The Miser's Sister (22 page)

“Bob and I will be setting up the hydrogen apparatus. I hope you will not find it tedious.”

“You know I will not. May I help, or at least watch, if I promise to keep out of your way?”

“Certainly. At least until the furnaces are lit. I expect that Bob will already have built his hearths on the moor. It will be a matter of taking the pipes and tanks and materials out there and fitting everything together.”

“On Brown Willy, he said?”

“Yes. We will be very close to Penderric Castle, Ruth. I beg you will not go there alone.”

She shivered. “No, not alone.”

Oliver was satisfied. If she insisted on going to the castle, he might have to tell her the whole story to dissuade her. At least she would not think of going without his protection, so he could relax for the moment.

They reached Port Isaac early the next morning, and Auntie was ecstatic to see them.

“Miss Bolton!” she cried. “No, wait a minute; Miss Barstowe?”

“Miss Bailey,” said Ruth, hugging her, “but I am in no need of an alias at present.”

“Lady Ruth, how happy I am to see you again!”

“Ruth, please. Am I not an honorary niece? I shall never forget your kindness, Auntie.”

“Nonsense, my dear. And how is Jane? Lavinia? No, Louisa?”

“Letty is very well and enjoying the amusements of London. How is life in Port Isaac?”

“Very complicated, Ruth, very complicated. I daresay you remember Martha, our maid?”

“Of course. Is she giving you trouble?”

“Well, Martha’s husband was a sailor, you know, as they all are here. Three children they have. In December, just after you left, his boat put in to Padstow during a terrible storm, and he took up with a shopkeeper’s wife over there. The first poor Martha knew was when the Cormorant came into harbour without Bert.”

“Poor Martha. I expect she was very distressed?”

“For a day or two. Then who should turn up but the shopkeeper himself, with his four children. He thought that just because Bert had his wife there was no reason for him to go without, so he up and came to Martha.”

“And he is still here? Good heavens! So now Martha has seven children, I take it.”

“And an eighth on the way, my dear. Luckily the shopkeeper had a bit of money put by that he brought with him, and his eldest girl is old enough to take care of the young ones. But he’s learning a sailor’s trade, and he doesn’t take kindly to it, I fear. It’s a hard life, even though he has taken over Bert’s share in the Cormorant.”

“Martha is still working for you?”

“Yes. She took the whole affair very calmly after the first surprise and is quite settled now. Oh dear, I expect I should not have told such a shocking tale to an unmarried girl. Pray pretend I did not!”

“Auntie, I am no more a girl than you are. We single ladies must band together. And I have heard scandals vastly more shocking in London, which I would not repeat to you. The society ladies seem to take great delight in ripping reputations to shreds. I should not like to come under their claws.”

“Speaking of which, we have got a fine new cat since you were here. Bob thought he heard bats in the belfry
...
no, surely not! In that case they would need to get a cat for the church, or perhaps a falcon would be preferable. Only falcons fly by day and bats by night, so that would not answer. However, we do not need a falcon to catch rats in the attic. Our tabby does a fine job, but she will leave her prey on the stair, so do be careful if you should go up.”

“I will,” promised Ruth. “Speaking of which, are you going to watch the balloon ascension?”

“I should have liked to, if the winter had not left my old bones so rheumaticky. I do not go out much these days. I console myself with the thought that if God had meant us to fly, he would never have created horses. Or perhaps he would have given them wings, like Pegasus.”

Oliver and Bob, who had been discussing technical matters, overheard this last.

“A breed of winged horses would solve many of our problems,” said Oliver. “We could harness them to guide the balloon, instead of going where the wind blows.”

“There was once a flying horse,” Bob informed them, as always unusually loquacious when the subject was his favourite. “Seventeen-ninety-eight, I think. French fellow with an odd name went up on a platform on horseback. Didn’t fill the envelope enough. He hit a chimney and tore it, but he landed safely. They say the horse never moved a muscle.”

“It must have been blind, deaf, and paralytic,” declared Auntie. “If God had meant horses to fly, he would never have created birds.”

“I wonder what would happen if you filled a horse with hydrogen,” mused Ruth.

“Light its breath and you’d have a dragon,” Oliver replied promptly. “You could keep it in the kitchen to kindle the stove. It would not even get in the way, because it would float up near the ceiling.”

