Escapade (9781301744510) Read online

  "Who stuck those damn flowers all over my rigging? I never gave permission for such a thing."

  Angelo shrugged. "Mr. Dutton's idea. After all, it is a wedding, Rory. Now about this Morrison fellow? Do you think it's true what the paper hints about his unknown background, that there might be something sinister about him? I read that he punches out any reporters caught nosing around his castle, so he must have something to hide. How does a fellow get to be that rich honestly anyhow?"

  "I don't know, but I do know how a fellow gets to be that poor honestly. By losing his job." Rory snatched the paper from Angelo and thunked him over the head with it. "Now get back to work."

  Angelo grinned. Although he did grab his precious newspaper back from her, he folded the society section, tucking it into his jacket pocket, then turned his attention to checking the balloon's tether, making sure it was secured to the winch.

  Still not trusting Angelo to keep his mind on his task, Rory was keeping an eye on him when she was approached by the circus owner himself, Mr. Dutton.

  The man's checkered suit was enough to blind her even on this overcast day. He grinned, chomping on a fat cigar. "Ah, here she is at last. The balloon lady."

  "Aeronaut," Rory grated. She plucked the cigar from his plump fingers, dropped the stogie to the ground and crunched it beneath her shoe.

  "Hey! That was an expensive see-gar."

  "And that's a bag full of hydrogen," Rory said, pointing at the balloon. "One little spark and they could be picking up pieces of us all along the Jersey side of the Hudson."

  Mr. Dutton's eyes widened, and he took a few extra stomps at the crushed cigar himself. Then he stepped back and cocked his head at her admiringly.

  "Well, now, don't you make a peach of a bridesmaid!"

  Rory was not about to allow her irritation to be deflected by the man's oily compliments. She was still annoyed about all those blasted flowers caught up in the balloon's rigging. But before she could complain, Mr. Dutton dragged her over to meet the minister.

  The Reverend Titus Allgood looked very prim and very scared.

  "Is this thing really quite safe, Miss Kavanaugh?" he asked in a quavering voice.

  "Completely safe," Rory said.

  Tony, who happened to be passing by within earshot, gave a loud snort. Rory glared at him. She still hadn't managed to calm Reverend Allgood's fears when the circus band was heard to strike up a flourish.

  An excited murmur ran through the crowd at this signal that the wedding procession was about to commence. The band blared out the strains of Mendelssohn's Wedding March. From the main tent across the fairgrounds, two elephants led the parade, followed by a line of lovely ladies in tights riding white ponies adorned with feathers. Drawing up the rear was a flower-bedecked open carriage in which rode the bride and groom, driven by the ringmaster himself in a red coat and top hat.

  As the crowd clapped with pleasure, Rory tried to smile, but it was difficult to disguise her chagrin. This had formed no part of her father's dream, this usage of the Katie Moira to perform a cheap circus stunt.

  Her father's vision for the company had been so much more than that—grand plans of establishing an aerial mail service, a passenger line, even the use of balloons for scientific exploration.

  Someday, Da. Someday, Rory vowed silently.

  The crowd pushed and shoved, and it was all the roustabouts could do to prevent a general surge forward as the wedding carriage arrived in the clearing.

  The groom was the first to alight, doffing his high silk hat to the assembled masses. The Fantastic Erno's handlebar mustache bristled as he flashed a smile. With a flourish, he turned to hand down his bride.

  The crowd let out a collective gasp. Rory gaped at Miss Glory Fatima's idea of a wedding costume. She was garbed in the skimpiest pair of white tights Rory had ever seen. The skirt of her leotard did not even cover her calves, and the glittering bodice scarcely contained Miss Glory's ample charms.

  Mr. Dutton snatched up his bullhorn again, and the crowd had to endure a rather long-winded speech. Just as everyone was getting a bit restive, he finally concluded.

  "And now, suspended miles above the earth, Miss Glory Fatima and the Fantastic Erno will exchange their solemn vows, witnessed by that intrepid balloonist, Aurora Kavanaugh."

  "Aeronaut," Rory said wearily.

