by Sandra Heath
“Oh, the past.”
“Your marriages?”
“Not exactly.” He paused. “About the one marriage that eluded me.”
She looked curiously at him, having long suspected that neither of his wives, although much loved, had been the great passion of his life. “Who was she, Father?” she asked quietly.
He lowered his glance. “Her name was Alicia Partington, and I knew her after your mother, and before Jane’s.”
“Do you want to tell me about her?”
“No. She’s very definitely a thing of the past, and will always remain so.” He drew a quick breath, smiling at her. “Oh, the heart is a dreadful organ, my dear, it can raise you to the heights of joy or plunge you into the depths of misery. Sometimes I think your philosophy may be the wisest one after all, for at least you’ll be spared unhappiness.”
Christina knew only too well the irony of this.
Jane remembered her father then, hurrying to him. “Oh, I’m so very happy,” she said, hugging him tightly.
Christina knew it was time for her to give Robert her best wishes. “I’m so very pleased for you both,” she said, forcing her voice to sound as warmly natural as it should be at such a time.
“Thank you.” He smiled.
“In my sister you have one of the sweetest, most adorable creatures in all England, my lord,”
He smiled again, catching her unawares by bending forward to kiss her on the cheek. “I know that she is everything you say, Christina, but I also know that the same description more than applies to you,” he murmured softly.
The warmth of his lips made her feel weak, and he was so close that it would have been easy to slip her arms around him. Oh, to be able to hold him, to be able to taste his lips, to feel his heart beating close to hers. She had to hold her breath for a moment, to quell the torrent of forbidden emotion that welled up inside her, and it wasn’t until she was in command again that she realized he’d addressed her by her first name.
Chapter Twelve
After such a memorable evening, the next day could have been something of an anticlimax, but that was the last thing it was destined to be.
Mr. Richmond was still mindful of keeping the dreaded gout at bay, and rose promptly at his usual hour to go to the Cross Bath. Then, after a very agreeable breakfast with his daughters, he removed himself from the house again, this time to go to the Pump Room for his daily glasses of the water.
As his sedan chair vanished around the corner into Argyle Street, Jane rose from the breakfast table and looked longingly out at the warm October sunshine. “Shall we go for a walk, Christina?” she asked, the ribbons on her pink day cap fluttering as she turned to look at her sister.
Christina smiled, folding her napkin. “Where shall we go? Beechen Cliff?”
“I rather thought it would be agreeable to stroll along the towpath of the canal.”
Christina gave her a suspicious glance, getting up from her chair and fluffing out her cherry muslin skirts. “I’m sure Beechen Cliff would be much more sensible,” she said, knowing full well that the Kennet & Avon canal passed through Sydney Gardens.
“I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong,” said Jane a little haughtily. “I’m a little tired of the wonderful view from Beechen Cliff, and just happen to think it would be pleasant to walk by water on a day like this. If you don’t trust me to conduct myself correctly, we can walk around Sydney Gardens and join the canal on the far side. Would that do?”
Christina studied her for a long moment, and then decided that the discussion they’d had the evening before had probably had the desired effect where Mr. William Grenfell and his balloon were concerned. “All right, the towpath it is, but beyond Sydney Gardens. You may have made up your mind about things, but I suspect Mr. Grenfell of very different notions.”
“William is a gentleman.”
“William?” Christina raised a very disapproving eyebrow.
“I mean, Mr. Grenfell.” Jane looked out of the window again. “The weather looks really warm. Do you think my pink velvet spencer will be sufficient?”
“Ample.”
“Good, because I do so like wearing it with this lawn dress.”
* * *
Half an hour later they emerged into the sunshine, setting off along Great Pulteney Street toward Sydney Gardens. Jane looked very pretty in her pink velvet and lawn, her straw gypsy hat tied on with an enormous pink satin ribbon. Christina wore her cherry muslin dress with its matching full-length frilled pelisse, and on her head there was a gray silk jockey hat with a long tiffany gauze scarf falling almost to her hem at the back.