“You would have to haul it down with ropes every morning. I expect it is less work to light the stove oneself,” Ruth sighed. “What a pity. I quite thought that between us we had a great new invention.”

“It would be very handy to catch the bats,” suggested Auntie. “It could incinerate them instead of leaving them on the stair. Only perhaps dragons are not nocturnal, either.”

Having missed the earlier conversation, the gentlemen were thoroughly confused by this. Bob returned doggedly to ballooning.

“Oliver, it is near ten miles to the point where we have set up the furnace. I want to have everything ready to go first thing tomorrow, so we must have it all prepared by this evening. The furnaces will have to burn all night to produce enough gas.

“I suppose you have plenty of assistants to stoke the fires?”

“Yes, half the youths in Cornwall have volunteered. I shall have to stay out there to keep an eye on them, of course.”

“Oliver, do you wish to stay with Mr Polgarth?” asked Ruth. “I daresay we might find some other way for me to return to the Trevelyans tonight.”

“I’ve not the slightest desire to spend the night on Bodmin Moor, believe me! I am sure there are ghoulies and ghosties and things that go bump in the night lurking out there.”

“I saw a ghost last week,” said Auntie conversationally. “It told me to beware the Ides of March. Very trite, I thought. That was last Friday, and nothing happened, so I suppose it got its dates wrong again. They often do, you know.”

“We must go,” Bob persisted. “Auntie, I do not know when I shall see you again. When I reach Scotland I shall send a message. Martha will take care of you, and if there are any problems, send to Mr Trevelyan. And Auntie, pray do not again tell the vicar that he has bats in his belfry.”

“Of course I will not, dear boy. The man is not queer in his attic, is he? Perhaps he should get a dragon.”

They left her pondering the matter.

Chapter 20

Oliver drove Bob Polgarth and Ruth up the hill to the barn where Bob had prepared the balloon. Outside, a cart surrounded by country folk was waiting. With the willing assistance of a dozen sturdy lads, the balloon itself, the basket, miles of rigging, tanks, pipes, and sacks of carefully sorted iron filings were loaded.

The carter turned out to be Ruth’s friend from the Scrimshaw Inn. He recognised her at once, and hearing Mr Polgarth address her as Lady Ruth, he knew that his guess as to her identity had been correct. He bowed low to her, winking as he straightened.

“Hey now, my lady!” he said. “Ye’ve a better carriage and better company today, I zee. Not but what I been’t a-carrying o’ fish today. I be a-carrying hot air!” He laughed heartily at his own joke, then turned solemn, nodded at Oliver, and added significantly, “It’s an ill wind!”

He handed her up into the curricle in a most gentlemanlike manner, while she tried to puzzle out his last remark. He was almost as mystifying as Auntie.

The cart set out, with Bob perched anxiously atop his load, followed by the curricle, and accompanied by the greater part of the crowd. By the time they reached St Teath a few had dropped out, but most were still with them, to be joined by half the population of the hamlet.

Passing the Nag’s Head, they approached the church. Ruth wondered if Mr Vane was there, as had been his custom on Tuesdays. She was sorry that they had parted on bad terms. He had been a true friend to her when she had needed one, and she felt she should not have cast him off so abruptly.

Alerted by the noise of the merry throng, the curate stepped out to the church porch. Ruth raised her hand and smiled in greeting and was glad to see him wave back, though his face remained grave.

Oliver noted the exchange.

“Who is that?” he asked, suspecting that he knew the answer.

“Walter Vane, the curate from Camelford.” Ruth blushed. “He was kind to me when I had few friends. It meant a great deal to me, and I cannot forget it.”

Oliver wondered suddenly just how fond of Walter she had been. It was months since he had thought of him as a rival. Had Ruth’s affection been strong enough to survive the long parting and might it be reanimated if they met again?

He realised that only from her aunt had he heard that her betrothal was ended. Turning to her for reassurance, he found her subdued and thoughtful.

Penderric Castle stood frowning on the horizon. The clear, sunny day could not make it look less than threatening, and when a passing cloud hid the sun’s face, it seemed positively sinister to Ruth. She found it hard to believe that she had spent twenty-five years within those gloomy walls. For sixteen of them she had never known true happiness, and the last year had been a sort of purgatory.

