Read Online When a Rake Falls by Sally Orr - Free Book Online

tomorrow.”
    He pulled the pigeon close. “My fault the butterfly died.” He draped a corner of the oilcloth over the pigeon’s cage and took a deep breath. “Miss Mountfloy, I owe you an apology. In my excitement to succeed, I clearly was not thinking properly. I should never have attempted this tomfool plan. Without a doubt, you were right. We should have landed after the experiments were finished.” He stared up at the dark shadow of the balloon overhead. “If your warnings come to pass and something happens, I will become a famous Lord Parker, but once again, for all of the wrong reasons. You have to believe me. I meant you no harm. Please forgive me.”
    She twisted to face him. “After we lifted off the ground, I suppose neither one of us contemplated our actions very deeply. Or if we did, we were blinded by the allure of success. I agreed to the journey too, remember? I guess being the first female to cross the English Channel appealed to me. You know…bask in the fame. Perhaps that fame would earn us wealthy supporters to fund our research. All those ambitions seem silly now.” She bit her lower lip.
    He nodded, unable to say anything more. Regrets tasted like a sour lozenge that refused to dissolve. He should have been wiser and never have attempted this havey-cavey scheme in the first place. “Can we let out the gas and still land on solid ground?”
    She pulled the oilcloth tighter around them. “I don’t think so. Not on English soil anyway. We are too high. If we descend immediately, by the time enough gas escapes to land, we will be over the Channel. That is if the valve works and is not frozen shut. Our chances of survival are better if we keep our altitude as long as possible—at least until we are well over France. Right now our biggest threat is from the cold and the rarefied air. Aeronauts can lose consciousness in thin air. This has never happened to me, but we will be at a high altitude for a long time. My advice is to do your best not to fall asleep and huddle to conserve heat. We should keep up the conversation, as well, to keep each other awake.”
    â€œHow about a hymn for the butterfly?”
    â€œLet’s try and be positive, start with normal conversation first. Later we will reevaluate our circumstances. Of course, if it gets too cold, we’ll dance our jig.”
    After the butterfly’s death, he had felt like a rudderless ship, but her calm, optimistic words banished his doldrums. He squeezed her affectionately. “Thank you. I promise to stay awake. In order to do so, tell me about yourself, your father, your friends”—he hugged her again—“any suitors vying to claim your pretty hand?”
    He expected her to blush, but her features remained ghostly white. She was probably too cold to blush.
    â€œNo, my responsibilities are to my father and our research, so I am not seeking suitors. Mostly, except for ascension days, I live a quiet life, reading scientific journals, a cat upon my lap.”
    â€œTell me about your father. How did he become an aeronaut?”
    She looked up at the swaying, dark balloon. “He wasn’t, not at first, but after my brother died…” She placed her head on his shoulder. “Warmer just here.” She swallowed audibly. “His name was Thomas, like our father. When Tom died, my mother fell into a decline. Normal low spirits from her grief, we thought, but she faded a little every day. Six months after Tom’s death, she died.”
    He tightened his arms around her.
    â€œMy father studied aerostation then. He once worked for Parliament and had previous dealings with the Royal Society, so he knew everyone there. After training with other aeronauts, he started his own research. Now he rarely mentions either my mother or brother. Sometimes though, I see him examining my face. I’ve been told I resemble my mother, so perhaps he is remembering