The vista of Great Pulteney Street was closed by the porticoed facade of the Sydney Hotel, behind which rose the trees of the Vauxhall. It was through the hotel that access into the gardens was gained, and as a consequence there was a great deal of to-ing and fro-ing through the doors beneath the fine portico, but Jane didn’t even glance toward the entrance as the sisters walked by, following the pavement of Sydney Place as it curved up the undulating hill on which the hexagonal gardens had been laid out. Very little of the gardens could be seen from outside, for they were surrounded by a high wall, but the trees were very fine in their autumn foliage, and the classical roof of a little mock-temple appeared toward the top of the hill.
Although the gardens were set on a rising slope, the canal passed at an angle through them, cut along a convenient dip in the contours. As Christina and Jane walked on, leaving the gardens behind, the land began to fall away again, revealing the canal as it led away to the east across open countryside. Some steps led down to the towpath, and soon the sisters were strolling beside the glittering water toward the nearby village of Bathampton.
The canal was always busy carrying barges to and from London, but there were a number of pleasure craft as well, for it was quite the thing to hire a small boat in Sydney Gardens to row out into the countryside. Ladies lounged on cushions, drawing their fingers idly through the water as several moorhens bobbed like corks on the wash of their boat. It was a lovely day, the autumn trees reflected in the water, and Christina was quite reluctant to turn to walk back toward Bath again.
As the wall and trees of Sydney Gardens appeared down the hill before them, nothing could have been further from Christina’s mind than Mr. Grenfell or his balloon, but then Jane suddenly said something that set alarm bells ringing in her head.
“Christina, did you know there was a labyrinth in the gardens?”
“I thought you loathed mazes,” replied Christina after a moment.
“Just because I got lost in one when I was ten?”
“You howled for hours.”
“I’m a big girl now.”
“Yes, you are, which is why you’ll gladly forgo the lure of the Sydney Gardens labyrinth,” Christina said a little tartly, her suspicions well and truly aroused.
“Christina, I only thought it would be a diversion to—”
“To trick me in the Vauxhall so that you can view Mr. Grenfell and his odious balloon from close quarters,” Christina finished for her.
Jane pouted. “I only want to see the labyrinth,” she insisted.
“Oh, of course,” replied Christina acidly.
“Don’t use your best vitriol on me, for I don’t deserve it. No, truly I don’t deserve it, which you’d realize full well if you’d glanced down toward Great Pulteney Street a moment ago.”
“And what has Great Pulteney Street got to do with it?”
“Everything. Mr. Grenfell rode away down it just now. I saw him.”
“And how could you possibly know it was he?”
“Who else would go riding in trousers?”
Christina stared at her, and then had to laugh. “I suppose he does rather fit that particular bill.”
“So, you see, it’s quite all right if we toddle off to the labyrinth, isn’t it?”
“Father still forbade us to go into the Vauxhall.”
“That was before he
took out subscriptions. Oh, please, Christina, what harm is there in taking a peek at the maze?” Jane was at her most appealing, her big brown eyes wide and soulful.
Christina smiled reluctantly. “Did I ever tell you you sometimes remind me of a spaniel puppy?”
“I’m of a mind to be miffed,” replied Jane, linking her arm and beginning to walk on down the hill. “It’s settled, then—we’ll just make a little detour and go into the labyrinth.”
“Oh, all right, but if you put one foot wrong, Jane Richmond ...”
“I won’t, I promise.”
“I’ve heard your promises before.”
“I mean it this time.”
“You did every other time too,” replied Christina wryly, wondering if she’d just made a very serious mistake.
They approached the entrance of the hotel beneath the lofty portico, which rose on four magnificent Corinthian columns. When their names were ticked off on the relevant ledger, they were permitted through the hotel, where many ladies and gentlemen were enjoying tea. At the rear of the building some handsome double doors opened beneath an outdoor balcony where an orchestra played on special occasions.
