When a Rake Falls (8 page)

The balloon finally lifted above the treetops, and Eve grabbed the rough wicker edge to catch her breath. In the middle of the crash, her mind had been fixed upon the book, but now there was only one matter of importance—Parker. If he were to die, her vaulting ambition to be the first female to cross the Channel would be to blame. Her stomach churned, and she almost cast up her morning biscuit. Despite Parker's expressed fears that he had lost his father's respect, the marquess's actions revealed he may not have been pleased but in no way had forsaken his youngest. He didn't cut him out of his living, for example. How could she explain Parker's loss to his father? How could she find Parker quickly? How could she ever forgive herself? She wished she had used her wits to note their location or elevation at the moment he fell from the basket. Now she had no data to determine where to start her search or if his fall could be a survivable one.

Below her, at least a hundred feet of woods remained, and beyond, she could see another broad stretch of cultivated fields. She would have to wait until she reached the safety of open ground before she could release any more gas. Turning back to examine the spot where Parker had likely fallen, she memorized every detail in the hopes that an odd tree or unusual landscape feature would help her find him in the future. She noticed a dead tree with a completely brown canopy amongst the green trees. Parker must have landed within yards of that tree, so she'd use it later as a marker to find him.

Once over the cultivated field, she was pleased to find it was a very broad one. A stand of woods loomed in the distance, but she would land before she reached the trees, barring any more freak winds.

This time she managed a rapid and controlled descent. No sudden gusts caught the balloon. The shimmering silk above her merely undulated in the breeze. Thankfully, the plowed rows of turnips below her would provide a relativity soft landing. Within twenty feet of the ground, she noticed a man in his wagon heading in the direction of her landing. She had no idea whether he rushed to assist her or attack the balloon as some giant monster.

In readiness to land, she widened her stance and held on to the side.

The basket hit the field with a soft thump. At first it remained upright, but after the silk balloon landed on the ground, it spread out upon the field and still retained enough power to pull the basket onto its side.

There was nothing for her to do at that point except continue to hold on and pray. If she fell out, the basket might run over her, grinding her into the dirt. All she could do was wait until the remaining gas escaped.

After several minutes, the silk balloon collapsed enough so that the basket dragged through the turnips at a fast walking pace. She managed to exit the basket and pull the edge in an effort to stop its forward momentum.

The farmer sat upon his wagon pointing out the balloon to a young boy. “Ah, well, would you look at dat, Jem. A young miss.”

She tugged on the basket again, but her efforts produced very little effect.

All of a sudden, she noticed the boy on the other side of the basket doing his best to help her. The slim lad was around twelve years, but she knew every little bit of opposing force helped.

“Come away, Jem,” the farmer shouted. “Don't want yo' getting hurt. Let de lady handle her own problems.”

The boy smiled at her and pulled the basket with greater effort, grunting in the process.

She returned his smile. “On the count of three, let's give one big tug. Ready?”

The boy nodded. “Ready.”

“One, two, three.” They tugged hard and their efforts proved successful as the basket slowed.

A minute later, the farmer strode forward, grabbed the basket, and widened his stance. Then with one mighty jerk, he pulled the basket to a complete stop.

She hugged the boy. “Thank you.” She then ran forward to gather up the harness and fold the balloon as best she could so it would remain stationary.

The boy emulated her movements in earnest, his tan face focused on rapidly folding the silk.

“Never dought I live to see ladies flying about in balloons,” the farmer remarked, removing his cap to scratch his scalp. “And it may be all right for you, miss. But what about da turnips? You've damaged half an acre, maybe more. Missus won't be too happy neither.” Dressed in corduroy breeches tied at the knee and an open waistcoat, his slow manner of movement announced a hardworking man unlikely to be unsettled by any event. He had probably handled a multitude of disasters before, so no mishap could ruffle his feathers now. “Now, my lady, do you have recomp…” He rolled his limp felt hat in his hands. “The funds for turnips spoilt?”

