The Reluctant Rake

by Jane Ashford

William gritted his teeth. “Susan’s cat. Daisy is to cats what Growser is to dogs, more or less.”

  “Indeed?” Marianne couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Except that he has the foulest temper of any cat I’ve ever seen.”

  “He?” wondered Marianne delicately.

  But William merely nodded.

  “By Jove, this is too much!” exploded Tony. “I plan a simple outing, with no fuss, and it turns into a deuced circus. What next, I wonder? An elephant? Growser don’t like cats.”

  “Mr. Brinmore! How very disobliging of you,” Marianne declared.

  “It’s all very well for you,” he retorted savagely. “You can just sit there and laugh. But if Growser eats her rubbishing cat, I’ll be responsible. And I can tell you I don’t relish taking on Miss Wyndham. She’d cut me to ribbons.”

  William made an inarticulate noise compounded of agreement and amusement, and Marianne dissolved in helpless laughter.

  As Tony turned to glare at her, Susan emerged carrying a basket from which protruded a ginger-colored feline head. Growser, who had been sitting patiently on the cobblestones, stood alertly.

  “Oh, Lord,” said Tony again.

  Susan glanced at him with disdain, then walked directly up to the dog and extended her burden to within an inch of his nose. Daisy lifted his forequarters above the rim of the basket, and for an eternal moment the two animals contemplated one another. The three observers braced themselves for disaster.

  Amazingly, it did not come. Daisy and Growser appeared to come to some sort of unspoken understanding; then Daisy subsided into the basket and Growser sank back on his haunches.

  Even Susan was astonished. She had, William thought ruefully, expected to kick up a row. She probably would have enjoyed it.

  “Upon my soul!” said Tony. “I’ve never seen anything like that in my life.”

  “Certainly not from Daisy,” agreed William.

  “Can it be because they are both old?” wondered Marianne, for it was obvious that Daisy was also well along in years. “Perhaps they are too experienced to…”

  “Growser chased my sister’s cat up into the hayloft not a month since,” put in Tony.

  “Well, whatever it is, it’s deuced lucky for us,” concluded William, and the other two nodded.

  “William,” said Susan, “are you going to help me mount, or not?”

  They rode through the streets at a good pace, for they were now considerably behind the time Tony had set, and he urged them on with threats that they would miss everything. Growser, though he seemed suspicious of many of the denizens of London, had no trouble keeping pace, and Daisy observed the passing scene with cynical enjoyment from his privileged position before Susan.

  They reached the edge of Hampstead Heath before noon and found the ascension well under way. The scarlet balloon lay on its side in an open meadow, and a group of men surrounded its basket with various mysterious machines. The bag was about half full, and swelling with each moment.

  “Oh, I’m glad we arrived early,” said Marianne. “Now we can watch them fill it.”

  “Early!” exclaimed Tony. “We’ve missed some of the best parts. I meant to help them lay out the bag on the ground.”

  “You have done so before?”

  “Many times, at home. There’s a man nearby who has been experimenting with balloons since soon after I went to live there. He says someday we will fly from place to place rather than riding.”

  “I shan’t,” said Susan positively. “How does it go up? I don’t understand.”

  “They fill the balloon with heated air, which makes it lighter,” replied Tony, “and it rises like a bubble in water.”

  William and Marianne exchanged a glance; this seemed a remarkably lucid and informed explanation.

  “How could anything be lighter than air?” scoffed Susan. “Air is just…nothing.” She waved her hand about to demonstrate.

  “No, it isn’t,” replied Tony. “It’s made of…well, different things. I don’t recall exactly.”

  Susan shook her head, unconvinced.

  “Well, how do you think they get up, then?” asked Tony, stung.

  “I don’t know that they do. I’ve never seen any such thing.”

  He gaped. “Are you telling me you don’t believe balloons can fly? That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever—”

  “Look,” interrupted William to prevent an open quarrel. “That must be the man who is to go up.”

  “By Jove, it’s Crispin!” exclaimed Tony.

