, glancing over her shoulder from time to time to catch another glimpse of Dolly, and feeling that first prickle of excitement hardening into resolve.

  What was to stop her from trying to become one of the Gaudron team? She was young, she was fit, and, without so much as a trace of false modesty, she knew she too would look good in a ballooning costume – something audiences expected whether the performer was an actress, a singer on the halls or a parachutist. Why it had not occurred to her before she did not know – perhaps because the starry aura of the display team had made them seem different somehow from mere mortals. But now Sarah’s mind was made up. If Dolly Shepherd could do it – so could she!

  During the next few days Sarah had watched for Captain Gaudron to come into the restaurant. He did not and when she enquired she learned he was away performing at a gala somewhere in the north. The delay annoyed her for she was impatient to put her plan into action. A week later she caught a glimpse of his dapper figure in the crowds but he was with several other men and there was no opportunity to speak to him. As she scurried between the tables with her tray Sarah’s sense of frustration deepened. If she waited for him to come into the restaurant and sit at one of her tables she might wait for ever. There was only one way to be sure of gaining an audience with him and that was to visit him at his workshop.

  The boldness of the idea set Sarah’s veins tingling for the workshop seemed to her to be cloaked in an air of mystery and importance. She was very much afraid Captain Gaudron might be annoyed at the intrusion and would show her the door without even listening to what she had to say, much less offering to give her the chance she was seeking. But at least she could try. Sarah was a firm believer in taking her fate into her own hands. To sit back and wait for something to happen was, in her opinion, the next best thing to making sure nothing happened at all.

  By the time she had served the last customers and cleared the last table it was too late to visit the aeronauts’ workshop and in any case after a long day waiting at tables Sarah knew she did not look her best. Much better to come in early tomorrow and make the visit before starting work for the day. Next morning she took extra care over her toilet, brushing her hair until it shone, pinching colour into her cheeks and lips and dressing in a pretty yellow gingham which seemed to echo the early sunshine.

  ‘My goodness, you look a picture today and no mistake!’ Molly said when she came down to the shop. ‘And you’re early this morning, too. What’s it in aid of, I’d like to know? A young man?’

  Sarah had smiled at the sharp knowing look in the bright button eyes which always reminded her of the currants in one of Molly’s homemade buns. Molly made no secret of the fact that she thought it was high time that a pretty girl like Sarah had a sweetheart and was puzzled by her disinterest in the opposite sex.

  ‘No, Molly, it’s not a young man,’ Sarah said but she did not elaborate. She knew instinctively that Molly would disapprove of her plans.

  When she reached Alexandra Palace Sarah made straight for the banqueting hall which accommodated the aeronauts’ workshop. Her pulses were racing and there was a tightness in her chest but she walked briskly into the banqueting hall with head held high.

  Although it was early the aeronauts’ workshop was already a hive of activity. As Sarah’s eyes grew accustomed to the dimmer light after the bright sunshine outside she became aware of the wicker baskets which seemed to fill every corner of the hall, the yards of coiled rope and cord and the acres of netting strung from the high ceilings. There was a busy hum of sewing machines, sounding for all the world like a swarm of angry bees, and the dust in the air tickled Sarah’s nose, making her want to sneeze. There was a smell about the place unlike anything she had ever encountered before – a pungent pot pourri of canvas, hemp and glue. Carefully Sarah picked her way over the coils of rope which littered the floor and spoke to a girl who was seated at a sewing machine stitching a canvas envelope.

  ‘I’m looking for Captain Gaudron. Do you know where I can find him?’

  The girl hardly paused in her task.

  ‘Over there,’ she shouted above the hum of the treddle and jerked her head to indicate the far end of the hall.

  Following her glance Sarah saw him, a neat dapper man in shirt sleeves, deep in conversation with a fellow aeronaut. Her mouth took on a determined set and although her heart had begun hammering uncomfortably against her ribs she made her way directly across the hall and positioned herself in front of him.

  ‘Excuse me, Captain Gaudron, but could I have a word with you?’

  He broke off his conversation and she felt the full force of his gaze sweeping over her. His eyes were piercing in his lively intelligent face and his moustache so expertly waxed it seemed positively to gleam in the light of the overhead carbide lamps.

  ‘Yes?’ he asked briskly.

  Sarah’s courage almost deserted her and she drew a deep steadying breath.

  ‘I know this may seem a frightful nerve but I would like to become a parachutist and I wondered if you would take me into your team.’

  She thought she caught a gleam of amusement in those sharp eyes.

  ‘Did you now. And what makes you think you could be a parachutist?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ Sarah countered boldly. ‘What special attributes do I need that I couldn’t learn?’

  Again she was aware of that gleam of amusement.

  ‘Courage for one thing – though it seems you do not lack that. Strength, for another.’ He glanced down at her hands, took one and examined it, circling her slim wrist with his fingers. ‘Your bones look like a bird’s, Miss …?’

