When a Rake Falls

by Sally Orr

  Boyce had never seen his brother’s friend wink and smile with such abandon. Obviously, the man was delighted to be back in the bosom of his family. “I am ready. But I must admit I don’t think I have ever been as happy as you look today, old fellow. Yes, yes, marriage agrees with you.”

  Buxton gave him a back pat. “It certainly does. I tell you, a fellow can really get in trouble if he thinks too much about his wife. He must trust her unreservedly with his whole heart. I’ve apologized for abandoning her, and today the two of us are happy as Greeks. I recommend marriage, Parker. It can try a man at times, but as a soother of souls, there is nothing like it.”

  “Yes, yes, still young, not quite ready on the leg-shackle front.”

  “Time will come. As men, our hearts cannot escape the siren’s lure. But now I hope you’re ready on the speechifying front. I’m excited to hear all about this amazing balloon adventure. I must admit I never would have pegged you, old chap, as the scientific sort. I expect you more on the creative end of things. That book of songs from the Coal Hole, for example.” Buxton needled him with an elbow. “Funny those, eh?”

  Boyce furtively glanced at his father.

  It was time to begin, so Buxton motioned for Boyce to take a seat in the front row. The host faced the small assembly in a half circle before him. “All of us here at Duddleswell Priory are honored to have the Marquess of Sutcliffe’s company. I would also like to welcome all of the members of the ballooning party. First the distinguished man of science, Mr. Mountfloy, and indeed, we are happy to meet his lovely daughter and young assistant too. I personally would like to thank all of you for your efforts to amuse my mother, Lady Buxton. I know you have all been treated well, since no lady keeps better house than my wife.” He nodded at Lydia. “Thank you, my dear. And I also wish to thank the ballooning party for providing a stimulating distraction for my wife from her worries arising from my temporary absence.”

  Resplendent in deep-red silk and a gold shawl, Lydia cooed and clapped.

  “Today, Lord Boyce Parker,” Mr. Buxton continued, “one of the younger brothers of my good friend Lord Henry Parker, will give us a brief presentation of some sort of abnormality involving mock suns.” He held his arm outward. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Lord Boyce.”

  Boyce took his place behind the podium and glanced at his audience. Besides the guests, his audience included the addition of several housemaids, the butler, and a footman. A fine grouping, even though it was a small one, because they all sported a smile and wore a look of expectation, like a card game where everyone stares at you seconds before you reveal the winning hand. “Yes, yes, I would like to thank the Buxton family for saving Miss Mountfloy and myself after the balloon crash, not to mention the warm hospitality of everyone here at the priory. Mrs. Buxton and Lady Buxton are indeed fine hostesses.” He bowed. “Thank you, ladies. So here goes.” He inhaled deeply then began his speech. “Our journey started with the magnificent hilarity of our ascent. A very rapid one designed to impress me, eh, Mr. Mountfloy?”

  The aeronaut’s pinched lips made him appear quite sour.

  Boyce paused; perhaps best not to begin a speech by teasing your audience. “After our ascent, we performed the experiments using birds, so that one day, we might better understand the weights and type of wings necessary for humans to fly. I personally cannot wait for this event, since I’m sure a fellow will be able to choose the size and material of his wings, the way he does a good hat.”

  Mr. Henry coughed and exchanged nods with Mr. Mountfloy.

  Had he misunderstood the reason behind the experiments with the birds? He’d ask Eve later; best to get on with it. Should he start with the observations of the other animals or skip to the sun dog discovery? “Before I continue, I would like to thank the birds, bee, and the butterfly for assisting us with our understanding of the brilliant-blue air. I also apologize to these fine animals for throwing them overboard and giving them a nasty scare.” He glanced over his audience and found them no longer smiling. He coughed. “Ah…by late afternoon, we finished the experiments with the birds…” He focused on his notes.

  The silence stretched.

  “Right. Don’t need to hear the story of the duck, tragic that.” He looked up from his notes to discover his audience’s stony faces.

  Some were staring at the fire, others picking at their clothes or winking at their neighbor.