Godfrey was probably sitting at this minute in his empty library, counting his hoarded gold. Ruth supposed that she should see him, however briefly, since she was in the neighborhood. She would not go alone.

Laying her hand on Oliver’s arm, she smiled at him.

The castle was less than a mile away when the cavalcade turned north on the track to Brown Willy. The walkers from Port Isaac were growing weary, and Oliver offered to take several children up into the curricle. They clambered aboard, thrilled to be riding in a “ge’mun’s carridge,” and Ruth found herself squeezed against Oliver’s side in the crush. He felt so solid and dependable that her sombre thoughts vanished.

There was much good-natured bantering among the local people, and a holiday spirit prevailed that defused the sometimes bitter rivalry between farm folk and fisher folk. By this time everyone knew who the lady beside Mr Polgarth’s friend was, and such was Lord Penderric’s reputation that no one wondered why she was not residing at the castle.

At last they reached the place where the hearths had been built. Brown Willy, like Rough Tor to the north and several of the lesser heights of Bodmin Moor, was capped with a jumble of huge granite boulders. Bob Polgarth had hoped to inflate his balloon on the topmost of these, but though immense, many were precariously balanced. He had reluctantly decided that any advantage that height would give him would be nullified by the difficulty of transporting the precious equipment safely to the summit. Already a young shepherd had wrenched his ankle clambering incautiously among the rocks.

So the furnace was well to the west of the peak, where the prevailing sou’westers would blow the balloon clear of its obstruction. The spot was still higher than any land for miles about.

Bob and the carter supervised the unloading of the equipment. The carter, standing to inherit the Scrimshaw Inn, was an influential man in the area, and he was heart and soul behind the experiment.

“Oh aye, I’d be up there quick as winking,” he told Ruth, “if ‘twaren’t fer my owld ‘oman. Proper skittish, she ware, when I zays as how I c’d fancy flyin’ through the clouds.”

“Mr Trevelyan’s wife made him promise he’d not go,” said Ruth.

“Zo did mine, zo did mine!” cried the carter, delighted. “‘Nancy,’ I zays, ‘tis the chance o’ a lifetime,’ but she’d not hear on it. Zo I do aim to keep things runnin’ smooth here below. There’s half a hundred lads wants to help, and I do aim to make zartin they does what they does when they’s meant to do it!”

There was a pause in the activity when bread and cheese and pasties appeared, as if from nowhere. Mrs Trevelyan’s cook had packed a lunch for Ruth and Oliver, and Bob joined them. While they were eating, three horsemen were sighted approaching the hill.

Bob stood up, shaded his eyes, and gazed toward them, then waved.

“It’s the fellows I got to replace you, Oliver,” he said, sitting down again. “Suppose they’ve brought a groom to take their horses back to Plymouth.”

“Who are they?” asked Ruth.

“They’re both lieutenants in the Royal Navy. Having trouble getting used to the peace with France. Tedious business, life ashore, they say. Didn’t have to ask them twice to come along with me.”

“I don’t suppose you did,” Oliver sighed.

He and Bob strolled down to meet the two young men and escorted them back up the hill, pointing out the preparations underway. They were introduced to Ruth, who soon found that they knew far less of the mechanics of the flight than she did. As Bob and Oliver worked to set up the apparatus, she explained it to them. Oliver was delighted, and Bob amazed, at how rarely they had to supply corrections or missing details.

First they filled a number of cast-iron tubes with iron filings.

“The filings must be quite clean and free from rust,” explained Ruth to the ignorant aeronauts. “Otherwise, the reaction does not take place properly. Then the tubes are sealed into the furnace, leaving only enough space for water to run in.”

A mason’s apprentice promptly made his appearance and fixed the last bricks into place. At the carter’s direction, four husky fishermen lifted a long tank filled with water and set it on top. Bob and Oliver carefully attached the little pipes through which the water would flow onto the iron filings.

At the other end, a smaller tank of lime solution was connected.

“The water is admitted to the iron filings,” continued Ruth, “which are first made red-hot. I expect you know that water, or steam, is composed of oxygen and hydrogen?”

“No, ma’am,” chorused the sailors.