She glanced around at the destruction of the turnip rows. She even had quite a few leaves, not to mention dirt, on her person. “Yes, I apologize, Mister…”

“Ah, my name is Mr. Muckles. Missus calls me Frank. She puts good store into my judgment too. So I expect payment for damages.”

“Of course, Mr. Muckles. But you see my passenger, Lord Boyce Parker, fell out of the balloon into the trees, so you must help me find him immediately. He might be injured or—”

“Now don't you go running off, payment first. Den we can search for this lord o' yours.”

“But the circumstances of my lift-off were unusual, so you must understand the fact that I have no immediate funds on board to compensate you for your turnips.”

Mr. Muckles headed toward the basket, straddling each row of turnips with a single stride. “Jem, let us see what we can take from dat basket—”

She followed but struggled to keep pace. “Mr. Muckles, please. My father and I will pay you for your turnips. When I get back to London—”

“Look for a good find, Jem. Some instrument or another, I suppose.”

“Mr. Muckles! We must search for his lordship.” The blank face that greeted this statement urged her to emphasize the logic of the situation. “If we find him now, I am sure he will pay you twice what your turnips are worth.”

Mr. Muckles ignored her and dragged the big chest out of the basket.

Why did he ignore the gravity of the situation? “Please, Mr. Muckles, a man's life is at stake.”

He looked up and brushed his hands upon his loose plaid waistcoat but showed no signs of movement toward the woods.

“Please, I insist you call for help. He could be hurt or in pain.” The thought unsettled her, and she forced it out of her mind. “Sir, Lord Boyce is an important young gentlemen. I am sure his father will be very pleased if every effort is made for his recovery.”

He continued to pull items out of the wicker chest.

She restrained herself from kicking him in the shins, turned, and marched toward the woods.

Once she reached the beginning of the trees, her heart sank with the discovery of a thick undergrowth of bracken, gorse, ferns, and brambles. She ran up and down the edge, looking for a footpath, stopping only to cup her hands and yell, “Lord Boyce.” No response. “Parker.” She repeated her call again and again only louder. “Parker.”

Mr. Muckles and Jem reached the edge of the woods and waited until she moved closer. “Well, miss, we have a machine labeled ‘barrowmeter' from de box of instruments in da wagon. Dat should satisfy missus until you can get your funds you be talking about. So come with us back to the priory, and we can set out a proper search party for the lord o' yours.”

“Please, Mr. Muckles, he could be bleeding. Time might be of the essence. Is there any pathway through this wood?”

“The only pathway drew the woods is up by de stables. Jem, fetch de wagon and we'll be off.”

She couldn't abandon Parker; she just couldn't. “You don't understand. His lordship is a fine young gentleman, much more…caring than most.” Her words seem to land on deaf ears. “He likes birds; he even sings. Please, Mr. Muckles, I need to know the direction of the pathway.”

“If you won't come with Jem and me, we'll return to the priory now. You see, missus won't be happy if we spend de day playing with balloons, missing gentleman, and de like.”

“Now, now, my good man. Can you give me some assistance?” shouted a deep voice resonating from within the woods.

Eve's heart almost leaped out of her chest at the sound of Parker's voice. She ran into the fern underbrush, but her gown became hopelessly stuck on a bramble after about twenty feet.

Mr. Muckles frowned in the direction of the speaker and without hesitation waded into the verdant undergrowth, swatting thorny branches with his bare hands. He soon disappeared out of her sight.

She waited and waited and waited. Then she saw Parker, supported by Mr. Muckles, slowly making their way through the underbrush. As they neared, she noticed Parker had lost one boot and sported a torn coat sleeve, revealing a bulge of bare muscle on his upper arm. When clothed, he appeared to be very much the fashionable Tulip, but now she understood the source of the strength he had used to restrain her during the ascension and later when he helped with the cages.

“Careful now, your lordship. Not too fast. We will get dere soon enough.”

She had never, never been so glad to see someone in her life. She started running toward him, twisted her ankle in the soft dirt, but continued, albeit with a decided limp. As she got close, in unison, they both foolishly grinned and started to laugh. Now even she felt like singing.

