"They are heating the air inside the envelope to make it lift," he informed her as they walked past a huge basket roped to the balloon membrane outside a second gap in the brick edifice.
"Thank you," Fleur replied sweetly. "We are so dense in Normandy, I doubt I could have worked that out for myself."
"Then I am glad I enlightened you, citizeness," he countered, his imperious hand urging her forwards again. The golden-brown eyes were speculative. "The more obnoxious the smell, the greater the lift... apparently."
"If that is the theory, Citizen de Villaret, this stench should lift your friend's balloon over the rainbow. Are we sending citizen mice up too?" One attendant was releasing small balloons over the heads of the fidgeting populace.
Her guide ignored her sarcasm, kicking at a guy rope with his buckled shoe. "To check the wind direction with their tails?" The maddening gaze rose up her skirts. "It's been done already. Mice and dogs." This prompted him to turn his head in Thomas's direction. "Tiens, tiens, your guard mastiff seems to have found an attractive bone. Shall you whistle him to heel or can you trust a deputy of the people to look after your virtue for a little longer?"
Fleur followed his stare; her chef's sudden animation over a second cup of cordial was rather touching. "As you wish, Citizen Deputy," she murmured with appropriate meekness, and, aware that her escort was watching her every move, she endeavoured to open her new parasol, hoping it might deflect his scrutiny. "Please, I should hate to detain you from more enticing pursuits, citizen."
"You mean seducing La Coquette? Permit me, citizeness." He removed the sunshade from her clasp; a scarlet pagoda swiftly flowered across the spines.
"Oh, how disappointing," she purred, twirling it before she settled it against her shoulder. "The seller swore it was inscribed with the wit of the Convention." And before de Villaret could manage a reply, she tugged off her glove and sank gracefully, her ebony skirts billowing, to test the texture of the balloon skin. Seduce La Coquette! Her heart was resounding so much like a regimental drum that it was necessary—and safer—to inspect the fabric with a display of deep interest.
"Fascinating." She held out her hand for him to assist her to her feet.
"I think so." The answer hid layers of meaning. His touch even through her glove shook her equilibrium. "Do you want me to explain how all this works?"
"You fear my woman's brain might be strained in the attempt, citizen?"
"Is that a possibility?" he retorted so straight-faced that he made her laugh. "That is better. Stop peppering me with grapeshot, Citizeness Bosanquet. I have a thick skin. Besides, I would have hardly invited you as well as La Coquette if I found your company tedious. Shall I show you the ropes?" he asked dryly, but the brief twist of his lips implied there was more to be explored between them.
"Yes, if you please, citizen." Fleur beamed with sufficient innocence to confuse him. Just you try! Safely chaperoned by Thomas and the crowd, she could momentarily afford the game, although she was wondering what the ground rules were. Neither Columbine or Juanita had materialised in a froth of perfumed expertise to lure him from her side.
At least it was flattering to be thought worthy of a lecture salted with measurements, formulas and proportions as they walked round the swelling membrane and inspected the large willow basket, which was to carry the aviators. Fleur listened, sincerely interested, while Citizen de Villaret, with masculine delight in detail, persisted in explaining the dynamics of shifting three men. It was a conversation safe from sedition or seduction, and as the fabric before her began to take on a force of its own like a troubled ocean, Fleur mistakenly forgot to be on guard. With all the happy excitement of a nineteen year old, she waved her parasol across to where Thomas lingered with the lemonade-seller.
"Pray, excuse me, citizeness. I will find out how much time is left." De Villaret left her. She waited, feeling at ease, glad that the weather had not turned fickle. To be sure there were a few drowsy clouds moving very slowly, but the morning was warm now and the air tranquil.
A roar of approval broke from the crowd as the huge balloon slowly heaved itself free of the ground and rose majestically above the basket. Fleur caught her breath, impressed at how immense it looked. De Villaret, shielding his eyes with a broadsheet, was staring upwards, as rapt as Deputy Boissy, who signalled imperiously to one of the stokers. The workman cast aside his shovel and climbed into the basket. Fleur wondered who else would join him and whether they would be coerced, for she doubted someone like Boissy would risk his own skin. Mind, there were precedents: her papa had once told her that when M. Rosier had made his first ascent in a free balloon back in '83, he had planned to use two convicted criminals, but he had changed his mind at the last minute and made the ascent himself.