  “You know him?”

  “Yes. He assisted at one of the ascensions at home. I must speak to him.” Tony swung down and strode off before any of the others could speak.

  “He might have asked us to come along,” complained Susan.

  “They don’t want a crowd near the balloon,” answered William. “Look, there’s a little hill over there. We can dismount and still see everything. Come.”

  They moved to this vantage point and secured their horses among some trees behind the knoll. Growser, who had accompanied them, at once set off to explore, and as he did not seem inclined to stay out of sight for any long period of time, they left him to it.

  “This is fine,” pronounced William. “We can see everything quite well. We might even sit on the grass.” He looked to Marianne questioningly.

  She assented by doing so. The turf was dry and warmed by the morning sun, and even seated, their elevated position gave them a good view.

  “We’re too far off to see properly,” complained Susan, still standing, Daisy’s basket hooked over her arm.

  “Nonsense,” replied her brother. “It’s much easier to tell what’s going on from here. We can sort things out. Look, the balloon is beginning to rise from the ground.”

  They all watched as the great gas bag hesitantly lifted. Gradually, by fits and starts, it shifted from horizontal to vertical, floating above its wicker hamper.

  “Oh,” said Susan when it at last towered above them. She sank down beside the others and stared upward.

  “Impressive,” commented William.

  “I’m always amazed when I see a balloon,” agreed Marianne. “I wonder how anyone could have thought of such a thing. There seem to be so many intricate parts, and such calculations involved.” She gestured toward the lacing of guy wires and ropes, the machinery on the ground, and the red sphere now flowering above them. “I can see how one might invent any one, but the whole?” She shook her head, and William nodded.

  “Look,” said Susan, pointing. “Mr. Brinmore is helping them.” Tony was indeed working with the team of men preparing for the ascent, and he appeared to know exactly what he was doing.

  They watched in silence for a while. The balloon began to strain upward on its ropes, as if eager to leave the earth. Daisy, whose basket had been placed on the grass before Susan, took advantage of their preoccupation to climb out and examine his surroundings.

  At last, all seemed ready. The aeronaut clambered into the car, and his helpers moved back a bit, their hands on the ropes. Only Tony remained close, chatting with the man. The three on the hill stood again in sheer excitement; the ascent seemed imminent.

  Without warning, a mass of shaggy, brown fur erupted from the wood behind the meadow and pelted toward Tony. Before anyone even saw to give warning, Growser had passed the circle of men and hurled himself on his master, in some mistaken effort, perhaps, to lend him aid. Tony, taken utterly by surprise, fell back under the onslaught, and Growser’s momentum carried the dog on, right into the balloon’s car. At that moment, by prearrangement, the men holding the ropes let go, and the balloon leapt upward.

  They heard Tony’s shout all across the meadow. His friends saw him jump wildly to catch one of the trailing lines, and fail. William rushed down to join him, but by this time the balloon was well out of r
each.

  “How dreadful,” said Marianne. Gazing upward, her eyes shaded from the sun, she could just see Growser. The balloonist was apparently restraining the dog from leaping out of the car again. “We should have watched him more carefully.”

  “He should take care of his own dog,” retorted Susan, and this thought leading naturally to another, she looked down. “Daisy is gone!”

  Several minutes of complete disorder followed. Tony and William remained among the balloon crew, calculating the direction the vehicle was likely to take and its probable place of descent. Marianne and Susan scoured the nearby wood for the cat, Marianne growing more and more exasperated. Finally, when she heard William calling their names, she said, “He might be anywhere, even in a tree. We’ll never find him. I’m going back to see what your brother means to do now.”

  “You can’t just give up!”

  “Can I not?” Marianne turned and picked her way back toward the meadow, holding up the trailing skirts of her riding habit and railing silently each time they were snagged on a branch or weed. It did nothing to improve her temper when, just at the edge of the trees, her hat caught and was pulled nearly from her head, leaving her hair in disarray.