Parker opened his arms, and she practically jumped into them. A long, rocking hug ensued. “I'm so glad, so glad,” she said. No other words came to mind.

He grunted. “Careful, bit bruised. Now what is the problem here? Mr. Muckles says you are being uncooperative.”

“Mr. Muckles wants me to pay for the damages to his turnips, but I have no money, so he took our barometer. I expected to land immediately, remember.” She took his other arm and helped Mr. Muckles escort him back to the open field.

“Careful, my child, I'm a bit sore. Had a tangle with a boot-grabbing tree.” He moved stiffly; with each step a strained expression flitted across his handsome face.

Mr. Muckles must have noticed his condition too, because he adjusted his arm around his lordship's waist to support him better.

“Now, my good fellow,” Parker said. “Miss Mountfloy here has crashed her balloon. I know you have a good heart, so you understand she is feeling lost, injured, and stranded. We must help her, sir, a lady in distress. As Englishmen, it is our duty. So I plead for your assistance on her behalf. Please do not worry about compensation for your most excellent turnips. I will personally see the situation is set to rights to your satisfaction.”

Mr. Muckles must have believed the promises from a young man who could only be described as the remains of a fine gentleman—rather than listening to a young miss with a common, soiled, and torn gown. He stopped complaining about his turnips. “I believe you, your lordship. But since you are feeling so poorly, I will take you up to de house, so as a doctor be called right and proper.”

Parker uttered an involuntary sigh. “Thank you, Mr. Muckles. The girl too.”

“Aye,” said the farmer as he gently helped Parker up into the back of the wagon.

She gathered what remaining instruments she could easily carry, so as not to leave them in a field, and returned to the wagon.

“Now Jem and I will fetch all of your possessions. You don't need to worry on dat score, and I'll get de stable hand to help with de balloon.”

Over Mr. Muckles shoulder, she noticed a lady in an elegant gig approach. Her coach was unsuitable for a plowed field and violently bounced over each row of turnips. By her equipage and dress, Eve could tell she was probably the lady of some nearby country estate.

The lady pulled up, and Jem ran to steady her horse. With great effort of arranging her gown so it would not be spoiled, she carefully stepped out.

Eve had seen women like this one before. Her great-aunt Elizabeth was a fine lady. This beautiful female straightened her shawl in an uncanny awareness that a part of her raiment had become out of place. Even a simple head toss was quickly met with a hand to check no curl became disturbed.

Knowing she probably looked as proper as an overturned turnip, Eve adjusted her cap, brushed several wayward curls behind her ears, and glanced at her gown. Dirt streaks and deep creases marred every inch. She quickly brushed the front with her hand and then sighed when her efforts produced no notable change. Even wearing her best gown, she would never be considered beautiful. She straightened her shoulders and held her head high.

As the lady neared, she came to the conclusion that if the finest French confectioners made a sugar cake, this lady was the embodiment of that cake. Statuesque, not a single gold ringlet out of place—she gave the appearance of floating when she moved.

Hesitant to put her white kid gloves on the dirty boards of the wagon, this female confection gingerly approached to examine the wagon's contents. “What do we have here, Frank?” She leaned over the side of the wagon and took a long look at Parker. “Well, well, my prayers have been answered. It's Piglet Parker.”

Boyce frowned.

She giggled. “Oh, I beg your pardon. I mean the remains of the charming Lord Boyce Parker. I am very, very cross with you.”

The confection giggled.

Eve thought the sound remarkable. Her childhood friends had giggled, but this sound involved the throat, so the notes were deeper. Yet somehow it still gave the impression of lightness and the promise of fun. Since her mother's death, Eve had rarely found herself in female company. She spent her days with her father, his assistant, or other gentlemen of science.

The confection widened her eyes, and Eve noticed glances exchanged between her and Parker. His expression appeared rather odd, sleepy, and heavy lidded. The giggle, decidedly for his sake, was a mature female sound meant to gain male attention.