Or did they have a more spectacular passenger in mind? The smile slid from Fleur's face as a new thought hit her. De Villaret had mentioned an actress named Mme Thible, a daring creature who had ascended to a height of nine thousand feet with no less a witness to admire her valour than the King of Sweden. Surely de Villaret had not cajoled Columbine into making a spectacular arrival as La Coquette. Could that be why he had invited her as well, to witness her protegee's magnificent ascent?
The deputy returned, eyes alight with challenge. "Boissy says you may step inside the gondola if you wish." Her ignorance amused him. "The basket, citizeness!" he enlightened her. "It is quite secure. I have just checked the anchoring to be sure."
"How kind of your friend." Fleur was genuinely touched by the thought. "And I am not afraid, citizen," she declared, countering the teasing challenge in his eyes. No, she could have skipped in delight as they circumnavigated the ascent area back to the gondola. To be sure, standing beneath such a globe of air was somewhat daunting but it was still safely tethered and presumably there would be a little wicker gate that you could—
"Oh!" she squeaked in shock as the deputy's strong arms swung her high, well clear of the side, and planted her, feet first, into the basket. Blushing, she virtuously straightened her bodice, ignoring de Villaret's amusement.
"I am told this gondola is far smaller than the one Montgolfier used." He folded her escaped sunshade and handed it across the leather-clad edge that separated them like a country stile. "How does it feel?"
"Formidable!" Fleur beamed across to where Thomas and Deputy Gensonné stood talking to the people beyond the cordon of guards, and gestured in marvel at the huge bubble of hot air above her. Then she remembered her manners.
"Thank you for permitting me aboard," she called out to the balloon's owner.
Boissy, testing the ties on the canvas bags attached to the outside of the gondola, straightened, blew the hair out of his eyes, and jerked his head meaningfully towards a half-dozen yelling boys who had broken through the cordon and were chasing each other among the ropes. "Deal with them, Raoul, before someone gets hurt!"
The basket was divided into two compartments and Fleur turned to greet the occupant on the other side, a broad fellow with pepper-and-salt hair cropped short. This was the pilot, she supposed, but he had his back to her.
"Bonjour, citizen."
He grunted, too busy fiddling with the ropes. Just another surly sans-culotte in leather waistcoat and greasy cap. Oh well, thought Fleur, determined not to feel uncomfortable; best to observe what she could before the men removed her like unwanted ballast. Then the fellow turned. It was the workman who had stalked her in Caen!
Panic shot though her. It was an effort to resist crossing herself. Instead her hands coiled into fists. So Raoul de Villaret had suspected her from the start. The catapult, the threats in the carriage and now this? What cruel game was he playing?
"Scared, Citizeness Bosanquet?" asked the sans-culotte insolently. His hedgehog eyes were the sort that didn't open wide.
Fleur shook her head and tried to behave with nonchalance. "The compartment is roomier than I expected," she remarked, turning slowly. It was sufficient for three thin people to stand with elbow room. H
essian tableclothed a board that shifted under her soles like a boat as hot air surges buffeted the balloon, and a cold object rolled against her ankle. "Oh," she exclaimed in astonishment, stepping back. "It's champagne!"
"Pass it to me!"The pilot seized the bottle, wrapped it in his jacket and stashed it down beside him.
The massive bladder of air was straining to lift further. The activity around the balloon intensified.
"W-wherever will you land?" she asked.
"Wherever the bloody thing decides to come down, citizeness. I could be meeting the Supreme Being in a matter of minutes. Nice thought, hein?" So it was that dangerous. No wonder the fellow looked so resentful. Then the heavy moustache wriggled and he laughed. "It's not going anywhere, citizeness. Didn't they tell you it's not a free flight? We could be tethered halfway to heaven for bloody hours."