They emerged into a wide, rather crowded semicircular area around which stretched a loggia where meals could be enjoyed in private alcoves. A broad walk stretched away up the undulating hillside toward the classical temple, the roof of which they’d seen from the pavement of Sydney Place.
The walk was flanked initially by two fine bowling greens, then by trees, shrubberies, flowerbeds, groves, waterfalls, vistas, a sham castle, and, of course, the labyrinth, which was near the temple. The entire hexagonal site was enclosed by the perimeter wall, inside which was a ride where gentlemen, and some ladies, exercised their gleaming mounts. Of William Grenfell’s celebrated balloon there was no sign at all.
As the sisters mingled with everyone else on the wide walk, Christina was only too conscious of Jane’s frequent surreptitious glances around. At last she felt obliged to remark upon the matter. “Jane, it seems we’re in luck,” she said.
“Luck?”
“Yes, not only is the aeronaut himself absent, his balloon appears to have gone as well.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Jane replied airily.
The labyrinth was a little daunting from the outside, a wall of clipped green hedges from behind which issued the sound of laughter and voices, together with the occasional call for assistance. As Christina and Jane approached the entrance, a young man ushered his rather distressed lady friend out to a nearby bench, offering her his handkerchief as she sobbed. “Are you all right, Penelope?” he asked anxiously, holding one of her hands.
“I th-thought we’d never find our way out, Benjamin,” she declared tearfully. “We were in there for over an hour!”
“I promise never to take you there again, my love,” he reassured her, kissing her trembling hand. “Come, I’ll take you to the hotel for a restoring dish of tea.”
“Oh, yes, that would be comforting,” she replied, still sniffing.
As they walked away down the hill, Jane halted in her tracks, looking a little doubtfully at the entrance of the labyrinth. “They were lost in there for an hour?”
“So it seems.”
“Suddenly the maze doesn’t seem so inviting.”
“I thought you were a big girl now.”
“Don’t be beastly.”
“Moi?”
“Toi.”
Christina grinned, and as one they turned to retrace their steps down the hill. As they did so, their gaze fell almost immediately upon the balloon.
Nearly fully inflated, it billowed above a ten-foot-high scaffolding hung with decorated cloth to conceal what was going on around the base. Hidden from all directions except this one because of the lie of the land, and the density of the surrounding trees and bushes, the balloon rippled from time to time as the breeze moved over the crimson-and-blue gores of rubberized taffeta.
The protective scaffolding was at least sixty feet square, and the cloth hangings were definitely needed to keep out prying eyes, for a crowd of at least fifty people was gathered around what appeared to be the only entrance into the enclosure beyond. This entrance was guarded by a huge black man, who stood with his arms folded, eyeing anyone who dared to come too close.
Jane gazed at the scene, her eyes shining. “Oh, Christina, isn’t it splendid?”
“No, it’s positively obnoxious,” replied Christina, taking her arm and trying to steer her on her way.
“Can’t we go just a little closer?” begged Jane, resisting.
“No.”
“But ...”
“Father has forbidden us. And don’t try to use the subscriptions as an excuse, for it won’t wash.”
“What harm is there in just looking?”
“Where you’re concerned, Jane Richmond, probably a great deal of harm! Trouble follows you around.”
“Oh, please, Christina,” pleaded Jane urgently.
Christina was about to refuse again, when they both heard a voice they knew well, that of William Grenfell.
“Miss Richmond, Miss Jane, what a pleasure it is to encounter you both again!”
Christina’s heart sank as she turned to see him riding up the walk toward them. He wore a pea-green coat, beige satin waistcoat, and brown-and-white-checkered trousers. There was a tall top hat on his head, but as he dismounted he quickly snatched it off to bow as he reached them.
Jane smiled at him. “Good morning, Mr. Grenfell.”
“Miss Jane.” His glance moved warmly over her.
Too warmly, in Christina’s opinion. “Good morning, Mr. Grenfell,” she said a little coolly, her manner most uninviting.