Parker made an effort to sit up, failed, and then closed his eyes. He waved his hand in a giant arc. “Mrs. Lydia Buxton, it is with great delight that I introduce you to Miss Eve Mountfloy, the dedicated lady of science. Miss Mountfloy, Mrs. Buxton, the late widow of Mr. Gill. Recently married, if I remember rightly, so felicitations are in order. While we have never met formally, I've heard quite a few stories about you too. And I see no reason why you should be cross with me.”

Eve dropped her best curtsy, an ironic gesture wearing such a filthy gown. “Mrs. Buxton, a pleasure.”

The confection gave Eve a brief nod and, by the swift movement of her eyes, a complete and thorough analysis. “That gown is the very color of the dirty turnips, is it not?” She did not wait for an answer. Instead, she placed her glove tenderly on the Parker's boot. “Where are you hurt, dear…may I call you Boyce? You must call me—indeed—you both must call me Lydia. There, isn't this nice. I already feel like we are old friends. So imagine my distress to find my friends in this regrettable state. It does make me worry so.”

Parker remained lying down. “Yes, yes, but please do not worry on my account. A day's rest, and I'll be pluck in no time.” He tried to lift his head again, grimaced, and laid back on the wagon's boards. “I'd be honored to call you Lydia, since we have many friends in common. So, Lydia, I'd like to request the assistance of your fine fellow, Mr. Muckles here, to take Miss Mountfloy and myself to a nearby inn. Perhaps tomorrow, with your permission, he could assist the lady with the recovery of her balloon.”

Lydia giggled again, a little softer, probably a sound in affirmation. “Why, both of you will reside at Duddleswell Priory with us, of course. Dear Buxton is in temporary residence in London these days. All of which is the fault of your friend George, but we will speak about that and why I'm so cross with you later. So there is only dear Buxton's mother and myself at the priory now. I know Lady Buxton will be pleased to have your company.” She made a few small claps. “We'll have a regular house party.” She turned to address Mr. Muckles. “Do what you can to help the young lady, won't you, Frank? I don't know what is involved with all of this ballooning equipment, but surely Burwell can find space in the stables.”

Mr. Muckles doffed his hat. “Yes, missus. Me and Jem will take de young man to de house, and we will return to pick up his machine.” With those words, he nodded and waved to Jem. The two climbed up onto the wagon's seat then urged the horse forward.

“Wait,” Eve called, expecting to ride in the back of the wagon with Parker.

Lydia turned to Eve and repeated her head-to-toe perusal. “I'd be delighted to have your company in my gig, Miss Mountfloy. I'm sure you don't want to sit in the back of a wagon and spoil the remains of that gown.”

Eve dropped a slight curtsy this time. “Thank you, ma'am. You are very kind. I can't tell you how grateful we are for your rescue, but I wish to accompany his lordship back to the house. He was my passenger and therefore my responsibility.” She climbed into the wagon and the two conveyances set off for the priory. “What happened?” She reached over to loosen Parker's neckcloth. “Do you need a surgeon immediately? How badly are you injured?”

“Injured but survivable.” With the first bump over a row of turnips, he moaned. “Ended up flat on my back on some sort of shrubbery, with berries—red berries. Then I heard a strange sound and decided to follow it. The sound turned out to be your pretty voice. Definitely hurt everywhere, but nothing broken. Might be stiff for a week though. Still, I made a solemn promise to return you, and your balloon, to your father. He must be anxious about your whereabouts.”

“Thank you, but what about the earl's race to France?”

Despite his physical injury, soiled garments, and dirty face, he smiled. “Some luck there. It's a monthlong race, so I have over twenty days left to reach Paris. My stay in Sussex must be short though.” The wagon bumped over endless rows of turnips. “Ow. After I leave this place, I will never eat turnips again—painful vegetables, turnips.”

Once they arrived at Duddleswell Priory, Parker fell under the butler's care. Mr. Tut had reigned over the priory for fifty years, and he efficiently saw that Parker was taken upstairs to a guest room, undressed, and the surgeon called. Later, when Eve and Mrs. Buxton were allowed to enter the room, Tut instructed a housemaid to fetch a glass of barley water for the patient.