  He had made a perfect hash of this speech and lost his audience. Perhaps he should emulate the Vicar Wigby’s remedy for a sleepy Sunday congregation by using emotional words that are shared by all humans. “The story of our sun dog sighting began after an afternoon of joyous calm. The world was about to be tucked into bed for the night, and the next promised to be even a better day.” He waved his arms to increase the dramatic effect. “Before us the most magnificent of God’s creations, the sky high above us, robed itself in the dusk colors of blue, like a cornflower, orange…like an orange, and gray, like the skies above London.” He spread his arms wide. “An hour later, the stars appeared, like living sparks floating upward through the abyss of an inky vault, illuminating the splendor of life.” Expecting a small, enthusiastic response to his emotive speech, he glanced at the crowd.

  Lydia adjusted her shawl, his father had pulled out his pocket watch, and the servants whispered softly in the back of the room.

  His aeronaut sported a rosy blush, more than likely not pleased with his performance so far. Perhaps the Madeira had muddled his mind after all. With the memory of Eve’s warning about the seriousness of his speech, he decided to stick strictly to the facts, and soldiered on. “Pardon me. We observed the sun dogs—I mean parhelia—before the inky vault bit. So I’ll talk about that now.”

  Mr. Mountfloy leaped to his feet. “This young man here obviously lacks the seriousness required to present such important information. I say we—”

  His aeronaut stood to face her father. “Lord Boyce has a firm grasp upon the facts, and since he has never spoken publicly before, any hesitation on his part is likely due to lack of practice before a real audience. Let him finish, please.”

  Boyce beamed at Eve. Bless his aeronaut. For the required tone of utter seriousness, he must now alter his strategy and resume his speech with the same solemnity Vicar Wigby used when he mentioned the local Quakers. “Right, here goes. The barometer, hygro…I mean several o-meters read thirty-four and sixty. The parhelia, or two mock suns, danced…appeared in an immense halo. These were first seen at half past seven in the evening, when the sun kissed…touched the horizon. The halo’s two Brobdingnagian…” He glanced over to Eve to find her brows knit. Right, no waxing lyrical. He must be ruthless and avoid all those frowns by not using pesky adjectives. He never realized how a little thing like an adjective could be so dangerous to a fellow. “The halo’s two giant…large arcs of light spread vertical in relation to the majestic…magnificent…the real sun.” He needed to take a deep breath.

  His audience watched him intently; two housemaids wore silly smiles.

  “The enorm…plain arcs were measured with a sextant and discovered to be just shy of twenty-four degrees. The halo arcs were red on the side closest to the real sun and blue-green on the farthest side. In the center of each arc shone a mock sun, perpendicular to the arcs of the halo. The two mock suns appeared within fleecy cotton…white Cirrostratus clouds, ninety degrees from the real sun. They were almost round and orange in color when at their brightest. The real sun measured twenty-two degrees in altitude. The parhelia lasted forty minutes and changed in intensity before fading away into an extremely delightful…an extreme evening. There, I’m finished with the science part of my speech.”

  Eve focused on her lap, but he held the attention of the other members of his audience. Perhaps he might, for the benefit of this audience only, express what this balloon flight meant to him and how it had changed his outlook on life forever.

  �
��Before I finish, there are a few observations about balloon flight I would like to tell you about.” He took a deep breath. “I had always gazed up at balloons and wondered if our world would appear changed when viewed from above. But our world below appeared as I would have expected—roads, woods, and cities spread out in the fashion of a chessboard. The most notable parts of our everyday life that caught my attention were the sounds reaching my ears, the racket of dogs barking and bells ringing. Even the odors we create, like cattle fields and chimney smoke, rose up to us in the balloon. Now after my flight, it is not our world on the ground from another viewpoint that amazed me, but the brilliance of the universe above us that took my breath away. I got the impression of being lifted into the heavens and my worldly cares remained earthbound. High in the sky, I felt total freedom. Hanging suspended hundreds of feet in the air, I could not hear painful words or the sounds of mankind’s suffering. I became embraced by a feeling of total happiness and will always remember my flight as one of the greatest moments in my life. This memory I will cherish close to my heart until the day I die. Thank you for your attention.” He made a brief bow then studied his audience.

