The smiling sun embraced them, and a cloudless sky beckoned the owl to explore its boundless blue expanse. Clara turned a brass knob on the control panel, and as the owl raised its wings, she pressed a button. The machine leaned forward and sprang from the ground, alighting on the wind. Mighty wings outstretched to their full span; it flew silently as she directed from the helm of the great airship. With a turn of the wheel, the owl glided over the Spyri farmstead, bidding it a fond farewell.Auf wiedersehen.Adieu!
Consulting the compass, Clara set their course toward England and home. The owl followed the winding road that ribboned along the ground below and soared over a neighboring farmstead. Like miniatures in a toy shop, two figures sat on the porch of a quaint farmhouse. Could it be? Following an impish whim, she lowered their cruising altitude. Ah yes, it was their farmer friend who’d given them a ride!
“Get ready to wave, Grand.”
Clara carefully decreased their elevation another few degrees and then banked to the left. In a wide arch, the owl glided in front of the farmhouse, where the farmer and a woman—presumably his wife—shot to their feet, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Framed in the eyes of the owl, she and Grand waved in unison. The farmer gave a shout and fainted into his wife’s arms. The impish pilots erupted in laughter as the owl completed its circle of the farmhouse and soared away, mounting to new heights.
Clara could not stop grinning. Not since her childhood had she felt so elated and carefree. Wonderstruck by anything and everything around her, from the dear old man at her side to the snowcapped Alps below, laced with meadows of edelweiss blossoms. This feeling, this flight, was only the beginning. For back in London, entombed in an attic, was a trunk full of maps waiting to be unpacked and unfurled.
Each one wrapped in a delightfully foolish dream.
Each one replete with the possibility of another merry adventure.
“How would you fancy a trip to Brussels for your birthday, Grand? According toA Confectioner’s Guide to European Sweets, Belgian chocolate is a life-changing experience.”
CHAPTER
41
THETIMES
LONDON, TUESDAY, JUNE30, 1860
Buckingham Palace Takes a Flight of Fancy under Its Wing!
Last night, C. E. Drosselmeyer was welcomed at BuckinghamPalace by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert amid a dazzling spectacle of pomp and circumstance. In the presence of thepeerage and a select group of technological innovators, Mr. Drosselmeyerwas honored with the newly established title of Inventor to the Crown and awarded a special patronage from Prince Albert. Invitations to the royal presentation and subsequent ball were highlycoveted, and rightly so, for never has the Season concluded with such an extraordinary finale!
Mr. Drosselmeyer, once a simpleclockmaker, came to fame three months ago when his mystifying owl machine soared across Europe, enchanting the populace and capturingthe imagination of royalty. Now, with support of the prince, Mr. Drosselmeyer has acquired a vast studio in which tocontinue his revolutionary work. Mr. Drosselmeyer has endowed his humbleclock shop to a formerapprentice, one Mr. Theodore Kingsley, who is said to be courting his only grandchild, Miss Clara Marie Stanton. Miss Stanton is rumored to have recentlypurchased a ramshackle farm in the Swiss Plateau for reasons unknown. If these two hearts keep ticking in time, wemay soon have news to report of a matrimonial nature.
Meanwhile, the Inventor to the Crown’s daughter is ruffling feathers. Mrs. Heidi Stanton, an avowed animal advocate, recently collecteda hefty purse from a private club taking bets on the identity of the Great Owl’s pilot. Members ofthe club cried foul, claiming the wager she placed via telegram was invalid due to her knowledge of her father’s exploits. However, at last night’s ball, Mrs. Stantonexpressed her intent to use the prize monies to construct two orphanages in the city—one for foundling children andone for disabled animals. By sunrise, public opinion swung likea clock’s pendulum in her favor and prevented the matter from going to court. Plans for the orphanages areunderway and groundbreaking is to begin next summer.
Until then, London waits with rapt anticipation to see what sensations andscandals Mr. Drosselmeyer and the Stantons create next!
THEFIFTHDAYOFCHRISTMAS
DECEMBER29, 1860
In the capable hands of God, one’s worst nightmare could transform into a fantastical dream that surpassed the scope of one’s wildest imagination.
Nowadays, the Stanton family’s eccentricities were oft front-page news, printed in bold black and white, and yet one and all of them were safe and well. Deliriously happy, no less. The Lord had taken care of everything. The glory was His and His alone.
Which suited Clara like a steaming cup of tea.
“Thought I might find you here.”
Mr. Kingsley filled the library with his smile as the strains of holiday cheer skipped up the stairs from the ballroom in the Stantons’ London home. Clara’s stomach turned a somersault as warmth flooded her cheeks. My, but he looked fine tonight in his polished evening suit of black, offset with white pleated shirtwaist and gloves. Blond hair ever so slightly tamed with pomade. Chiseled face clean-shaven but for a neat frame of side whiskers. Demeanor confident and comfortable.
“Tired of dancing with me so soon, Miss Stanton?” Mr. Kingsley feigned dejection.
“So soon?” Clara scoffed from her place on the sofa. “Why, I have danced with you seven times tonight.Seven, my good sir. Plus, twice with Grand, three times with Papa, and once with Prince Albert himself. All while trying to evade frolicking foxes, cavorting cats, and a goat intent on eating the flowers in my hair.” She waved a gloved hand to the red roses situated in her carefully arranged tresses. “Do you have any notion how exhausting it is to exude grace whilst a bucktoothed goat is nipping at you from behind?”
Mr. Kingsley chuckled. “Hardly.”
“Well, let me tell you, I deserve a medal, and my feet deserve a rest. Which is precisely why I hid away to join Beatrix here.” She patted the wee hedgehog rolled into a prickled pillow beside her voluminous skirt of shining red taffeta.
“While you’re certainly entitled to a respite, my dear, you are missed, nonetheless. Mr. Wyld, in particular, has been asking for you. The man’s quite keen to see your finished manuscript.” Mr. Kingsley glanced at the open journal upon her lap. “How goes the writing?”
“I’ve made it to Bern at last.” She used her silver pen to mark her place in the journal before setting it on an adjacent table. “An Adventurous Lady’s Guide to Travelwill be completed by the first of February, as agreed upon with my publisher. Ifthe good gentlemen at Barton Books can wait until then, my cartographer will have to content himself in like fashion.”
