Summerset Abbey: Spring Awakening (Summerset Abbey Trilogy) (10 page)

R
owena stood, arms folded, just inside the barn, watching the men from the village checking out the aeroplane. She had already gone over it, but apparently they didn’t think she was capable of inspecting it herself. Fine.

Granted, when they had agreed to ready the plane for its flight to Kent, they had no idea the pilot would be a woman, but that didn’t give them a right to treat her with disrespect. She suspected that the only reason they hadn’t refused was that one of the men recognized her from when she used to come with Jonathon.

Rowena carried a small overnight bag with her and was dressed in the pair of soft cotton trousers she’d had a local seamstress make up after Aunt Charlotte’s lady’s maid had refused. She wore a warm woolen jacket and had tied her hair back and tucked it down the back of the jacket. Her helmet and goggles were already on her head. Her clothes were logical and practical, and Rowena wasn’t about to let a bunch of ignorant townsmen make her feel uncomfortable.

When she had telephoned Mr. Dirkes the previous week to find out if she could store her Vickers here, he’d mentioned that he’d been struggling to find competent pilots to ferry his planes around since the outbreak of war. He wanted to bring the aeroplanes
currently housed in the barn to his factory so they could be used in the war effort.

Rowena hadn’t even let him finish before she offered to help. Mr. Dirkes had given a perfunctory protest, but, at her insistence, had agreed with relief. He knew she was fully capable of flying.

When the men finished the inspection, they pushed the aeroplane out onto the field. Rowena’s mouth had gone dry and her palms were slick with sweat. Nerves always struck before her solo flights. During the early weeks of summer she had stayed in Surrey and had taken her Vickers out almost every day. She had earned her pilot’s license in a little over a month, joining a small, select group of women pilots in Britain. Her triumph was only partially marred by her not being able to share it with Jon.

The day shone clear and crisp and she was glad she’d worn a scarf. The wind was light out of the northeast, though she knew it would no doubt pick up the closer she got to the coast.

When she got to the Flying Alice, she realized she’d forgotten the small wooden toolbox she used to climb up in the aeroplane. The smirk on one of the men’s faces told her he had noticed her error.

Impatiently, she motioned to the other man to lift her up. He did, his hands lingering on her back end. Her face burned and she resisted the urge to smack him. How dare he? The look on his face showed both his trepidation at manhandling a noblewoman and delight that he had put a trouser-wearing hussy in her place. He glanced at the other man for approval and he guffawed.

Rowena held her hand out for her small case, and once she had it, she leaned forward. The man stepped forward to hear her, still leering.

“How dare you, you little pissant of a man. My uncle will make mincemeat of you.”

He stepped back and shrugged, though she could tell she had shaken him. “I can’t imagine the lord of the manor is too thrilled with his niece wandering around dressed like a tart.”

Her face burned and she suspected it was true. “Start the propeller,” she snapped.

He gave her an insolent salute and went around to the front of the aeroplane.

It took him several attempts to start the propeller, and Rowena took deep breaths to calm herself. She didn’t need to be distracted as she flew. She’d never crashed, but knew it was a very real possibility every time she flew.

She pulled down her goggles and scanned the gauges in front of her. Like those in her Vickers, they were fairly basic. Oil-pressure gauge, speedometer, and fuel pressure. The red tick marks on the speedometer indicated maximum speed and the speed at which the aeroplane would stall. As she performed these mundane but important tasks, her pulse sped up. It had been too long, far too long, since she had been in the air. Her envy at Victoria’s purpose-filled life faded as she readied herself and her aeroplane for flight.

She worked the rudder pedals and rode out the bone-jarring trek across the field as she picked up speed. She pulled back on the yoke, her heart lifting along with the nose of her aeroplane.

Then she was flying.

Once the aeroplane was in the air her nervousness ebbed, and she kept one eye on the speedometer while enjoying the never-ending thrill of watching the earth fade behind her. The wings flexed and the plane pulled to the right as a gust of wind hit, but Rowena held steady and climbed a bit higher. Once she reached
the speed and the altitude she wanted, she straightened the nose out and turned until the compass needle read southeast.

As always, the sensation of being above all of her problems filled her with a sense of well-being that she had never felt while her feet were on the ground. The sky was bluer, the air crisper, and the sun brighter.
Up here she was in control of her own destiny. Yes, she depended on the machinery to perform, and the weather to behave, but she had only herself to rely on, and somehow she trusted herself to rise to any occasion. Whereas on the earth, indecision held her captive and she doubted her choices to the point where she often couldn’t act at all. It had become worse after she had made the rash decision last fall to beg her uncle to allow Prudence to join them at Summerset. That decision had been catastrophic, had placed Prudence in a horrible situation, and had led to the end of a relationship Rowena had valued above almost all others.

Then, even knowing that she and Jonathon faced almost insurmountable obstacles to their relationship, she had allowed herself to be seduced, only to be brokenhearted when he had, unsurprisingly, walked away from her.

No wonder she was insecure about her decisions.

But here, up here alone in the sky, she was as confident as a sea eagle soaring among the cliffs. In the air she was powerful. Brave. Dauntless.

She took a deep breath and let this rare feeling of assuredness wash over her. It would be at least two hours before she arrived in Kent, and then she had to look for Mr. Dirkes’s factory and landing field.

At least she wouldn’t have to worry about running into Jonathon there. She’d learned from Cristobel on their ride that he was in Larkhill with the Third Squadron, RFC. She tried not to
think about the rumors that the Second and Third Squadrons were primarily photographic squadrons, going deep into enemy territory to take pictures.

