The Flight of Sarah Battle (30 page)

‘I have met such an interesting man, Sarah. I must tell you about him. Jacques Garnerin. The Official Aëronaut of France.'

‘Good Lord! Does he have wings?' A Newton comes to mind: what fun he'd have had with balloons! ‘I suppose he wants you to paint his portrait and sell prints of it.'

‘Much more exciting than that. He is planning an ascent in his balloon and I am to go with him and sketch. Think of it! London seen from the air in paintings and prints. Balloons are not new but sketches made from them are. Think of the fame!'

He bounces with enthusiasm.

‘Now that we are at peace with the French, Sarah, assuming we trust Bonaparte, what a symbol it will be! A Frenchman and an Englishman flying over London together!'

‘Cannot a woman go, too? I seem to remember the actress Mrs Sage went up in a balloon years ago. Neither the sky nor peace is the province of men alone, Joseph.' How absurdly prim she sounds!

‘No, of course they're not. You needn't chide; do you think I am unreasonable?'

He doesn't expect an answer. Says: ‘I'll suggest it to Jacques. And Sarah. You will be the perfect woman to accompany us. No! Do not protest! You have argued yourself into it.'

*

Robert Wilson, Bookseller and Publisher

Chestnut Street

Philadelphia

4
th
March, 1802

Dear Miss Battle,

I received your letter somewhat more than a year ago and apologise for the length of time it has taken in which to reply, but you can imagine how shocked I was at the revelation it contained that you and Tom Cranch were not married. In addition, you will understand that I was hurt
to have been deceived, even while I was doing my best to help you both when you first arrived and thereafter.

You will know I count myself a good Democratic Republican, though not a revolutionary. Some of the views you expressed yourself, while you lived here, were more than I could stomach, as you are well aware. I believe in God and in the divinity of Christ. I therefore cannot approve of your having lived with Tom Cranch as his wife, outside the laws of both God and man. Moreover, Tom's deception should have precluded his issuing ‘advice' on my relationship with Martha. I bought Martha on my arrival in America in 1781. According to Pennsylvanian law, all who are slaves before 1780, as Martha was, remain slaves for life. Nevertheless I freed her, by manumission, and, having done so, I see no reason to elevate her further.

In view of the fact that you were not legally married to Tom Cranch, you will realise that I cannot return any of the money he put into my business, were you to think of asking for it. Of course I acknowledge that it was a most welcome investment at the time and one from which we all benefitted.

There is one piece of news about which I believe you will be interested to hear. The lawyer William Leopard was recently sentenced to a long term in Walnut Street Prison, having been involved in a street brawl in which a man was killed. Although there is insufficient evidence to prove that his was the fatal blow, there were many witnesses to his involvement in the affray. It is said that he was challenged by the dead man about blackmailing activities. I only tell you this because information has reached me that he was extracting money from you.

I am in good health, thank you, and trust that you are. Should you ever have a proposal for a book in my series of
Pocket Guides
, it would certainly be given consideration by,

Your erstwhile friend,

Robert Wilson

She almost laughs at this faultless hypocrisy. It's early summer, there's no fire in the grate. She burns the crushed paper among old ashes, watches its blurred disintegration.

*

Joseph brings two paintings and Sarah pays him. She is glad the improvement of Battle's has begun, though she wonders how long before smoke and steam dull the delicate colours' glow.

Today Joseph is peevish.

‘It seems I am
not
the first artist to ascend in a balloon. Somebody came across a book and was pleased to tell me that it contains drawings from a balloon made seventeen years ago!'

‘Are they drawings of London?'

‘Ah. I think they flew from Chester.'

‘Well, your fame will be none the less, then.'

She sees how very young he is, this tall, fair man, petulant like a child; how Lucy could never have influenced him. Yet his very childishness appeals to her. ‘Joseph, I must talk to you. Come, let us sit over here.'

They move to a settle away from easy hearing, but Dick appears, arthritic fingers clutching at the waiter's cloth over his arm.

‘A word wiv you, Miss Battle.'

‘Is it important, Dick? Just now I'm busy. Please be brief.' She stands aside to talk.

‘Them pictures you did want me to burn, Miss Battle,' he whispers hoarsely, ‘them were drawed by…' Wild eye and brow movements indicate Joseph.

‘Yes, Dick.'

A cunning look crosses his face. ‘The men ‘ere do know it's ‘im.' He waves his arm to take in the whole coffee house.

‘Mr Young has explained to me how artists turn their hands to all manner of work when they are young and poor. I'm sure the customers understand that. It was years ago, Dick. Mr Young is a respectable, well-known portrait painter now.'

Dick turns away, mutters about Sam Battle, balls in the sky, shakes his head like a palsy. Sarah is touched that he should wish to protect her reputation. But he was ever a supporter of Wintrige: though Wintrige is dead, Dick perceives Joseph as a usurper.

It's of no consequence. She sits down next to Joseph.

‘I must talk to you about Lucy.'

‘Oh, yes?' He is unconcerned.

‘She is so terribly distressed about her brother Matthew.'

‘Yes. I know that. A rash, desperate boy. What has she told you?'

‘That he's imprisoned in the Tower for high treason, but she doesn't know what he's done. She's sure he's innocent. Is he?'

‘How can I know? Probably not. Look, Sarah,' in lowered voice, ‘I sympathise with many of their views. We need new ways.'

‘I've seen real freedom in America.'

‘You have?' He looks at her intently. Her usually animated face pauses, serious. They have never talked about such things.

‘Where people speak their minds and publish without fear.'