  Thus, when William greeted her by saying, “Whatever have you been doing?” she snapped, “Searching for your sister’s wretched cat!” in a tone that left no doubt as to her opinion of wandering pets.

  William looked puzzled, then simply pointed to the top of the knoll, where Daisy’s basket still sat. In it, looking hugely self-congratulatory, sat Daisy himself. As Marianne watched, he began to clean his front paw, oozing virtue.

  Marianne put her face in her hands and made an exasperated noise. Then, looking up again, she began to laugh. “Why haven’t you wrung that animal’s neck long since?”

  “Susan wouldn’t let me,” replied William, unsurprised by the question.

  “Well, you must find her now, and I do not intend to help you.” Marianne strode determinedly to the little hill, sat down beside Daisy, and fixed him with a baleful stare. “You can bring her back here.”

  Hiding a smile, William set off in the direction from which Marianne had emerged. He’d scarcely left when Tony approached the knoll. “Where is everyone?” he asked in aggrieved tones.

  Marianne did not care to discuss this. “What are you going to do? Growser will be all right, won’t he?”

  “As long as Crispin keeps him in the car. I’m going after him, of course.”

  “But how will you find him?”

  “The direction and speed of the wind give one a pretty good idea where he will come down. And I shall follow the balloon.” He spoke absently, most of his attention on the floating sphere, which would soon be out of sight behind the trees. “I must go. Will you tell the others, please?”

  “Can we not help?”

  Tony shook his head, still focused on the balloon, and went to fetch his horse. William and Susan returned as he was mounting up.

  “We’ll all go,” insisted Susan when his plan was repeated.

  “No,” said Tony flatly, and it was clear that he would brook no argument.

  “I should come, at least,” added William, “but…”

  “You must escort the girls home,” finished Tony. “Besides, I don’t need help.”

  William, who obviously very much wished to go, help or no, could not dispute this, though Marianne halfheartedly protested that they could return home on their own. In fact, she did not relish the idea at all.

  Tony had turned his mount and started off when a high-pitched voice from behind them hailed Marianne. Turning, she scanned the crowd quickly, then answered, “Mrs. Gregg, how do you do?”

  “Did you see the balloon? Such excitement. A dog jumped in; at least, I believe it was a dog.”

  Marianne nodded.

  “Have you no carriage?” Mrs. Gregg seemed shocked by this. “But you cannot ride so far. Come with me. There is plenty of room.”

  Under any other circumstances, Marianne wouldn’t have considered it. But she saw William’s eager look, quickly suppressed, and resigned herself to the drive with a woman she did not much like. As soon as she accepted, William grinned delightedly, saluted her, and rode off before Susan could object, as he was certain she would. It was left only for the girls to tie their horses to the back of Mrs. Gregg’s barouche and climb in.

  “Why did you say yes?” hissed Susan furiously as they did so. “We might just as well have gone with William. Or ridden home alone.”

  “Shh,” replied Marianne. “She will hear.”

  “I don’t care if she does.”

  “Well, you should. Mrs. Gregg is one of the greatest gossips in the ton. She knows everything that goes on, and everyone listens to her.”

  This gave Susan pause, and she said no more as they walked around to the door of the barouche. They took the forward seat, as Mrs. Gregg and her female companion occupied the other, and Marianne staunchly resisted the former’s attempts to shift her browbeaten friend to the less comfortable position. As soon as they settled, Mrs. Gregg signaled departure. “For I am promised to the Duchess of Devonshire for tea, my dears.”

  They talked at first of the ascension, Mrs. Gregg speculating about the disruption and the girls not letting on that they knew any of the participants. This subject exhausted, their hostess turned to contemplate her passengers. “You are two very famous young ladies now, you know,” she said, her tone teasing but not benevolent. “Your trick of wearing the same dress to the Millshires’ ball is causing all sorts of talk.”

  Marianne felt Susan stiffen beside her, and wished they had ridden home after all. “It was a good joke, wasn’t it?” she said lightly.

