Sovay (26 page)

‘Fast now! The bag is filled with hydrogen,’ Virgil called. ‘If we cannot free ourselves, it will go up like a fire balloon.’

The last cord gave and the balloon lurched, bumping across the floor of the tower. It began to ascend, but the blast of hot air rising up the spiral staircase caused it to veer sharply and the base of the gondola became caught on one of the pinnacles at the corner of the parapet.

Virgil grabbed a pole and pushed frantically but the gondola would not budge.

‘There’s no help for it.’ He threw the pole from him. ‘I’ll have to climb out.’

‘No!’ Sovay shouted in horror, but the American was already over the side of the gondola and standing on the narrow crenulations of the battlements, some three hundred feet above the ground. A series of deep detonations caused the fabric of the tower to shudder beneath his feet. He hung onto the cords trailing from the sides of the gondola and swung himself inside the parapet. The cradle around the wickerwork base of the gondola had snagged on the decorative flourish that capped the pinnacle.

‘Sovay! Give me that pole!’

Sovay hung over the side to hand it to him.

‘A couple of knocks should do it. Move the sandbags over to the other side of the basket and then you and Hugh get over there when I shout. Be ready.’

Virgil secured the rope round his waist. He used the pole to push at the base of the gondola and work it free from the obstruction. Sparks flew about like fireflies, flakes of burning paper danced in the air, brought up on the fierce updraught from below. At any moment, one of them could alight on the balloon’s panels. It would take seconds for an ember to eat through the thin layer of rubberised silk and ignite the gas beneath. He tried to put such thoughts out of his head. He worked methodically, patiently levering the thickly plaited band of wicker away from the stone hook of the pinnacle. Any element of panic would render his actions futile, making it impossible to free the balloon and save its passengers.

The balloon wasn’t budging. The gondola was firmly hooked and the wind was holding it against the pinnacle. Time to try a different tack. He looked for a joint and dealt the thin spire one mighty crack and then another. One more blow and the pinnacle began to topple. He braced himself. He had to be ready. If he wasn’t ready, they were all doomed. He was the only one who knew how to fly the thing.

‘Now!’

Virgil’s voice came from below. Sovay rolled over to the opposite side from him, dragging Hugh with her. She’d already moved most of the sandbags. Indeed, so much weight had been shifted that the gondola yawed alarmingly and for a heart-stopping second Sovay thought that they might be tipped out. Then Virgil’s counterweight began to bite.

Sovay looked over to the opposite side of the gondola, expecting to see the American, but he wasn’t there. She scanned the wicker edge of the basket, thinking to see his hands there pulling himself back over to them, but there was no sign of that either. His weight was there, preventing the gondola from tipping, which must mean . . . Sovay’s eyes widened and her hand went to her mouth, stifling a gasp. Virgil must be hanging, helpless, unable to regain the safety of the gondola. They were floating free now, the tower somewhere below and to the side of them. How long would it be before he would be forced by weakness and exhaustion to let go and tumble to certain death many hundreds of feet below? She made ready to dash over, to see where he was, to offer assistance, when Hugh grabbed her arm.

‘If you do that, you’ll tip the basket and we’ll all tumble.’

‘I will be careful, Hugh, but I have to go.’

Sovay shook herself free and began edging slowly over to the other side of the gondola, ignoring her brother’s protests.

She leaned over the side of the gondola. Virgil was pulling himself, hand over hand, up the rope that he had secured round his waist. She reached down, ready to help pull him in to safety. Virgil took her hand and swung up to grab onto the side of the gondola. He hauled himself over, falling into her arms.

All about was the rush of black wings as the birds that haunted the tower rose in a dense cloud around them. The air was loud with their harsh cries as they ascended in a great beating of powerful wings. Their feathers flashed silver in the moonlight as they flew higher, wheeling above the tower. The birds, alerted by some ancient instinct, sensed that some dreadful disaster was about to occur.

‘Look!’ Virgil drew her to the side of the car. ‘Look down there.’