A tethered ascent? How disappointing! She wondered uneasily whether the fickle crowd was aware that the performance would be tediously static, unless the balloon casing ripped or caught fire. The people were growling already. No, they weren't; the noise from the crowd was laughter, for the wicked urchins were running hither and thither, screaming in glee. All the attendants were after them now. Fleur bit her lip, trying to hide her amusement. Boissy and Gensonné had given chase as well, but the boys ducked through the ropes and dodged like rabbits. As fast as one was caught and thrust back into the crowd, he wriggled free and sprinted back into the melee. It was good-natured. Several of the soldiers broke rank to help and the spectators, opportunistic like all crowds, pushed closer.
The basket shifted. Fleur, alarmed by the increasing determination of the balloon to heave free, began to wonder if she should try to scramble out, but there were no toeholds in the wicker wall for a lady to manage the breast-high barrier on her own with dignity. She glanced around for de Villaret and saw him and a workman fall sprawling across the anchor rope in a tangle of boots and fists.
"Perhaps you could help me to disembark," she called to the pilot as the basket lurched more violently, but he was frantically grabbing at the ropes. She heard Thomas's voice, glimpsed him trying to break past the national guard who were using their muskets now to force back the crowd. De Villaret was shouting too, running back towards them. She grabbed the side in panic, determined to scramble out at any cost, but the gondola jerked up into the air, tossing her backwards into the bottom of the basket. The crowd screamed.
Fleur struggled onto her hands and knees. With a gasp, she grabbed the leather edge and hauled herself up, only to utter a peasant exclamation at the carpet of upturned faces with mouths like nesting holes beneath her. The basket was head-height and rising fast.
Good God! No wonder people were shouting. It was not just the spectacle; de Villaret had seized the loosened anchor rope and was being carried along beneath the gondola like a human pendant. Already they were too far above the ground for him to jump to safety.
"Take it down this instant!" she yelled at the pilot but he seemed mesmerised by de Villaret's plight. "He will be killed. Do something!"
"How can I, woman? This arse of a thing won't take orders."
The balloon was sweeping sideways. Boissy and Gensonné were running after it across the grass, trying to grab the other trailing ropes but already these were well beyond their reach. It was heading for the woods! Merciful God! De Villaret would be smashed into the upper branches and there was nothing she could do.
But the deputy had a strong grip and the will to live. Hand over hand, heels clinching the rope like a sailor's, he managed to haul himself up until he was parallel with the basket. Kicking his legs up sideways, he struggled to pull himself up over the wicker barrier but the balloon was lifting at a more alarming rate. Fleur grabbed the deputy's arms. The loose folds of his shirt slithered from her grasp. With a grimace, he heaved himself up and she seized his elbow and pulled. No use. Dear God! The balloon, out of control, was at the air's mercy. They were above the canopy of the trees now. She might be glad of de Villaret out of her life, but not this way!
"Please, don't let go! You mustn't let go," she cried, looking round frantically for help. The sans-culotte was leaning out perilously over the opposite edge in a vain effort to tilt the gondola. With a supreme effort, de Villaret shifted his hands along the rail to the corner where a sandbag dangled. It briefly gave him the hold he needed. With Fleur tugging at him in a massive effort, his arrival in the gondola was swift and sudden and the pair of them went tumbling down in a tangle of skirts and folded parasol. The air slapped out of Fleur's lungs as his weight fell across her and the loud bravos somewhere below turned to bawdy whistles. It was worse than being jammed in a laundry basket.
"Thank you, citizeness." De Villaret's voice sounded cool as he eased himself slowly onto his elbows, but pearls of sweat glittered on his forehead.
"You are crushing me, citizen," Fleur pointed out huskily. It was not amusing to be his mattress; one of his thighs was heavy across her hip and his right knee was lying between hers.
"My apologies." The arrogant deputy made no attempt to shift himself. His gaze was bemused. Or maybe it was shock, she decided forgivingly, wriggling to extricate herself from such compromising proximity. The strong wrists that had saved his life seemed to be accidentally braceletting hers. Being straddled twenty foot above the ground by a dazed republican, with a balloonist sniggering at her, was not to be endured.
