Inherit the Skies

by Janet Tanner

  He walked towards her with the long measured stride she knew and loved so well. He was wearing a suit of fine dark blue wool; above the stiff shiny white collar of his shirt his fresh-complexioned face was grave. There was a little more silver in his hair than there had been, etching feathery wings in the crisp jet black, and it showed too in his neat dark moustache like a sprinkling of hoar frost on a dark winter garden. But his eyes were as clear and blue as she remembered them though there was a slight wariness in them that she did not understand and his height and the indefinable presence of him were as imposing as they had ever been.

  She stood quite still, feeling her legs turn to jelly, but there was an eagerness bubbling in her so that in spite of the shock, in spite of the tumultuous inexplicable emotions that were making her dizzy, it was all she could do to stop herself from running to him and throwing herself into his arms.

  ‘Well, Sarah,’ he said in that cool sharp voice that had always reminded her of frosty mornings. ‘So I’ve found you at last!’

  She removed her hand from her lips and locked it with the other in the folds of her skirt to keep it from trembling. She lifted her chin, returning his gaze, and her face was as grave as his, not betraying for an instant the tumultuous delight that had begun to course through her in warm rushing waves.

  ‘Mr Morse!’ she said, and her voice was little more than a whisper.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘How you have grown up, Sarah!’ he said. ‘I confess I would have scarcely known you.’

  They were sitting at a table, in the very open-air restaurant where Sarah had worked as a waitress. It was the best place, Sarah had thought, for them to be able to talk away from the curious eyes of Eric, Henry and the others – and besides she had been desperate suddenly for fresh air, as if the closed-in, dusty atmosphere in the workshop was suffocating her.

  In the restaurant Gilbert had ordered them a coffee each and a plate of pastries but the food lay untouched on the lace-doilied plate, and when Sarah raised her cup to sip the strong dark liquid she was annoyed to realise her hand was still trembling.

  ‘I’m seventeen now,’ she said defensively.

  ‘Yes, I suppose you are.’ He sighed, almost inaudibly. ‘Seventeen! It’s strange but somehow I continued to think of you as you were when I last saw you – as if time had stood still. But of course that’s nonsense. And look at you now! Not only a young woman but a very successful one. A balloonist, no less. How did that come about?’

  ‘Oh, it’s a very long story.’ A little haltingly because of the slight awkwardness that still lay between them she related how she had come to Alexandra Palace, met the Dare Brothers and begun to work with them. She made no mention of the time she had spent at Deedham Green. It was still too painful to her and she had no wish to sour this meeting by referring to it or even thinking of it. It hurt her still that Gilbert had made no effort to contact her during those dreadful months and though the memory of the despair and sense of degradation had dimmed, it was still there, a disturbing prickle beneath her skin like the fading yet persistent irritation of a virulent rash.

  Gilbert listened with interest while she talked, his eyes scarcely leaving her face. Occasionally he interjected a question, once he drew out his cigarette case and lit a cigarette and it was then that Sarah knew he was as affected by the interview as she was. Gilbert rarely smoked before luncheon unless something was disturbing him.

  ‘I must say I am impressed. It sounds as if you have a good life here, Sarah,’ he said at last.

  ‘I do,’ she said simply. ‘ I get a tremendous thrill from ballooning. It’s wonderfully peaceful up there, high above the ground and you hardly seem to be moving at all. Even during an ascent it’s as if it is the ground that is falling away, not the balloon rising.

  ‘And parachuting?’

  ‘Oh – that’s wonderful too,’ she said, wondering how she could describe the first moments of exhilarating free-fall when the wind seemed to drive all the breath out of her, the little shock that ran through her body as the parachute opened, the effortless drift back to earth. She had no words to explain the way trees and bushes mutated, changed shape and dimension, from the tiny replicas which might have been models from James’s wooden farmyard, through enormous distorted mushroom shapes until at last they took on their normal appearance and proportions, albeit upside down as she landed, rolling backwards the moment her feet touched the ground as she had been taught in order to minimise the danger of damage to her spine.