They were gaining height with every second and the abbey seemed to be plunging away from them, its elegant cruciform shape laid out like an architect’s drawing. Sovay could clearly see the cloisters and long galleries, the steeply pitched roof of the Great Entrance Hall, the rounded towers and square turrets, spiked with spires.

The impossibly tall tower stood proud, as slim as a pencil against the night sky. Suddenly, from deep within its narrow compass came a series of loud detonations. The whole length of it seemed to vibrate like a needle, as if shaken by an earthquake. Showers of sparks shot from the sides: white, blue, green, red and purple like a huge firework display. Saltpetre, black powder, phosphorus and sodium. Who knew what devil’s brew of chemicals he kept in his laboratory?

The fireworks were followed by great gouts of flame and further explosions. Sovay leaned out of the basket to see more, and then froze in an attitude of horror. With a great groan and a rending of timber and cement, the tower began to fall.

Far, far below figures, tiny as insects, had stood transfixed, as fascinated as they had been by the fireworks and flames and even more astonished to see a balloon sailing up into the night sky. Now they were scattering in every direction, running for their lives.

Hugh leaned over the other side of the gondola and they all stared down, trying to make out if any they knew were among the rushing figures scurrying on the ground. Their feelings of anxiety grew to a terrible sense of helplessness. The toppling tower would fall on friend and foe alike, and all the while they rose higher and higher, the wind bearing them away to the south.

CHAPTER
2
9

T
hey floated, suspended between earth and heaven, heading for who knew where. The wind took them steadily southward over a landscape illuminated by the brightness of the moon. Sovay stared down, fascinated. This was the world as few had ever seen it. Shadowy patterns of fields lay scrolled out beneath them, defined by dark, knotted lines of hedges and black smudges of woodland. The moonlight turned lakes into mirrors and the Thames ran like a wide silver ribbon, winding towards the slumbering city. Here and there lay single homesteads, the buildings as tiny as a child’s farm. Hamlets and villages huddled in clusters or lay strung out along the winding white threads of the roads. All full of sleeping people, quite unaware that they were being overlooked. Sometimes, the balloon swooped low enough to see the dark shapes of animals, horses and cows, standing in fields like slate statues, or sheep spread out over a hillside like scattered silk cocoons. Then, Virgil ordered sand to be emptied over the side and they would rise away again, up into the sky.

‘Where are we going?’ Hugh asked.

‘Where the wind takes us,’ Virgil replied. ‘Let us hope it holds in this southerly direction. We will land before daybreak. Then we will make for the coast and from there to France.’

‘Look! Look there!’

Sovay pointed backwards in the direction that they had come. A horseman was galloping below them, apparently following their progress across the countryside.

‘I see him!’ Hugh yelled, leaning out as far as he dared. ‘It must be Greenwood.’

He waved his kerchief and the horseman waved his hat.

‘It is!’ Sovay joined him. ‘I’m sure of it!’

She held onto the side of the basket, willing it to be him. Perhaps all had not perished in the terrible collapse of that monstrous tower. If he was alive, so might the others be: Lydia, Gabriel, Oldfield, Toby and his friends. Innocents caught in the machinery of Dysart’s evil intent. She had been weighed down by the thought that so many might have been killed. Now her spirit soared as the fear spilled from her like so much sand.

‘Dawn is coming.’ Virgil pointed to a smear of saffron just tingeing the eastern horizon. ‘I’ll look for a good place to land. We don’t want to be up in this thing when day comes. It would draw too much attention. I’ll try to come down in plain sight of him.’

Virgil released the valve which allowed the gas to escape and the ground rushed up towards them as cows scattered in every direction. The landing was smoother than Sovay expected. A gentle bumping of the basket spilled them out over the short grass of the low hillside.

Greenwood arrived soon after, leading his exhausted horse behind him.

‘You led me a merry dance.’ He threw himself on to the grass beside them. ‘It’s a good thing Toby has sharp eyes.’

The boy slid from the horse, staggering slightly as he reached the ground. Sovay asked after Gabriel and Lydia, praying that he would say that they were safe and well.