He would draw her out of her thoughts, bring her back to himself. ‘Once, I…'

‘What will happen to him, Joseph? Is it as bad as someone once suggested? Can you tell me?'

‘They are collecting evidence for the trial. He is like to be condemned to death.'

‘Oh! Poor Lucy. Can
nothing
be done?'

‘Nothing. There are those who petition, write letters, but it is hopeless. The government want to show they've rounded up all traitors, want to demonstrate success. They fear revolution, Sarah, so they will find a plot. Indeed I believe they already have. Then they will need names, a trial, punishment, bodies.'

‘And what can be done for Lucy?'

‘I don't know. Lucy has no trust in me: there is nothing
I
can do for her. Digham is kind.'

Sarah glimpses his ruthlessness. Remembers the moment when she'd wanted to reach out to the frantic girl on the quayside. Knows she must find some way to help her herself, for he is impervious: she has no notion how to move him.

‘Don't think any more about it, Sarah. William will take care of Lucy. For years he was like a father to me; now he will do the same for her. You must concentrate on our flight. Oh, how I'm looking forward to it! It will be magnificent. You will be magnificent!' He looks at her with pleasure.

Her mood limps behind his.

‘They say Monsieur Garnerin is very competent.'

‘Of course he is! He has made several journeys and, I tell you, the man is fearless. What's more, Madame Garnerin, his wife, is herself a balloonist. For some reason she has not accompanied him this time, but he tells me a woman can be as intrepid as a man. There speaks a man of the Revolution, Sarah!'

‘Good. Of course he's right. But I don't think
I'm
intrepid.'

‘You need do nothing except stand in the basket and smile. And keep your balance. Surely you're not worried?'

‘Sometimes I do worry, yes. Not for myself so much, but when I think of Eve.'

He would touch her face, but cannot.

‘No need. All will be well. I feel absolutely certain all will be well.'

And it's true, he does. His mood is alight. Dullness, worthlessness have vanished in the presence of this woman, Sarah.

6

Wherever there's space bills announce:

The celebrated Aëronaut M André
-
Jacques Garnerin

will Ascend in his gas Balloon

at Ranelagh

on 28 June 1802 at 5 o'clock

during an elegant Afternoon Breakfast

given by the Directors of the Pic Nic Society.

M Garnerin will be accompanied by

the well-known Artist and Engraver Mr Joseph Young

and, to prove the Safety of such Travel to

Members of the Fair Sex,

the well-known Proprietress of Battle's Coffee House

Miss Sarah Battle

Sarah is nervous. The danger involved in the ascent is one thing, for, the news being out, people insist she hear of all the accidents that have taken place in the last twenty years. Yet, can it really be worse than crossing the Atlantic by ship? Endless weeks, threat of disease and wreck, perpetual sea roar, nothing but salt pork.

No, it's the prospect of appearing at Ranelagh before two thousand people that bothers her as much. What should she wear? She is warned how she will freeze as they ascend into the clouds, yet she'll not want to be wrapped in cloaks and muffs in June before a multitude of women in the latest fashions.

Monsieur Garnerin is too busy preparing the event to meet her, so Joseph, acting as go-between, discovers that when Jacques took up a woman, not his wife, with him four years before in Paris her charms were shown to good effect. Apparently Jacques is glad to hear that Sarah is handsome and says that she should wear whatever she likes. She swallows her annoyance at the thought of the conversation the two men have had about her, decides she'll pack a bag with two shawls and a cloak to put on once clear of the crowds, and turns her mind to the matter of what food and drink to supply for consuming in the upper air.

Sarah sees Joseph daily, for he stops work for the moment and constantly has some new detail about the flight to discuss with her. His presence is a diversion from the tedium of the coffee house, whose heavy, dark masculinity is already seeping into Eve's life, ready to choke her childhood. Eve will need to be rescued soon, though Sarah won't think of sending her away to school, to some doubtful establishment in Chelsea, for instance. If only there was an Academy like the one in Philadelphia, where they teach girls mathematics, geography, chemistry, natural philosophy. As yet she knows no solution. She tells herself that once the flight is over she'll talk to Mr Pyke and work out what to do.

Meanwhile, she comes to expect Joseph, knows exactly when he arrives from the cheers and heckles of the customers.

‘The Conquering Hero!' they bawl with admiration and irony. Someone trumpets out the famous Handel tune.

‘He's to fly off into the ether with our beautiful Sarah, you know,' they say to a newcomer.

‘Good Lord! Why?'

‘She says a woman can do it as well as a man.'

‘Oh, one of those.'

‘Not so. No bluestockings.' It's Thynne. ‘She's always made up her own mind. Not like her mother, though now I think of it, making up
her
own mind got her killed.'

‘Oh?'

‘Mistakenly shot by militia in the Gordon Riots. But Sarah, now, she's a friend of this artist who's to sketch the city from the heavens. He's well known.'

‘Can we spare her, I ask you?' says Challoner, one of those who still miss Wintrige.

‘Just this once. They'll make a striking sight.'

Sarah's friendship with Joseph has become public, has become a pairing she never intended but is amused by, enjoys.

*

The day is hot and cloudy. Sarah and Joseph walk together through the crowd towards the enormous balloon, thirty feet in diameter, forty-five feet high, as big as a four-storey house, its alternate dark-green and yellow segments encased in a net, its oblong car draped in Tricolours and Union Jacks. On the ground around it is a cartwheel shape of barrels and pipes in which acid and iron filings have generated the hydrogen that fills the great globe.