She’d been out riding with Cristobel twice since she had met her at the barn. Rowena didn’t know if she was meeting her because she missed Cristobel’s dizzy, heedless outlook on life or if she was waiting for the few tidbits about Jon the girl occasionally let slip. Rowena felt just enough guilt about that to be overly kind to the girl, even offering to send the Summerset farrier out when they discovered Grenadine had a loose shoe.

On the telephone she had casually asked Mr. Dirkes about Jonathon’s assignments, but he had denied having any knowledge of what the aircraft squadrons were doing. She wondered how dangerous it might be.

Beneath her, seagulls cavorted and she was reminded how near the coast she was. She had never flown over the water, but knew it was trickier with odd air currents and confusing cloud formations. She had always wanted to try it, but her instructor at the Brooklands Aero Club had warned her against it. But then, he wasn’t too thrilled about taking on a female student. Only the amount of money her uncle had offered had persuaded him.

As always when Rowena was in the air, the time passed swiftly, and her coordinates told her she was close to Kent. She rolled up her flight log and stuck it next to her before descending to get a closer look below her. Spotting the airfield almost immediately, she flew toward it. She glanced at the gold wrist-watch her aunt had bought her for her birthday. Right on time. Mr. Dirkes would be expecting her.

Takeoff and landing were the most dangerous stages of a flight, and Rowena’s concentration sharpened. All her senses
increased during these times, and she felt vibrantly alive. A northern wind had sprung up, and she fought to keep her aeroplane on the right trajectory. She was relieved when her wheels hit the ground with a teeth-rattling jolt. Turning the nose of her aeroplane toward the enormous metal hangar, she spotted Mr. Dirkes’s large form hurrying toward her before the aeroplane even stopped.

She handed down her bag and then climbed out of the cockpit. He tossed the bag to a worker who had come with him and then reached up to help her down.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, lass.” He squeezed her breathless before placing her carefully on her feet. His eyes widened with astonishment. “Look at you! I could barely tell you from a pilot!”

“I am a pilot,” she said tartly before taking her bag.

“I meant no offense, my dear. Your clothing makes sense. Just took me aback.”

She took off her goggles and helmet. She had tied her hair back and tucked it down the back of her jacket. But it had come loose and now flew about in the same wind she had fought on her landing.

The workers took the plane off for inspection while Mr. Dirkes led her toward the hangar. He towered over her and looked deceptively clumsy, but she knew from experience how quick and nimble he actually was.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said with the accent that belied his Scottish heritage. “Thanks for bringing the aeroplane. I didn’t know how I was going to get it here, and we need all the birds we can get right now. I am at full production but I can still only put out so many per month. The lads are crashing them as quickly as I can make them.”

They walked into the cavernous space and he showed her the water closet where she could freshen up.

She ignored the dirt on the floor and the black grease on the porcelain sink and changed into the dark wool walking skirt she had brought for the occasion. Taking combs out of her pocket, she twisted her hair up into a knot. Though she was protected here by Mr. Dirkes’s presence, she knew that her trousers would just make the factory workers uneasy.

Mr. Dirkes smiled when she exited the WC. “That was a quick change. You don’t even look like the same girl. Come along and I will give you a quick tour of the factory before we go for tea.”

The hangar held rows of aeroplanes in varying degrees of completion, and Rowena was shocked to see several women working alongside the men.

Mr. Dirkes noticed her curiosity and gave her a smile. “Adapt or die, young Rowena. We need as many men as we can get on the front and more to ferry aeroplanes to our bases around Britain. We’ve already lost so many men, I feel as if it is my patriotic duty to hire war widows whenever I can.”

She smiled up at him. “You’re a good man, Douglas Dirkes.”

After they had toured the facilities he drove her to the Rusty Arms, a small inn on the outskirts of town, for tea. The dining room was small and shabby, but the scents coming from the kitchen made her mouth water.

“So have you heard from our boy yet?” The look he gave her was keen, and she suspected that he was aware of exactly what had happened between Jonathon and her. Not only did he and Jon work together, but Mr. Dirkes was an old friend of Jon’s mother.

She looked down at the stained white tablecloth. “No. We
haven’t spoken in months.” She glanced up at him accusingly. “And you know it, too.”

He heaved a sigh and poured himself more tea from the cracked pot the waitress had set down in front of them. “I was hoping the lad had come to his senses. I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but I do know that when you find yourself in a pair as compatible as the two of you were, you don’t squander it.”

“Apparently you do. But that is all water under the bridge. You know very well I’m to be married to Lord Billingsly.”

“Yes, your uncle told me.”

“I don’t know how you and my uncle ended up being such good friends,” she said, deftly changing the subject.

Mr. Dirkes grinned. “He invested in my company. A smart man, despite his pomposity. He saw the writing on the wall.”

She arched her brows. “How is business going anyway? You said you can’t keep up with demand?”

Mr. Dirkes shook his head, suddenly serious. “Training pilots is taking up a huge number of planes. We lose too many planes and young men that way. The statistics are frightening. We’re making new scientific and mechanical inroads all the time, but it’s just taking too long, and changes in design are hard to implement, especially now that the need for aeroplanes is so high.”

“What statistics are you talking about?” she asked, genuinely fascinated.

“We simply do not have enough qualified pilots to train, ferry the aeroplanes to the various bases, and do reconnaissance. Too many of our pilots are undertrained, and they’re dead within weeks of signing on. And it’s not the enemy, but their lack of training that is doing it.”

Rowena’s chest hollowed at the harshness of his usually merry voice.

She remembered how many men she’d met while working to obtain her pilot’s license who shared her passion for flight. She wondered how many had already had their lives cut short before they really got a chance to explore the skies.