‘They were, when last I seen ’em. And together.’ His frown made furrows in the pale particles that still covered his face. ‘It were like the world was ending. Great chunks of stone tumbling through the air, dust everywhere. I was lucky the Captain had his wits about him or I’d have been caught up in it, like the others. Jack’s safe – he were wi’ me. Captain saved the both of us. Ma Pierce weren’t so lucky. All that was left was her wig sitting atop a pile of rubble. Must have been dead underneath, that’s my belief. Never seen alive without it, that’s a certainty.’

Toby gave a bleak little laugh. He owed her nothing. She’d brought misery and degradation into his short life and he was not inclined to show false sentiment. The world was better off without her, as far as he was concerned.

‘And Mr Oldfield?’ Sovay asked.

‘He’s safe,’ Greenwood nodded. ‘Busy rounding up the conspirators when I last saw him.’

There had been no sign of Dysart. Greenwood and Toby were jubilant. They both assumed that he had perished in the explosion. No one could have survived if they had been in the tower.

‘We have no proof of it,’ Hugh said. ‘The place was a warren of secret passages. He could have left before the tower caught fire.’

‘Even if he did survive,’ Greenwood argued, ‘he will be thoroughly discredited!’

‘Let us hope that is so,’ Virgil frowned. ‘But it would not do to dismiss him too soon and too lightly. Meanwhile, do you have any idea where we might be?’

‘In Kent,’ Greenwood replied. ‘I know the country pretty well. One of the reasons I’ve been able to follow you. There’s a town not too distant. I’ll ride to get horses. I know an inn there and the landlord owes me a favour.’ He rose and stretched. ‘Then I’ll be off back to London. See how things are with Mr Oldfield. I don’t know how he regards men of my profession,’ he gave a wry smile, ‘but I am prepared to offer him my services. Are you coming with me, young Toby?’

Toby had never been outside the city before. This was his first country excursion. The great expanse of green was making him nervous. The cows had gone back to their grazing, but they kept looking in his direction.

‘Reckon I will,’ he nodded. ‘If you don’t mind, miss.’

‘I don’t mind in the least.’ Sovay smiled. ‘You look after things for me there.’

Greenwood returned with horses and money to buy what they needed, for they had left Thursley with nothing. He would not accept refusal and would take no thanks.

‘It is only what you would do for me, if our places were reversed. Besides, what is money?’ he said with a smile. ‘I can get more easily enough. Where will you go now? What will you do?’

‘We will go to France,’ Virgil said. ‘But first I must go to Dover, to arrange for the necessary papers and a passage.’

‘Will you sail from there?’

‘No.’ The American shook his head. ‘Too many eyes, too many spies. I will find a small town on the coast somewhere, and we will go from there.’

‘Very well.’ Greenwood mounted his horse. ‘May good fortune attend you. Go well,’ he said to Sovay as he held her stirrup. ‘I would counsel you not to go, to return to London with me, but I know that you would not listen and I do not like to waste my breath. I’ve never known a girl so wedded to risk and adventure, but be careful. Life is precious. You don’t want to learn that lesson too late.’

He smiled and winked at her and, before she could think of a suitable riposte, he was up on his own horse, with Toby behind him, and away.

He was not the only one to try to persuade her to go back to London. When they reached the next town, both Hugh and Virgil insisted that she took the next coach for the city. Both of them failed. Sovay refused to listen. If they were prepared to go to France, then so was she.

‘All foreigners are suspect now, including Americans,’ Virgil told her. ‘I cannot guarantee your safety. I may be able to trade on my special status, but I do not know how long that will hold.’

Sovay would not be swayed. ‘I don’t care. I’m prepared to take the risk. I will not sit at home being eaten away by doubts and fears while the two people who I hold most dear are in the severest jeopardy. I would rather share the danger. Hugh and Father are the world to me. What would life be without them?’

Virgil turned to her brother.