  ‘Thomas,’ Sarah said. ‘And there is certainly nothing wrong with my bones. I’ve never broken one in my life.’

  ‘Hmm.’ A faint smile lifted one corner of his mouth beneath that neatly waxed moustache and he indicated a bar contraption which swung from the ceiling. ‘See if you can swing on that.’

  Sarah stared at him for a moment uncertain as to whether or not he was having a joke at her expense but he returned her gaze steadily.

  ‘My girls have to be able to support themselves on a trapeze,’ he explained. ‘Try it.’

  ‘Very well.’ Sarah took the bar between her hands, flexing her fingers, and lifted her feet off the ground.

  ‘Hold on,’ he said, checking his watch.

  Grimly Sarah did so. At first she was merely annoyed at the undignified picture she was sure she was making, then as the seconds ticked by and the weight of her body began to dr
ag on her arms she could think of nothing but the effort of hanging there. She flexed her fingers feeling as if her arms were being dragged from their sockets and small beads of perspiration rose on her forehead. At last, just as she thought she would be forced to give in, he nodded.

  ‘Good. You are stronger than you look, Miss Thomas. Very well, you can come down now.’

  Relieved Sarah released her hold on the bar and lowered herself to the ground.

  ‘Well?’ she said, gently chaffing the life back into her tingling fingers and trying to appear composed. ‘Do I pass your test?’

  ‘With flying colours. Five minutes – very good for a first attempt.’ He smiled. ‘Unfortunately however I have a full team at the moment. I do not need any more girls.’

  Sarah experienced a stab of anger.

  ‘You mean I went through that for nothing?’

  His teeth gleamed very white.

  ‘I’m afraid so. Unless something happens to one of my girls – an accident – or perhaps one of them may decide to give up … But ballooning is a drug, Miss Thomas. Most of them stay for quite a long while.’

  Sarah drew herself up. Disappointment was a hard knot inside her; she was afraid if she remained there a moment longer she would disgrace herself by bursting into tears. After all her high hopes she hated to give up so easily yet her fierce pride would not allow her to beg and besides she knew instinctively it would do no good. She summoned her remaining reserves.

  ‘In that case, Captain Gaudron, I am sorry to have taken up your time,’ she said stiffly and turned away before he could see those treacherous tears shimmering behind her long lashes.

  ‘Just a moment!’ It was the other man, Captain Gaudron’s companion, who spoke. Sarah stopped, holding herself stiffly. She did not dare to turn around. ‘You really want to parachute?’ he asked.

  He had a gentle voice, lacking Auguste Gaudron’s natural authority. She blinked away the tears and turned, looking at him for the first time and seeing a slightly built man a few inches taller than herself. Sandy hair was slicked away from a narrow, interesting face, a moustache, so light in colour as to be almost indistinguishable etched a light shadow on his upper lip and above the high cheekbones his eyes gleamed, tawny as a cat’s behind a pale fringing of lashes.

  ‘Well of course I want to parachute,’ she said, disappointment and the still-threatening tears making her voice sharp. ‘That’s why I’m here.’

  ‘Then perhaps I can help you,’ he said. ‘In fact, we may be able to help each other.’

  ‘You?’ No sooner had the exclamation left her lips than she realised how rude it had sounded and she flushed. ‘I’m sorry. How can we help each other?’

  The amused curve had returned to Captain Gaudron’s lips. He clapped a hand around his companion’s shoulders.

  ‘Allow me to introduce you. This is Captain Eric Dare. Perhaps you have heard of him. He and his brother Henry are also balloonists. The Flying Dares.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Sarah said faintly. She had indeed heard of the Flying Dares. It was simply that she had paid little attention to them. Here at Alexandra Palace in the shadow of the most illustrious balloonists they had seemed of little account. Even in appearance Eric Dare was pale by comparison with the great Auguste Gaudron.

  ‘I realise flying with me is a pretty poor substitute for the famed Gaudron team,’ he said wryly. ‘But as you may know my brother and I also entertain with displays of aerobatics to help us finance our serious research work. I have thought for some time that what we lack is a little glamour. However impressive my stunts there is no doubt the public like to see a pretty face and a trim figure.’

  Sarah nodded, accepting the compliment in the spirit it was meant, although she was aware of Eric Dare’s eyes appraising her.

  ‘Yes,’ he continued affably. ‘I think we might very well be able to come to some arrangement. Why don’t you come with me and meet my brother Henry and we’ll see what he has to say.’

  Sarah’s heart sank. The young man’s offer might yet be vetoed by his brother. As if reading her mind Eric smiled.

  ‘Don’t worry – he’s not an ogre. In fact as long as Henry has the resources to continue with his work perfecting his very own dirigible model very little bothers him. I’m sure I can convince him of the advantage in my plan.’ He slapped Auguste Gaudron lightly on the upper arm. ‘I’ll see you later, my friend. Come along, Miss Thomas. Let me show you the way to our corner of the workshop.’