Eve entered the room, recognized an unfamiliar urge to grasp Parker's hand, and dismissed it.

Lydia performed that office first. “Dear Boyce.” She reached out with her other hand to pull back the soft, blue coverlet. “Where does it hurt?”

He seized her wrist before she could adjust his coverlet.

“Nothing to see, ladies. I am not gravely injured, just a little sore here and there.”

The door flew open and a tall matron stood on the threshold, dressed from head to toe in black, except for a striking gold quizzing glass hanging from her neck. Within seconds, the older woman's sharp gaze took in the details of everyone in the room. She then addressed the confection standing at the bedside. “What is this all about, Lydia?” The matron marched over toward the bed but stopped in front of Eve.

“Lord Boyce Parker fell out of his balloon, Mama. And this young lady does something with balloons.” She frowned. “Why were you in the balloon, Miss…?”

“Mountfloy,” Eve answered, dropping a curtsy to the older woman.

“Oh, yes.” Lydia smiled broadly, revealing noticeably white teeth. “Miss Mountfloy, this is my mother-in-law, Lady Buxton.”

The matron surveyed Eve for one second. “Tut!”

The butler appeared in the doorway. “Yes, my lady.”

Lady Buxton clutched the gold chain of her quizzing glass. “See that the surgeon is called for. And make sure you call Mr. Hulbart and not Mr. Young—his breath kills his patients long before he has the chance to cure them.”

“I have already sent Henry to fetch the surgeon, my lady.”

“Of course. I should have known.” Lady Buxton approached the bedside and held her quizzing glass up to briefly examine Lord Parker. “You must be the youngest. Rumors are you are an out-and-out frivolous buck. Is that true, young man?”

He widened his eyes. “Well! I wouldn't say—”

“You look just like your mother,” the matron stated, followed by a sigh. “She was a childhood friend, you know.”

“No, I did not—”

“It's the green eyes, of course. Quite rare. But you have her hair, her chin—in fact, the resemblance is remarkable.” She exhaled a long and deep sigh. “Young man, you have made me sad. I liked your mother and haven't thought of her in years. Despondent when she died. As children, we used to play cat and mouse at her uncle's house. Your mother always lost the game because her laughter gave her away. Lovely woman, lovely.” Lady Buxton pulled up a cane chair and sat. “Since your mother and I were such close friends, I will naturally treat you as my son during your stay here at the priory. If there is anything you need, let me know. I'll be sure to inform Tut of the importance of your comfort. Now tell me all about this ballooning adventure.”

“Mama, I—”

“Have more chairs brought in, Lydia,” Lady Buxton said, nodding at Eve. “I'm sure our guest would like to sit.”

Lydia glanced once at Parker before she dropped his hand and left the room.

This time Eve boldly strode forward and took Parker's hand. Decidedly cooler than normal, she wanted to chafe it vigorously, like their warming game, but she didn't want to explain this to the others. So she moved to block Lady Buxton's view of their joined hands, then slowly and softly rubbed his palm.

He squeezed her hand and smiled up at her. “Is my face presentable enough to be viewed by ladies?”

“You have two bruises, one of them quite alarming in size, but you are certainly presentable.” She caught his glance, smiled, and squeezed his palm in return.

Lydia returned followed by Tut and a footman carrying several turned oak chairs with thick cushions.

Tut pointed to locations around the bed, and the footman placed each chair on the exact spot.

By the time everyone was comfortably seated, Parker attempted to sit up but soon became restless. “Ladies, if you will excuse me, my ribs are paining me. At the moment, I'm in no condition to chat.”

To spare him physical discomfort or difficult explanations, Eve offered to describe their accident. “If you would pardon me, Lady Buxton. Perhaps you will let me relate the nature of our adventure, since his lordship is injured.”

Lady Buxton raised a brow; the madman grinned.