  Mrs. Gregg tittered. “Prodigious good. But you know the strangest thing? Though the story is that you are dearest friends, I swear I never heard Lady Marianne mention Miss Wyndham before now.”

  “Susan was in the country,” answered Marianne as if surprised. “There was no occasion to mention her. I know how tedious it is to be always talking of absent friends with whom one’s listeners are unacquainted.”

  “Very true,” acknowledged Mrs. Gregg, who often did so. “Still, it seems queer.” She looked from one to the other of the girls. “Wyndham. Now, that name is familiar. Where can I have heard it?” She made a great show of pondering this question. “I have it! Sybil Goring’s daughter married a Wyndham. And was she not in town for the Season several years ago? Yes, that’s it.” She allowed a look of surprise to cross her sharp features. “Oh, my, yes. Well! You do have a great deal in common, don’t you?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Susan, sensing some slight to her mother.

  Mrs. Gregg raised her thin eyebrows. “You are Anabel Wyndham’s daughter?”

  “Yes.” Susan was truculent. Marianne tried to catch her eye, and failed.

  “Well, Anabel jilted Norbury, you know. One of the most brilliant matches in England. It was a nine days’ wonder. And then, of course, Lady Marianne did the same last season.” She tittered again. “Not Norbury, poor man. He is long since married and, they say, sadly afflicted by the gout. But Devere. It comes to the same thing. Amazing.” She paused, gauging the effect of her words on them. “And then both your mothers have married a second time. I always say that more than one marriage is, well, a bit excessive.”

  “It is certainly more than most can manage,” replied Marianne dryly. Mrs. Gregg, who was said to have tyrannized over her late husband in the most shocking manner, was notorious for her relentless pursuit of another.

  “The indulgence of calf love is so rare past a certain age,” retorted the older woman. “And a trifle odd, don’t you think?”

  This time Marianne stiffened, at this clear hit at her mother. Both girls were by this time thoroughly incensed, a condition which drew them together.

  Mrs. Gregg, seeing it, smiled a
predatory smile. This was her invariable method. She had found that making people furiously angry often elicited the most interesting tidbits. They said things in the heat of rage that they would not have dreamed of uttering with a cool head. And it was obvious that Susan Wyndham, at least, was prime material.

  Marianne realized it also, and with a supreme effort, she controlled her anger. There could be no satisfaction in lashing out at Lavinia Gregg. One’s heated remarks would only be retailed to the ton and mocked. But how, she wondered, was she to convey this to Susan, who was clearly choking with rage. She racked her brain, but could think of nothing. Then, providentially, she happened to glance down. Daisy’s basket had been placed on the floor of the barouche, between her feet and Susan’s. It had been carefully closed, but now she nudged it with her toe. The lid moved a little.

  Susan felt it, and also looked down. Marianne pushed the basket again, at the same time turning to gaze innocently out at the passing countryside. Susan looked startled for a moment, then slowly began to smile. The basket was concealed by their skirts, and neither of the others could see as she added her efforts to Marianne’s.

  Disappointed by their silence, Mrs. Gregg tried again. “There is something so, ah, ridiculous, about an older person mooning about in public, don’t you think? Why, I—” Her voice rose to a screech as Daisy catapulted from his basket, enraged by the jostling, and snarled himself thoroughly in the ladies’ mingled skirts.

  “Oh dear,” exclaimed Marianne, her voice shaking with suppressed laughter. “Susan’s cat has gotten loose.”

  Daisy hissed and fought with tooth and claw to free himself from the mass of gown and petticoat, entangling himself still further.

  “Ow, ow,” squealed Mrs. Gregg. “It is biting me! Get it away!”

  “Daisy, Daisy, stop it this instant,” declared Susan, bending as if to free the cat, but in reality hiding paroxysms of giggles. Seeing her shaking shoulders, Marianne put a hand on her back to keep her down.

  Mrs. Gregg’s companion, hitherto totally silent, now began to scream at the top of her lungs, as Daisy worked his way deeper into the flounces. The coachman pulled up in consternation, and several passing riders paused and stared.