His eyes flickered toward her. “Er, good morning, Miss Richmond.”
Jane tossed her sister a cross look, then smiled at the handsome pilot again. “I see that the balloon is inflated again, Mr. Grenfell. Does that mean you’ve managed to repair the flap valve?”
“Hopefully.”
“Are you about to make an ascent?”
“No, we’re merely preparing for tonight.”
“Tonight?” She looked anxiously at him. “You aren’t really intending to go up in the darkness, are you?”
He smiled, obviously flattered by her concern. “I sincerely hope so to do, Miss Jane.”
“Please, don’t.”
“It will be quite safe, I promise you, for it will be a captive ascent.”
“But what if the rope should break again?” she said, showing just a little too much concern.
Christina frowned at her. “Jane!” she said sharply.
Jane blushed quickly, and fell silent.
William cleared his throat as he sought something else to say. “Er, would you both like to see the balloon?”
Christina’s lips parted to politely decline, but Jane spoke first. “Oh, could we? That would be most interesting.”
Christina was angry now. “You know we can’t possibly do that, Jane,” she said with measured firmness.
“Of course we can,” replied Jane, meeting her eyes defiantly. It was a look that gave full warning; nothing was going to stand in the way of Jane Richmond and the balloon she’d longed to see ever since arriving in Bath.
Christina was in a quandary, for what could she do when Jane was in this mood? Drag her from the Vauxhall? Command her to be obedient? Threaten to leave her to ruin her reputation? No, all these courses were unthinkable, as her minx of a sister knew only too well. There was nothing for it but to consent to the invitation, and do all that was possible to keep Jane from further folly.
Christina exhaled slowly, and then nodded. “Very well, Jane, we’ll look at the balloon, but I promise you that when we get home ...” She allowed the sentence to die away unfinished, for in truth she didn’t know what she’d do when they got home, except give Jane a very uncompromising piece of her mind!
Leading his horse, William offered Jane an arm, and with Christina following,
they left the walk to go down to the balloon, which loomed higher and higher the closer they came to it.
A boy took the horse, and then the black man stood aside for them to enter the enclosure. There were envious murmurs from the small gathering of onlookers, and those murmurs swiftly became intrigued whispers as Jane was recognized by two gentlemen who’d been present at the ball.
Christina detected the stir caused by this realization, and she endeavored to appear quite unconcerned, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for the future Lady St. Clement and her sister to accompany a new gentleman acquaintance to examine a balloon, but in reality she felt like boxing Jane’s foolish ears for her.
Once again her sister’s rashness was going to be the talk of Bath, and this time Robert was here to hear it; Christina had no doubt there’d be many concerned “friends” anxious to tell him of his future wife’s activities in Sydney Gardens.
Inside the enclosure there was quite an astonishing scene as at least ten men went about various tasks connected with the balloon, which swelled magnificently overhead, blotting out the sun. It was fixed above a wooden stage, the entire taffeta globe enmeshed in a rope netting that ended in lines to be attached to the gilded car, which was at present standing separately on the grass nearby.
Anchor ropes held the balloon to the staging by a system of pulleys, and two men were operating a strange contraption that evidently produced the inflammable air, for it was placed directly beneath the neck of the globe. On the grass all around, there were casks, bottles, nets, trays, iron stands, and stacks of sandbags. The oars and wings were propped against the staging, as were the furled Union Jacks, while the red pennants that were usually attached to the ropes above the car had been folded neatly in a pile on one of the steps leading up to the staging.
It all looked very complicated and interesting, and Christina and Jane paused to gaze around.
One of the men on the staging called across to William. “She’s ready, Mr. Grenfell.”
“Very well. See how it goes.”
There was an immediate increase in activity as the inflammable-air machine was carried quickly down to the grass, and the balloon was raised by using the pulleys and anchor ropes. When it was about ten feet higher than before, some more men carried the golden car up to the staging, fixing it in place by the lines dangling from the net around the globe.