  Most of them clapped rather randomly.

  Lydia and Lady Buxton clapped with enthusiasm.

  Eve clapped slowly, wearing a troubled brow and biting her lower lip.

  His father’s expression looked exactly similar to the one he wore immediately before giving Boyce the cut direct.

  Another failure, in front of his father too. He sighed and stared at his feet to regain his composure without witnessing everyone’s disappointment. Regardless of his negative reception, he believed the science part of his speech went quite well. Eve should have no complaints. With a little more practice, his speech would be as bright as a penny. Granted, at the beginning, in a moment of unbridled enthusiasm, he had burst out with the “inky vault” bit, and there was one time when he got an “o-meter” wrong. Thermo, hydro, baro—they all sound the same. He also forgot to mention the temperature and something else measured by whalebone instruments. However, he did remember all of the other tricky parts, even the twenty-two degrees—the most important information in his speech. In the end, he hoped his audience came away with a better understanding of the excitement of newfound discoveries and the poetry expressed in the sky above us every day.

  Mr. Mountfloy rose and turned to address the others. “I refuse to let this man ruin all of our reputations. His mind is too unfocused for serious study. Hysterical ascents, fleecy cotton clouds, irrelevant nonsense—”

  “Father, please.”

  “That is the second time you have interrupted me, my girl.”

  The marquess stood, his consequence providing unspoken gravitas. “My son has disappointed me in the past. His efforts seem to do nothing but bring embarrassment to our family name. We do not need additional shame created by a botched speech before England’s brightest men of science. The failure would create a scandal equal to his lurid books. I forbid him to speak to any institution until he has more practice. Then, perhaps, he might be able to present a responsible speech that would be considered adequate.”

  After his father’s censure, Eve was his last hope of someone who would defend and support him.

  He stared at his aeronaut, but she remained silent.

  Mr. Mountfloy almost yelled, “It’s clear he possesses almost no significant knowledge on the subject whatsoever. In fact, I strongly believe that, if asked a question, he would not be able to give a coherent response. He’d likely wave his hand, twaddle on about inky vaults, and end the answer with bad poetry or a lamentable simile. ‘Freedom from words that hurt,’ no sane person could understand the meaning of that phrase.”

  Eve glanced at her father. “We cannot take the risk of letting him present our data in a speech like the one we have just heard, since any failure before a learned institution might end funding for our research forever.” She glanced at Parker. “I had previously warned Lord Boyce on the seriousness of the matter, but he did not follow my advice, so he might not follow it again in the future.”

  The coup de grâce delivered by Eve herself. Boyce swallowed with difficulty. No one truly understood him. He firmly believed that every human accomplishment contained some poetry. His audience even failed to realize that all “bad poetry” sprang from intense, poorly expressed emotions. How can they condemn emotions? For the first time, he questioned his ability to pull off an acceptable scientific speech. Perhaps if he tried again, he’d be publicly mocked, as he had been too many times before.

  Lady Buxton slapped her fan shut and stood. “I’ve had the good fortune to attend many scientific speeches. However, none of them proved as interesting and enjoyable as the one delivered here tonight. I shall seek out my old friends from the Royal Institution and relay the importance of this discovery. Well done, young man. You accomplished one of the most difficult balancing acts of speaking before an audience, the balance of learning something new, coupled with the amusement of wit and poetry. I must say, I was not bored in the least. With a little coaching and assistance from Miss Mountfloy here”—she gave Eve a nod—“Boyce’s speech will be even better.”

  He smiled at Lady B. and took a small measure of pride from her support. He had to; it was all he would receive, apparently.