  Erno helped his bride climb into the balloon's basket. He also assisted the white-faced and trembling minister. To Rory's annoyance, her skirts hindered her from scrambling into the gondola with her usual dexterity. Tony had to lift her over the edge, and she thought he clung to her a little longer than necessary.

  "I heard thunder again," he muttered in her ear. "This better be the shortest wedding on record."

  Rory merely smiled.

  "I mean it, Rory. Ten minutes and then I'm telling Angelo to haul—"

  She cut off his warning by giving the signal to Thomas that he could begin undoing the lines that tethered the balloon. The Katie Moira immediately surged upward several feet, now held back by only the thick rope affixed to the winch. The balloon bucked in the wind as though it resented even that restraint upon its freedom. Miss Fatima gasped and clutched at Erno. The minister looked as though he would have liked to have done the same.

  Rory motioned to Angelo to start cranking the winch, but he was too spellbound by Miss Fatima's costume to pay any attention. It took a sharp command from Tony to set him and Pete into motion.

  The muscles in the forearms of both young men appeared strained as they struggled to hold in the surging balloon and let the rope out smoothly. As the Katie Moira started upward, the crowd gave a great cheer.

  Owing to the wind, the ascent was a little rough. Cursing the flowers again, Rory clung to the rigging, setting free a shower of blossoms. She cautioned the others to move about as little as possible, an unnecessary admonishment for Reverend Allgood. The man was frozen with fear.

  Erno and Miss Fatima peered cautiously over the side, waving to their adoring public below. Soon the faces of the crowd grew less distinct, the mighty elephants and even the circus tents assuming the dimensions of toys. The cheers of the crowd reflected upward with that peculiar clarity Rory had often noted on her flights. The balloon had not risen much higher when it jerked to a sudden halt.

  "Damn you, Tony," Rory thought. He had obviously prevented Angelo from reeling her out the full distance she had planned. Perhaps it was just as well. Much more and they would be obscured from the view of the circus crowd, lost in the scudding gray clouds overhead.

  Rory looked expectantly at the Reverend Allgood. It was some moments before the little man would take the hint. At last he pried free of his death grip upon the basket's side and drew forth his prayer book.

  "D-dearly beloved," he began.

  A rumble of thunder sounded and he almost dropped the book. After a deep gulp, he relocated his place in the text and continued. Although she was supposed to be a witness to this event, Rory's thoughts drifted from the ceremony.

  The storm was moving closer. She had seen a distant flash of lightning. Although the balloon was fairly stable, she felt the insistent tug. If it had not been for the stout rope and the winch, the wind would have carried the Katie Moira away from the fairgrounds rapidly.

  She wished there were some way she could force Allgood to hurry. But as though calmed by the familiar words of the wedding service, he was proceeding with all the slow dignity the occasion demanded. Finally, the minister reached his conclusion.

  "I now pronounce you man and wife. What God hath joined, let no man set asunder."

  As Erno kissed the bride with great enthusiasm, Rory scooped up a red parachute. She tossed it over the side. As it drifted back to earth, it would signal those below that the ceremony was complete.

  Rory offered the couple her congratulations, and then produced a bottle of champagne from the bottom of the basket.

  "On the way down, we'll drink a toast to—" She halted in midsentence as the balloon gav
e a wild lurch. Dropping the champagne bottle, she pitched against Erno.

  Miss Glory gave a little squeal as the balloon began to rise. "What's happening? Why aren't they bringing us down?"

  Rory recovered her footing and braced herself against the side. Instantly, she knew that they were not only rising, but also drifting swiftly to the east.

  Peering over the side, she saw the green splotch of earth and the mere specks that were the circus vanish from view. The next instant they were enveloped in the eerie gray world of the clouds. It was like being lost in a heavy fog. Rory didn't know how it had happened, but somehow that blasted Angelo had let the rope come free of the winch. The Katie Moira was now in a pattern of free flight.

  Her passengers looked puzzled, but only a little frightened, until the significance of the balloon's movements dawned upon Erno.

  "Why, we've broken loose," he said.