"I have had enough of these games. Take us down this instant!" she exclaimed to the balloon's incompetent pilot.
"Oh, to be sure, citizeness!" muttered the sans-culotte. "Has she a mouse's turd for a brain? I told her already there's no driving the bloody thing."
"Altitude sickness." The humour was an effort; de Villaret's expression was strained. "Citizeness?" His elegant fingers repositioned themselves, offering assistance. Chivalry from a revolutionary who had helped to demolish a monarchy? Fleur, with little choice, placed her hands in his and was drawn to her feet. The pilot muttered crudely.
"Go to the devil!" de Villaret snarled. The mischievous responding shrug argued the fellow's amusement; colour was seeping back beneath the workman's stubble.
Fleur ranged herself supportively beside her escort to glare at the offender. Then the unpleasant thought struck her that de Villaret was quite capable of planning such a clever spectacle.
"Did you organise this?"
"No!" Her escort's voice was pure ice. "Do I strike you as suicidal? Did you? The scandal will bring your patrons flocking, though you may not live to enjoy—Oh, mon Dieu!" His indignant scowl was vanquished by an expression of absolute wonder. About to slap him, Fleur dragged her disconcerted glare from his face and looked down.
"Oh, oh!" she whispered in utter awe.
In unexpected unison, all three of them gazed in enchantment at the passing canopy of the oak trees far below their feet.
"Wave to your chef, reassure him," de Villaret advised, finally breaking the silence, his withering tone undeterred by the adventure. "Or are you in danger of losing your breakfast?"
"I-I cannot see him." The field of the ascent was already hidden.
"He will see you, though. It may inspire him. Eggs à la ballon, perhaps." He was smiling broadly now. St Michael, returning with angelic sweat after driving Lucifer from heaven, might have smirked with equal exhilaration.
She laughed at the absurdity, patting the rim of the gondola with excited palms, and because the progress of the balloon was so stately, forgot for a few moments to be afraid. "Oh, this is wonderful, wonderful. It is so incredibly gentle."
The world as she had never seen it lay spread out for her delight. To the right she glimpsed a small, pretty mansion, like a doll's house, with a walled garden and lily ponds. To her left a looking-glass glimmer betrayed a lake, and a flutter of ducks rose towards them. Roads, narrow as ribbons, stretched like lacing across the forest. The man beside her seemed as entranced as she was. Below them a small herd of deer fled daintily into the trees.
"This must
be how birds see the world," she cried excitedly.
"I wonder. Their eyes are positioned at the side compared to ours. Look there! No, there, see the rabbit? Now if I were a hawk." He pressed fingers over his right eye in experiment. Oh yes, he would swoop.
"I am thankful you are not!" Fleur exclaimed, and watched the creature streak safely across the grass.
They were moving serenely but at a remarkable speed considering it was so calm. While the basket had been tethered upon the ground there had been no movement in the air at all, but now the balloon seemed like a dandelion seed blown by some gigantic invisible breath. And it was still soaring. In an instant the oaks would be as small as models in a child's toy farmyard.
De Villaret might be awed with pleasure but he frequently stared up inside the balloon as if to check the integrity of the fabric. There was some unspoken communication between him and the pilot. It was clearly he, not the sans-culotte, who had a better understanding of how the thing must be managed.
Realisation struck Fleur. Already her ears were hurting and she wondered if a human head might explode at a certain height. She swallowed in fear and then realised doing so eased the pain but not her growing terror. The great bladder would rise and rise until the air within the thin membrane starting cooling and then it would plummet. At least one nobleman had died already in a ballooning experiment. She gulped again to clear her hearing and wondered how fast they would fall. The best would be to be killed instantly, the worst to be crippled.
De Villaret set his hand over her whitening knuckles. "I see you realise how dangerous this is."
Fleur met his gaze. "Yes, but it will be a magnificent way to die."
Fleur-de-Lis Page 20