  ‘And dangerous,’ Gilbert said thoughtfully, tapping ash from his cigarette. ‘Plenty of people have been killed or badly injured parachuting from balloons. Wasn’t one of Captain Gaudron’s team killed recently?’

  ‘Violet Kavanagh? Yes.’ But she did not want to dwell on it. A deep shadow had fallen over the ballooning fraternity when Violet had been lifted from a factory roof on which she had inadvertently landed, dashed to the ground and killed. But thinking of such things did no good. After the initial shock they were seldom discussed. For a while extra caution would be exercised, more thorough checks made of equipment and prevailing weather conditions, but no mention would be made of the reason for this, no concern admitted. And there was no great show of grief. That was kept for the dark watches of the night. In public, the fraternity put on a show of hearty unconcern as if the disaster had never happened.

  ‘But how long is it all going to last?’ Gilbert asked, sensing her withdrawal and turning the conversation deftly. ‘I believe the era of ballooning is coming to an end. It won’t be long now before powered flight takes its place. You must have heard of the progress being made by Bleriot and the others. I don’t think it will be long now before he, or someone else, manages to cross the Channel and the Daily Mail prize is won. Then there will be no stopping. Even I have thought of building aero engines at Morse Motors. At present Lawrence is not enthusiastic but as things progress I shall be keeping a close watch on what is needed and I may yet persuade firm to see things my way.’ His voice grew firm and vibrant with his enthusiasm for his own particular interest. ‘Aeroplanes will go ahead in leaps and bounds and balloons will be as outdated in the air as the horse and cart is becoming on the roads. And what will you do then, Sarah? Have you thought of that?’

  She sipped her coffee, which had cooled as they talked, not answering for a moment. The end of the golden age of ballooning was another subject she did not care to think about yet she knew in her heart he was right. Already there were fewer demonstrations and acrobatics than there had been – racing was the thing of the moment with big meets arranged at suitable sites all over the country – and it was the progress being made in the construction of powered aircraft which excited the pioneers now. She had mentioned this to the Dares once or twice but Henry had refused point blank to discuss her suggestion that the balloon might soon be obsolete. Let the crackpots try to fly in their heavier-than-air machines if they thought they could, was his attitude; engines were noisy and smelly and spoiled the perfection of flight. Sarah respected his view though she did not agree with it and now she smiled and voiced what had so far occurred to her only as a vague impossible dream.

  ‘If aeroplanes replace balloons I dare say I shall have to move with the times. I learned to balloon and parachute – why not learn to fly an aeroplane?’

  He laughed aloud, amused by her temerity yet as always delighted by the sheer vital force which drove her. She had not changed, he thought. She was still the same Sarah in spite of the physical changes, still bold and courageous, still refusing to be bound by any of the limits with which others found themselves shackled to their own narrow worlds.

  ‘I don’t think you know what you are saying, my dear,’ he said, still smiling at the thought of Sarah wrestling with the controls of a contraption of matchwood, brown paper and string, such as he had seen Alberto Santos-Dumont do. ‘It’s still beyond most men at the moment. And even more dangerous than your precious ballooning.’

  ‘But if things pr
ogress as you say they will and men do build aeroplanes that can fly then why shouldn’t a woman do it too?’ she demanded, a little defensive in the face of his amusement. ‘Anyway, I shall continue to make the most of ballooning as long as I can. I enjoy it and I enjoy the rewards too. When we go off to do displays we always stay in the best hotels and have receptions given in our honour. There is good food and plenty of it and champagne corks popping everywhere. Do you wonder that I don’t want it ever to end?’

  His eyes had grown thoughtful again and he lit another cigarette, looking at her steadily.

  ‘And what about the times when you are not cavorting about the countryside living the life of a celebrity?’ he asked. ‘What do you do then?’

  ‘Oh, sometimes I help Henry and Eric here.’

  ‘The Dares. They are the two young men I met earlier?’