  The Reverend Allgood gasped and sagged down in the basket. Miss Glory shrieked.

  "There is no cause for panic—" Rory was cut off by a roll of thunder. A burst of lightning seemed to electrify the entire cloud.

  Rory gave up on any attempts to calm her passengers. She had to act and quickly. Snatching up a knife from the basket's floor, she bent over the side and began slicing open the ballast bags, setting free a cascade of sand.

  Erno seized hold of her wrist. "What are you doing? That will make us ascend even higher."

  Rory wrenched free and explained with all the patience she could muster. "We have no choice but to go up. We have to get above the storm."

  When she could make him understand, Erno moved to help her. "That's enough," Rory said. Gradually, the Katie Moira lifted out of the cloud cover. The sky above them emerged in a burst of blue, the sun more brilliant than the most sparkling summer day. That hushed calm descended, that absolute quiet which Rory had never found to exist anywhere on earth.

  "Are we dead?" Reverend Allgood quavered. "Is this Heaven?"

  "No," Rory said, consulting her barometer. "It's only about fifteen hundred feet."

  "We shall have quite an adventure to report when we land back at the fairgrounds." Erno chuckled.

  The fairgrounds? Rory arched one brow but said nothing. She didn't know where they would be landing. She only knew it wouldn't be anywhere near the circus. At this height, the movement of the wind was deceptive, but Rory knew they were being carried far from their point of departure. According to her compass, they were headed in a southeasterly direction. Rory's one concern was that they should not end up in the Atlantic Ocean just as her father had done.

  She was quick to set the thought aside, concentrating on her more immediate problem. Now that there was no shielding of clouds, the sun was heating the gas in the balloon, causing it to expand. The falling barometer told Rory they were rising steadily. The higher they went, the thinner the oxygen would become.

  Rory tugged at the valve line, releasing some of the gas from the balloon. She pulled again and again, letting out a little more air each time. The balloon's descent became swifter until they were lost in the cloud cover once more.

  Rory was certain they had outdistanced the storm. She could only hope that she would find some decent place to land, hopefully a nice level field.

  As the cloud cover parted below them like vanishing mists, Rory peered downward. When she got her first good view of the terrain, she bit her lip. "Damn!"

  Below them it looked as if some giant's toy box had been upended, scattering rows and rows of little blocks in a dense hodgepodge. The rows were actually solid walls of towering buildings, an endless maze of streets. New York City. The very heart of it. And cooled by the cloud cover between the balloon and the sun, the Katie Moira was making a rapid descent.

  Rory groaned and grabbed for her knife. Miss Glory stole a peek downward.

  "Ooohh, Fifth Avenue. All the shops. Miss Kavanaugh, I don't suppose you could land—"

  "No!" Rory slashed at a sandbag, but the balloon was still dropping. There was not much ballast left. At this rate, they were soon going to slam into the rooftop of one of the taller buildings. Reverend Allgood appeared to have fainted, but Rory hadn't time to concern herself over the fact.

  "Throw everything out of the balloon," she shouted to Erno and Glory.

  Everything was not much, since no equipment or provisions had been loaded for this short trip. But the champagne went, along with Rory's compass, barometer and telescope, even the seats of the gondola.

  To Rory's relief, the balloon steadied itself, but she knew it couldn't last long. The bottom of the gondola scudded perilously near the high, sloped walls of the Croton Reservoir, and astonished sightseers on the walkway trained their field glasses toward the balloon.

  "Should we make a jump for it?" Erno asked, dubiously eyeing the reservoir's expanse of blue water.

  "Are you crazy?" Rory cried. Shading her eyes with her hand, she scanned the distance for some safe place to land. Before her stretched nothing but Fifth Avenue. The balloon's sudden appearance had shaken even the New Yorkers out of their indifference.

  Traffic had snarled up on the avenue. Rory could make out horses plunging in terror, the flow of carriages brought to a halt. Heads tipped back as everyone stared and pointed upward. The shrill sound of a policeman's whistle drifted to Rory with startling clarity.