  He placed an arm on Sarah’s waist to guide her through the maze of equipment and for the first time since her experience with Hugh Sarah did not shy away from the touch of a man. It was a pleasant touch, friendly and unthreatening, and Sarah warmed to it. He might not be Captain Gaudron, leader of the famous Gaudron team, but he was a very nice young man. And if he could help her achieve her ambition then really she could ask for no more. Excitement throbbed in her, touching her cheeks with colour and bringing a sparkle to her eyes.

  It looked as if her boldness was going to pay off after all – and she intended to gain every possible advantage from it.

  Now, two years later, as she made for the aeronauts’ workshop, Sarah found herself remembering that first momentous visit with amusement – and not a little pride. From that day on she had never looked back. From her first tentative jump from the edge of the balloon basket she had progressed to advanced ascents on the small swaying trapeze, and graceful well-judged descents. She had gained acclaim wherever she went and although it was the Dares who had made it possible, Sarah knew that it was her own audacity and initiative that had taken her from her humble life as a kitchen maid and the humdrum day-to-day routine of waiting at tables to her present enviable station as one of the undisputed queens of the sky.

  As she entered the vast hall the noise of the sewing machines, the busy chatter of the ballooning fraternity and that indefinable dusty smell enfolded her just as it had done on that first day but now it was as familiar to her as her own breath and she picked her way with accustomed ease between the wicker baskets and coils of rope towards the corner which the Dares had made their own. As she went some of the men called a greeting and she acknowledged them with a wave of her hand but most were totally absorbed in their work. It was always this way; ballooning was a way of life which demanded total allegiance, body and soul, from those who loved it.

  At the far end of the hall she could see the slim whippy figure of Henry Dare as engrossed as any of them and she smiled to herself. As Eric had told her that first day she had met him, Henry was one of the most fanatical of the balloon fraternity, a man totally dedicated to the pursuit of excellence and without a single interest unconnected to the passion which was his life. In some ways he reminded her of a professor or boffin for often he would arrive at the balloon centre so eager to put some new idea or theory to the test that he would have quite forgotten to comb his hair or the light thready moustache and side whiskers which were even paler in colour than his brother’s or even to button his shirt correctly. On one famous occasion he had arrived wearing no shirt at all – his waistcoat and jacket pulled hastily on over his thick flannel vest – and wearing odd shoes, one black, one a brown elastic-sided boot. But where ballooning was concerned there was nothing in the least absent minded about Henry. Every detail was checked and rechecked and he could work out complicated calculations at lightning speed barely jotting down a single figure on one of the scraps of paper that he could produce from his copious pockets like a magician producing a rabbit from a hat. Meteorology and aerodynamics were the breath of life to him – whilst he seldom knew what day of the week it was and Eric was forced to remind him of every appointment, every high day and holiday including Christmas and his own birthday, he was a fount of knowledge on air speeds and cloud movements, on the relative attributes of a few extra pounds ballast on drift with an accuracy that left Sarah breathless.

  ‘Good morning, Henry,’ she greeted him. ‘How are you this fine morning?’

  He gla
nced up, acknowledging her with a birdlike nod of the head before bending once more to examine some imagined fault in the burner he was holding.

  ‘Me? I’m fine! I wish the same could be said of these components. The standard of workmanship these days – appalling!’

  ‘I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with it,’ she soothed. ‘You are a dear old fusspot, Henry.’

  He looked up again, his light eyes darting over her face.

  ‘And it’s thanks to me for being a fusspot that you are still alive and sound in wind and limb, Sarah. You can’t afford to take chances up there, my dear – and don’t you forget it!’

  ‘I won’t, Henry,’ Sarah placated him. ‘ Where is Eric?’

  ‘Hmm?’ Henry had returned his attention to the burner once more and his tone registered his impatience with the irrelevance of her question. ‘Oh, he’s gone to get a cup of coffee, I think he said. Always thinking of his stomach, that boy.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true, Henry,’ Sarah chided. ‘He knows that anyone – even you – can work better after a nice strong cup of coffee. I hope he thinks to bring one for me too.’

  She neither expected, nor received, a reply, but after a moment Henry glanced up again.

  ‘There was someone asking for you just now. A man.’

  ‘Oh – who was that?’ Sarah enquired without much interest. As Sweetheart of the Skies she was not unused to a steady stream of admirers, usually headed off by Eric.

  ‘I couldn’t say. I told him you would be arriving shortly so he’ll be back no doubt.’ Henry brushed aside a limp strand of sandy hair which had fallen over his forehead and peered, eyes narrowed, past Sarah. ‘Here is Eric now. And the man who was asking for you is with him.’ He sounded vaguely surprised as if he had half believed the enquirer to have been a figment of his own imagination.

  Sarah turned, following his gaze, and felt the breath catch in her throat.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ she whispered faintly.

  ‘What’s that?’ Henry asked mildly.

  Sarah did not reply. Her mouth had gone dry and she raised a hand which trembled slightly to cover her lips. It couldn’t be. Not after all this time. Not here at Alexandra Palace …