  ‘Yes. Their name isn’t Dare really – it’s Gardiner. But they think Dare is a better name for a balloon team. When I first jumped with them they wanted me to call myself Mam’selle Valla or some such Frenchy name, but I refused.’ She smiled at the memory. ‘ It seemed a bit silly to me.’

  ‘Yes, I dare say it would,’ Gilbert agreed. There was a down to earth streak in Sarah’s nature which would pour scorn on such pretentiousness. ‘Eric Dare, is he your …?’ He broke off, not certain how to frame the question. ‘Is there anything between you?’

  Sarah shook her head with such vehemence that he realised he had unwittingly trodden on some nerve ending.

  ‘Certainly not. We are good friends – that’s all.’

  ‘So where do you live when you are not being feted at some grand hotel?’ he enquired mildly.

  ‘With Molly Norkett. She owns a teashop and I have a room above it. So does Molly,’ she added quickly, afraid he might be about to cast doubts on her morality. ‘We share meals and I help her in the teashop when I am not working here. Molly has been very good to me though she makes no secret of the fact that she does not approve of me ballooning. She does not think it is a very ladylike thing to so.’

  ‘She sounds like a good woman.’

  ‘Oh she is. She treats me like a daughter,’ Sarah said seriously.

  Gilbert drew smoke and blew it out in a thin stream. His hand was quite steady now and his eyes held hers.

  ‘I thought I treated you that way,’ he said quietly. ‘I think I must tell you I am most disappointed that you have not repaid me by behaving like one.’

  During the last half hour she had relaxed, now, quite suddenly, all the awkwardness returned. She had thought he was going to be content to let the past lie. Now the old hurts and resentments flared again as she realised he was not. She looked away quickly for she felt sure they were mirrored in her eyes and she did not want him to see them.

  ‘Why did you run away, Sarah?’ he asked. ‘Why did you leave without so much as a word of explanation?’

  Her chin came up as a sudden anger blazed through her veins. How dare he ask such a thing? As if he had cared two hoots about how she had fared after being banished to Deedham Green! Not once had he contacted her – why should he think he had any right now to an explanation as to why she had left?

  ‘Sarah?’ he pressed her.

  ‘Because it was terrible. I couldn’t stand it a moment longer.’ Her eyes met his defiantly and she saw the small frown pucker his well-defined brows.

  ‘Terrible? Oh surely not! I always did my best to see you were well treated. You must know that. I was shocked, yes, shocked, when I returned from France to find you had simply run off without a word to anyone – not even a note to explain your reasons. And in all this time you have never seen fit to make contact even once to let us know where you were or even if you were alive. Surely you must have known how worried I would be? I felt responsible for you, Sarah, whether you like it or not. And what I want to know now is why?’

  As he spoke she remained motionless, the colour draining from her face and then returning in a hot flush as anger gave way to confusion and confusion to unwilling, mind-dizzying comprehension. Gilbert was referring not to her flight from Deedham Green but her disappearance from Chewton Leigh!

  ‘Didn’t they tell you?’ she asked. Her voice was thready and faint.

  ‘Tell me what?’ He regarded her closely, his expression reproachful still, yet genuinely puzzled. ‘ What did you think I would have been told? Did something happen whilst I was in France? Something I should know about?’

  She knew then without any more doubt what had happened. No-one at Chewton Leigh had ever told him of the circumstances of her leaving – not even their own distorted version of the truth. They had given him to understand she had simply run away without any word of explanation so that all this time he had believed her guilty of behaving in a callous and ungrateful fashion. No wonder he had never contacted her – he had no idea where she had gone. She looked into his troubled eyes knowing how much it must have hurt him and felt a rising tide of anger at the deceit that had been perpetrated. Yet at the same time she was glad that he had not been misled into thinking that she was an adventuress taking advantage of his hospitality to seduce his son. Now she could present her side of the story and he would believe her, she knew. The bond between them had always been based on perfect honesty. And if he had any doubts he could always verify her version of what had happened after she left by checking with the Carson family.

