“Is that why they wait for thirty minutes until after the balloon has ascended before lighting the fireworks?”
“Undoubtedly.”
They joined the assembled throng gathered around the wooden platform supporting the eighty-foot balloon. Made of crimson silk and covered with netting, it took six men tugging on ropes to anchor it down. The light summer breeze had gathered momentum, and the approaching clumps of black cloud did not bode well for a trouble-free ascent. No doubt alarmed by the sudden change in the weather, Mr Green clambered inside the basket along with another gentleman who bellowed orders to those gripping the ropes.
“It appears Mr Green is in a hurry tonight.” Lillian watched the flurry of activity. Perhaps whatever gas kept the contraption in the air was affecting her, too, as lights danced before her eyes and it became difficult to focus.
Vane glanced up at the menacing cloud. “Green had better take off soon else he’ll get caught in the storm.” Raising a brow of disapproval, he perused her gown. “Did I not tell you to bring your cloak this evening?”
While the cut of her lavender dress was conservative by most ladies’ standards, the fine material did little to keep the cold at bay. “But it was so mild when we left.” Was it her imagination or did her words sound slurred?
“Release the ropes!” Mr Green cried. “Steady, now. Steady as she goes.” He tried to smile as he doffed his hat and waved to the excited onlookers. No sooner had the basket begun its slow ascent from the platform than a gust of wind whipped underneath. One man lost his grip on the rope, and the whole contraption lurched forward.
The crowd gasped and edged back. Some people covered their heads with their hands. Others cowered behind the person standing next to them.
“There’s nothing to fear.” Mr Green’s cries of reassurance failed to calm the nervous bystanders.
“For heaven’s sake,” Vane muttered. “Hysterics only make matters worse. Green is a capable man. He knows how to deal with these unforeseen eventualities.”
Another man released his rope too quickly. Mr Green continued to shout instructions as the balloon swayed back and forth, groaning and creaking as it strained against its moorings.
Panic forced people to turn and run. No one gave a hoot that Lillian was a social leper. Nor did they fear a punch on the nose from Vane. Amidst the pandemonium, drunken revellers pushed and barged past them. Lillian made the mistake of letting go of Vane’s arm and was carried away by a surge of people charging towards the entrance.
Chaos erupted despite Mr Green’s ability to control his giant bag of air.
Jostled between two gentlemen, Lillian struggled to keep sight of Vane. It didn’t help that the sea of heads blurred into one colourful wave. She grew dizzier by the minute. Confused. Bewildered. Events seemed to happen around her as though she sat in the supper booth, a mere spectator.
One muscular arm clamped around her waist and dragged her back against a hard, solid chest. The sickly sweet scent of rum flooded her nostrils, coupled with the briny smell of the sea. Sleep beckoned. The world swirled. Her head lolled forward, the heavy weight of her eyelids dragging her down into the darkness.
Events appeared in fractured pictures. She recalled being carried through the trees, noted the crimson balloon drifting across the sky, growing smaller and smaller as she lay on her back in a rowboat. Spots of rain landed on her cheek, but she lacked the strength to move. She thought to cry out, but despite her terrible experiences with Lord Martin, she wasn’t scared.
“Give her a drink, Mackenzie,” one oarsman said as he used brute strength to propel the vessel along the Thames. “A few drops of laudanum will see her right till we reach the ship.”
The ship?
The hulking man beside her pulled a brown bottle from his pocket and removed the stopper. “Here, lass, a quick sip will make for a more pleasant journey.” With one hand supporting her head, the Scot pressed the bottle to her lips. “There’s nothing to fear.” His tone was calm, soothing, yet he gave her no option but to drink. “The master needs your help that’s all.”
An image of Vane, frantically scouring the crowd, flashed into her head. “Wh-where’s my brother?”
“Don’t worry about your brother, lass. No doubt you’ll see him soon enough.” He lowered her head back down onto the sack, slipped the bottle into his pocket and then shrugged out of his greatcoat and placed it over her like a blanket. “Rest is all you need now.”
Lillian’s lids grew heavy, but the loud cracks and bangs overhead forced her to look up as the fireworks erupted. Streams of red and gold lights sparkled like jewels in the night sky. She continued watching the display until her eyes were dead weights and she drifted into a peaceful slumber.
Lillian woke to the sound of lapping water and creaking wood. She touched her temple to ease the dull ache and then sat up and surveyed her surroundings. Daylight streamed through the large windows spanning the width of the great cabin: the captain’s quarters. Maps and nautical instruments littered the huge oak table. The man was an adventurer, one who embraced risk. Red velvet curtains separated the small poster bed from the room that held books, a music stand, bow and fiddle … the tools of an educated man. She suppressed a chuckle when her gaze fell to the range of swords filling an open chest. Despite the captain’s obvious intelligence, he’d made a grave error. He doubted a woman’s ability to wield a sword.
A key rattled in
the lock, and she curled into a ball on the bed and feigned sleep. At the heavy trudge of footsteps on the boards, she peered through half-closed eyes and watched the man they called Mackenzie place a pewter plate and a flagon on the table.
She contemplated charging at him, thumping his chest and demanding to know what he was about, but she lacked the strength of mind and body.
Mackenzie turned and looked at her, strode over and touched her lightly on the arm. “I’ve brought food for you, lass.”
Lillian blinked, yawned and stretched one arm above her head. “What time is it?”
“Almost noon,” Mackenzie said in a soft Scottish burr. “With a good wind in the sails, we’ll reach our destination come nightfall.”
“Are we away to France?”