  Eve fussed in her chair, then gave an almost imperceptible sigh. “If it would please you, your ladyship, I will assist Lord Parker in preparing the speech again. He did have a fine grip on some of the important scientific parts, and with more coaching on removing the subjective parts of his speech, he might be a success. But—”

  “I disagree,” Mr. Henry said with a tone of terse finality. “This wastrel will never do. Lacking the seriousness and rigor of mind needed for a gentleman of science, he will embarrass and bring ruin to us all. I have no intention of letting my good name be associated with this hulver-headed poet.”

  Boyce spoke before he could check himself. “That’s a bouncer coming from a man who embarrassed himself by stealing the Results book.”

  “The praise falls upon the servants who searched the woods,” the marquess said, in a clipped voice. “I had hoped you learned a lesson from your previous boasts.”

  Boyce froze, pained by his rash claim. “Please forgive me. Neither Mr. Henry nor myself found the book. My father is right. The priory’s servants deserve the credit.”

  “Enough!” Turning to address his daughter, Mr. Mountfloy said, “You will coach your fiancé, Charles Henry, to give the parhelia speech instead. That way, we can depend on an accurate representation of the data.”

  “Father!” Eve jumped out of her chair. “You promised to let me announce my engagement.”

  Mr. Mountfloy ignored his daughter’s stricken expression. “You should only be concerned about the advancement of your future husband.” He turned to the wide-eyed, startled audience. “While we planned to announce the official engagement before we left, my daughter has formally accepted the hand of Mr. Charles Henry. I hope you will all join me in wishing the couple happy.”

  Eve hung her head on her chest, as though her spine had turned into aspic. After a single wipe of her eyes, she ran from the room.

  Boyce’s legs felt wobbly, but that was nothing compared to the feeling of Gentleman Jackson delivering a full blow to his stomach. He focused on the coat of arms again and on the armorial greyhound supporters. He no longer felt rampant by any means. The pain in his torso reminded him of one of those armorial half animals, the kind with the bottom part of their bodies cut away and missing. Demi was the preface to the word they used in heraldry. That described him perfectly, a demi-greyhound, suffering from the loss of his lower half. His armorial motto sealed forever: “Piglet Parker.”

  Sixteen

  Eve flung open the door and ran from the recital room. Tears blurred her vision, causing her to bump into a table in the vestibule, upsetting a china vase of yellow
roses. Fearing additional damage to the priory if she remained, she fled outside, heading toward the fields. She ran as fast as she could on the longest stretch of pathway she could find. Her heart physically hurt. Like some wounded animal, she needed time alone to heal; time to try and understand why Parker had disobeyed her wishes; but most of all, time to find the understanding behind her father breaking his promise and announcing her betrothal.

  Her vision eventually cleared, and she found herself breathing hard, standing on the path to the turnip field. She thought she heard rapid footsteps behind her, but when she glanced around, nobody appeared. Desperate to be alone, she ran toward the stand of trees marking the beginning of the woods. She stepped about twenty feet into the cool canopy of trees and stopped, not wanting to repeat the calamity of becoming lost. All around her stood dense woods. On her right, the gold earthen pathway, bathed in sunlight, provided her with an anchor to the outside world.

  She found a flat area of fallen leaves. Then with the intention to escape the damp earth, she tried to break off a large fern to sit upon. The prickly stem failed to break, so she repeatedly twisted it. This effort failed too. After a long glare at the evil frond, she stomped on the large leaf until it lay flat. Surprisingly, the exertion left her feeling relieved. She took a deep breath, sat carefully, and exhaled slowly.

  She needed to think—think—not feel. In the last few days, she had been beguiled by pretty gowns and happy thoughts of a blissful life with the man she loved. Yes, she had come to realize that she loved Parker. And the heart is not an organ that can be easily silenced once given free rein. Hers seemed to be speaking louder than ever this past week. For her own future happiness, she had to ignore these enchanting feelings, be ruthless, and only think. Somehow, someway, she had to forget Parker—consider her allegiance to her father’s needs, not hers. She had to decide upon real, achievable choices from now on. Either marry Charles Henry or become a governess or companion. Perhaps Lady Buxton required a companion? No, she dismissed that thought, because it did not solve the problem of her father’s constant need for research funding and failing eyesight.