  ‘Well, Sarah?’ he demanded, looking at her expectantly and for a moment the words trembled on Sarah’s lips. Yet for all his concern his air of confidence was unshaken. Whatever he thought she might say it bore no resemblance to the ugly truth and with a sudden flash Sarah knew there was no way she could enlighten him.

  Your favourite son raped me, not once but twice. He lied to cover his guilt, not caring how much he blackened my character. Your wife passed sentence on me and then she too lied and schemed and deceived. What would it do to Gilbert if she told him that? He would know of course – if he believed her – that she had not walked out of the life he had welcomed her into with callous lack of gratitude. But he would learn that his family, those closest to him, were treacherous and deceitful, lacking in compassion and even common decency. If she spoke now the family could be torn apart, with trust and respect shattered and relationships damaged beyond repair. Sarah did not care very much if the foundations of Blanche’s world were shaken, and she had longed to take her revenge on Hugh for what he had done. Now suddenly she knew that revenge would not be sweet as she had imagined but hollow, for in taking it she would hurt the one person who meant more to her than any other – Gilbert Morse himself. And the hurt would go far deeper than any he might feel in the rejection he believed her guilty of. For they were his family while she was only the orphan he had taken in and treated with a kindness for which she was eternally grateful.

  As she saw, too clearly, the consequences of speaking out, Sarah made her decision. She could not tell him now or ever what had happened during his absence. She alone must bear the responsibility for leaving Chewton Leigh.

  ‘There was an argument,’ she said lamely. ‘I thought it best that I should leave. That’s all.’

  ‘An argument? What about?’

  She experienced a moment’s panic. The sun was growing hot now; its brightness was beginning to make her head ache.

  ‘Oh we don’t have to go into it all now do we?’ she begged. ‘It’s so long ago. It’s past history.’

  For a moment Gilbert’s eyes held hers and she thought that even now he was going to refuse to let the matter drop. Then he sighed and nodded, a trifle brusquely.

  ‘Very well. If you do not feel able to confide in me then I suppose we must leave it at that.’

  The silence hung awkwardly between them for a moment and illogically Sarah felt bereft suddenly as if she had closed the door for the last time on her life at Chewton Leigh. As a drowning man sees his past life flash before his eyes so all the things she had known and loved were suddenly there like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzl
e, bittersweet and hauntingly evocative – the rolling green hills and the cool shaded lake, the winding lanes thick with cow parsley, the meadows, yellow with buttercups, where she had run and played as a child and later cantered with Sweet Lass. The thought of the horse she had loved was the most poignant of all; she was overcome with longing to feel the gentle nose nuzzle her again, searching for the sugar lumps Sarah always took to her, and to bury her face in the firm column of the strawberry roan’s neck.

  ‘How is Sweet Lass?’ she asked before she could stop herself.

  A small muscle moved in Gilbert’s cheek. His expression was inscrutable. ‘She still misses you, I think. She had a fine foal – Baron, we called him. Alicia took him over. She broke him herself and rides him whenever she has time.’

  Sarah nodded. It hurt to think of Alicia taking Sweet Lass’s foal for her own. But Alicia was good with horses. It was one of her redeeming features. And since she was no longer there herself … She swallowed at the lump which had risen in her throat.

  ‘I suppose,’ Gilbert said suddenly, ‘that it would do no good if I asked you to come home?’

  Her heart leaped. Home! Yes, in spite of everything it was still just that and something deep within her yearned towards it as if drawn by an unseen magnet. But too much had happened. The barriers were too great to surmount. Her life was here now.

  ‘I can’t do that,’ she said quietly. ‘But thank you for asking me.’

  He nodded. His throat was full suddenly.

  ‘I understand, Sarah. But don’t forget, will you, that we still care for you very much. Any time you feel ready to come home we shall be ready to welcome you. And if you ever need anything, or are in any sort of trouble, don’t hesitate to contact me.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said huskily, realising the interview was coming to an end and wishing with all her heart that she could throw her arms around Gilbert and tell him how grateful she was for all he had done for her and how much it had meant to her to see him today. But theirs had never been a physical relationship and the barrier of habit was yet another which was insuperable.