‘Don’t look at me!’ Hugh laughed. ‘
I’ve
never been able to make her do anything. I say let her come, if she has a mind to.’ He took Sovay’s hand. ‘At least we will be together.’

Virgil shrugged. Brother and sister were clearly as mad and wilful as each other. He had tried his best to dissuade both, being no means as certain as Hugh seemed to be about his status and safety. Hugh had his own papers. He was the Genovese nephew of his old tutor, now Citizen Fernand, member of the National Assembly. Fernand was a man of power and influence; he had been in a position to protect his young ‘relative’ before, but circumstances might have changed.

‘Very well,’ he acceded. ‘I’ll do what I can to get us over to Le Havre and into the country. After that, I can make no promises.’

They bought what they needed and journeyed on to the coast and the ancient port of Rye. Virgil announced it to be ideal, being much neglected but well known to smugglers, with a perfectly usable harbour as long as the vessel was not too large.

He left them at the Ship Inn and promised to be back just as soon their passage could be arranged. Two days, three at the most, he said.

It was nearer a week before Virgil returned.

‘I have a ketch waiting in the harbour,’ he said as he joined them in their room at the Ship Inn. ‘We sail on the morning tide.’ He sat down and poured himself some wine. ‘I had to go to London to arrange for papers to be made for Sovay.’ He took a wallet from his pocket. ‘You will be travelling as Miss Sophie Weston, an American citizen, and –’ He paused and cleared his throat, as though there was a sudden frog caught in it. ‘And my fiancée. I know it is a shock,’ he saw the look on her face, ‘and not the most romantic of proposals, but I hope it is clear,’ he looked from Sovay to Hugh, ‘that I take no liberties here. It was the only way I could think of to keep her safe.’

Sovay did not know quite what to say, but Hugh grinned and clapped the American on the back.

‘Congratulations, my dear Barrett. You are a vast improvement on her last choice, I must say. I wish you both every happiness.’ He raised his glass, laughing at their discomfort. ‘To the affianced couple!’

Neither Sovay nor Barrett joined him in the toast.

‘I have other news,’ Barrett said, his tone serious. ‘I had to go to London to arrange the papers, and while I was there, I called on Oldfield. He gave me this.’ He handed over a letter. ‘Not good news, I’m afraid to say.’

Hugh opened it, placing the paper on the table for Sovay to see it. As he read, all the mirth drained from his face.

Oldfield & Oldfield,

Pilgrim Court

Off Carter Lane

London

6th June, 1794

My Dear Mr Hugh and Miss Sovay Middleton,

I thought it best to inform you of developments
here without delay. Things have not gone quite
according to plan.

I have been busy preparing the defence for
Skidmore’s friends, some of whom face charges of
sedition, others the much more serious charge of
treason. I wish I were confident that no court will
convict them, but this is by no means certain. I am
sorry to say that your friend, Gabriel, has also been
arrested and charged for his part in what is being
termed the battle of Vine Street. He has also been
implicated in a further conspiracy, partly on the
evidence of Fitzwilliam.

The bulk of the charges, however, have been laid
against you. In short, you are accused of being French
spies, stealing government papers, causing explosions,
destruction of property, attempting to assassinate
various government personages, and I don’t know
what else. Everything that has happened since the
fateful interception of Dysart’s correspondence has
been twisted and used against you.

Dysart, meanwhile, far from being discredited as we
hoped, goes from strength to strength. All that
happened at Thursley has been subverted and turned
into a dastardly plot, by you and other persons, to
begin a revolution on British soil.

He is clever, far cleverer than we credited, and
he is exploiting the very real fear that the French
Terror is engendering in the Government and in the
people at large. I will continue to collect what
evidence I can in the hope that my clients will be
vindicated and that Dysart’s real intentions will be
unmasked. If you are set on going to France, I
encourage you to gather what evidence you can
against him there, too. I suspect there will be much to
find. I cannot prove it yet, but I suspect that he has
been in touch all along with the Revolutionary forces
through a web of double agents, but we must have
proof of this to present as evidence. It is our only way
to defeat him.