Eve smiled at both of them in turn. “You see, your ladyship, Lord Parker has an interest in aerostation and wished to invest in balloons. His primary interest, however, was a race to Paris sponsored by the Earl of Stainthorpe. For that purpose, he joined a flight planned by my father and myself. We planned to perform our experiments and then cross the Channel to France. During the night, the wind changed directions and blew us back over England. I must compliment Lord Boyce because his help was invaluable in completing the experiments on board—”

Lady Buxton huffed. “I find your father's actions hard to believe, Miss Mountfloy. I do not approve of two young people engaging in a dangerous adventure alone.”

“He meant to join us after we briefly touched down, but landing became impossible and my father was unable to board. At the time I was…held up.”

Parker groaned then lifted the coverlet over his mouth.

“So together, his lordship and I soldiered on. This is by no means an unusual event, as we frequently have only two on board. I want to assure you that my father did give his lordship some sage advice before we left. I don't remember exactly what he said—”

“Hang on,” Parker said, followed by a chuckle. “I have great respect for this young lady. The goal of our journey was to save humanity. We only thought about experiments to understand our weather and save lives.” He stared at the ceiling and smiled broadly. “Miss Mountfloy needed my presence to assist with these scientific experiments too. I also landed the balloon under difficult circumstances and saved her life when we were caught in the trees. I also—”

“I agree,” Eve said, “that you saved my life, but you don't deserve all of the credit for the landing. The two of us worked together to land the balloon the first time, remember?”

“Yes, yes, I stand corrected. The first attempt at landing was a team effort, but I did save your life.”

She turned to Lady Buxton. “It was after the first attempt to land that the freak gust of wind caught us and blew us into the woods. His lordship is very strong and kept me from suffering his fate and falling out of the basket. So, yes, I'm grateful he saved my life.”

“I repeat,” Lady Buxton said, “your flight sounds dangerous and not up to conventional standards of behavior.”

“It was only dangerous at the end,” he said. “Also, concern over the propriety of our flight is unnecessary. Besides, at thousands of feet in the air, no one could see…”

Lydia gasped. “Thousands! Oh, I just realized how high that must be. How frightening.”

Lady Buxton lowered her chin, indicating she questioned the veracity of their story, but she did not pursue it further.

“Oh, but you are a gentlewoman, my dear,” Lydia said. “I have no intention of being vulgar, but one does wonder. I mean there are no airborne privies. How exactly do you…?”

In less than a second, Eve determined the nature of her question, since it was a common one. “Over the side, ma'am. The other aeronaut faces the opposite direction for privacy and does not turn around. Under the circumstances, it is a matter of honor.”

“No!” Lydia slapped her palms together and held them in front of her chest. “I couldn't. I'd rather die first. Oh, Miss Mountfloy, I don't see how a lady could exist under the unpleasant conditions you describe. It is just not natural.”

Lady Buxton appeared to be made of sterner stuff than her daughter-in-law. “You are a remarkable young woman, Miss—”

“Actually, that bit is quite natural,” Parker said, another chuckle simmering in his throat.

“I see you enjoy the same outrageous levity as your mother,” Lady Buxton admonished. “Without a doubt.”

He whipped his head around to peer at the matron. “Really? How wonderful.”

“Lady Buxton,” Eve said, “in the crash, I lost my father's
Results
book. Perhaps you could lend me the assistance of your servants and a horse, so I might retrieve it?”

Parker instantly sat up. “Yes, you must help her. You see, I funded the flight to win the earl's race, so if anything happens to Miss Mountfloy's research, I'll be the one to blame.”

Before the matron could answer, Tut entered the room and announced the arrival of Dr. Hulbart.

The surgeon bowed. “Lady Buxton, ladies. I understand the young gentleman fell out of a balloon. This is my first patient from a ballooning accident, and I am quite excited about it.” He moved to the bedside. “You must be the young Lord Boyce Parker I've heard about. Very pleased to meet you, sir.” He turned to face Lady Buxton. “I prefer to examine his lordship alone, if you don't mind. Once I have finished my examination, I will inform Tut, so you ladies can return.” The surgeon held his arm out. “No arguments, please.”