  She spared one glance for the chaos she was creating, her gaze shifting to the distance. Perhaps they could come down in Central Park. She grimaced. Rory hated landings in trees. She had broken her arm that way once. She had been lucky it hadn't been her neck.

  But the Katie Moira had leveled off enough to give her hope. If her memory served her correctly, the land beyond the park should be a vista of open fields. Crossing her fingers, Rory murmured a brief prayer.

  But to her dismay, she saw that it had been far too long since she had been north of Central Park. The area had changed. No more was it the expanse of green country she recalled. The mansions of the wealthier element of the city now sprawled out even here.

  "What a way to scrape up acquaintance with the Vanderbilts," Rory muttered. She tensed, realizing the balloon was losing altitude again, drifting ever closer to one of the larger mansions.

  It was a fantastic structure of massive white stone walls and towers, like a chateau that should have been nestled somewhere along the banks of the Seine. Rory thought it looked ridiculous near the bustle of Manhattan, but at least the mansion boasted something many city dwellings did not—a broad lawn surrounded by an iron fence.

  "Brace yourselves," Rory warned her passengers. "I am going to try to bring us down over there."

  "There?" Erno gasped when he saw where she was pointing. "But Miss Kavanaugh, that's Morrison's Castle."

  "So?" Rory started gathering up the length of rope and grappling hook.

  "It is only that I have heard strange things about Mr. Morrison. He doesn't like trespassers."

  It was the second time that day someone had told her that. Vague memories chased through Rory's mind of Angelo's foolish chatter, something he had been reading out of the papers about a sinister millionaire who hated reporters. But as the Katie Moira dipped lower, the recollection was of little importance. The balloon was coming down on this Morrison's property whether he liked it or not, whether Rory liked it or not.

  And she didn't. The lawn was far from ideal. It was crowded with a lot of damn fool people having a garden party. Lilting orchestra music wafted upward, but the strains of the waltz abruptly ceased. As the Katie Moira drifted overhead, some of the party guests started to point and shriek.

  Rory yanked on the valve line and gritted her teeth. She had a feeling this was not going to be one of her better landings. As the balloon surged downward, she bent over the side and tossed out the grappling hook, trying to catch the iron fence. But she missed, snagging a slender tree instead.

  Rory swore as she watched the sapling bend double. It would still have been all right if those idiots below had had the wit to seize
onto the balloon's rope lines and help haul her down. But most of those gentlemen were doing little but gaping upward beneath the brims of their high-crowned hats, the ladies gesturing shrilly with their parasols.

  One tall, broad-shouldered man shoved his way forward and attempted to grab the rope, but it was already too late. The sapling tore free of the ground, and the Katie Moira lurched onward, dragging the tree, roots and all. Erno and Miss Glory lost their balance, tumbling atop the prostrate Reverend Allgood.

  Rory clutched the side of the gondola, catching a dizzying glimpse of the havoc she was wreaking below. Her tree "anchor" plowed through linen-covered tables, sending china flying. The orchestra dove for cover, abandoning their violins. Silk-clad ladies ran shrieking, likely faster than they had ever moved in their lives.

  "Grab the ropes, you fools. Grab the—" Rory's cry was cut off as the balloon rapidly lost altitude, causing the gondola to smack against the ground. Rory lost her footing, joining the heap of flailing arms and legs that was her passengers.

  The Katie Moira leaped upward, as though making one last desperate effort to regain the skies. Rory struggled, elbowing Erno sharply as she grabbed frantically for the valve line. The gondola rocked and Rory tugged harder at the line than she had intended.

  Like a prizefighter doubled over by a blow to the stomach, the great balloon gave up the last of its air with a mighty whoosh. Someone screamed. Rory was not sure if it was Miss Glory or the Reverend Allgood.

  She had no chance to figure it out before the gondola plunged downward. Her breath left her lungs in a rush as the basket slammed into the ground with bone-jarring force.

  Cobwebs of darkness danced before Rory's eyes. She thought she was going to pass out. But she fought the sensation. She retained enough awareness of her situation to realize her face was pressed against the ground, blades of grass prickling her cheek.