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Still dazed by shock, Frederica yielded to the compulsion of Alverstoke’s hand, and climbed down from the landaulet. Her knees were shaking so much that she was glad to cling to his arm. She tried to smile, and said: ‘I beg your pardon: I am being very stupid! I don’t seem to be able to think, but you will know what I should do! Tell me, cousin!’
‘There is nothing you can do,’ he replied.
She stared rather blindly at him for a moment, but then said: ‘Nothing! You are right, of course. Nothing! I don’t even know – Cousin, where are they going? It’s an object with aeronauts, isn’t it, to discover how far they can travel?’
‘So I believe, but you need not let that alarm you! They will be quite as anxious to set Felix down as you are to recover him! I can’t tell you where that will be, but from the direction of what little wind there is I should suppose they will descend somewhere in the region of Watford.’
‘Watford! Is not that a considerable distance?’
‘No, less than twenty miles. They will hardly dare to risk a landing until they are clear of the metropolis, and all the environs, you know. It is one thing to make an ascent from Hyde Park, but quite another to bring their infernal balloon down in an area dotted all over with towns and villages.’
‘Yes. Yes, I see. I had not realised … And they are bound to take every care – don’t you think?’
‘Undoubtedly.’
She managed to summon up a smile. ‘I am not afraid of accident – not much afraid of it! But Lord Buxted has been telling us that the cold becomes intense at high altitudes, and I do fear that! You see, although he is perfectly stout, Felix does catch cold more easily than most, and it goes to his chest. He is not of a consumptive habit: our doctor at home calls it bronchitis, and says he will very likely grow out of it, but I – I can’t forget how ill he was, two years ago, when he suffered a very bad attack. And he has gone up there in that thin jacket – !’ She stopped, and again forced herself to smile. ‘I am being foolish. There is nothing anyone can do.’
‘There is nothing we can do, but you may depend upon it that the balloonists will wrap him up.’
He spoke in his habitual tone of cool unconcern, and it had its effect: she was insensibly reassured. On Buxted it also had its effect, but a different one. He said angrily: ‘Good God, sir, is that all you can find to say in this dreadful situation?’
Alverstoke looked at him, his brows lifting. ‘That’s all,’ he replied. He saw Buxted’s hands clench themselves into fists, and smiled faintly. ‘I shouldn’t,’ he advised him.
For a moment it seemed as if Buxted would yield to impulse; but he mastered himself. His face was s
till much flushed, and he said with suppressed passion: ‘Are you ignorant of the dangers that boy is exposed to, or insensate?’
‘Neither,’ said Alverstoke. ‘I’m glad to see you have some red blood in you, but if you don’t keep your tongue between your teeth I shall be strongly tempted to let some of it!’
‘Oh, be quiet, both of you!’ exclaimed Eliza. ‘Charis listen to me! – Felix is safe! There is nothing to cry for – do you hear me? Come, now!’
But Charis, recovering consciousness, had broken into hysterical sobs, and seemed to be unable either to check them, or to understand what Eliza was saying to her.
‘Vapours!’ said Alverstoke. ‘It needed only that! Now we shall have a mob gathered round us!’
Frederica, stepping quickly up into the carriage, said: ‘Let me come there, cousin, if you please! Soothing will only make her worse.’
As she spoke, she pulled Charis out of Eliza’s arms, and dealt her one deliberate slap across her cheek, which startled the rest of the company almost as much as its recipient. Charis caught her breath between a sob and a whimper, and stared up out of frightened, tear-drenched eyes into her sister’s purposeful countenance. ‘Felix!’ she uttered. ‘Oh, Felix, Felix! Oh, Frederica!’
‘Stop!’ Frederica commanded. ‘Not another word until you are able to control yourself!’
Eliza, who had got down from the carriage, remarked, in an undervoice to her brother: ‘Well, that seems to have done the thing, but it was rather drastic! After all, the poor child has had a dreadful shock, and one can see that she has a great deal of nervous sensibility.’
‘Too much!’ he returned.
Jessamy, overcoming by sheer force of will his sudden nausea, had got to his feet again. He was very pale, and he was breathing short and fast, as though he had been running. He fixed his stern eyes on Alverstoke’s face, and jerked out: ‘Lend me your phaeton, sir! I – I beg of you! I won’t drive it – Curry can do so! You have my word I won’t! Sir, you must let me have it!’
‘Are you proposing to chase the balloon?’ asked Alverstoke, regarding him in a little amusement.
‘For heaven’s sake, Jessamy, don’t be so shatterbrained!’ exclaimed Buxted. ‘As though things were not bad enough already! Really, I wonder at you! This is not the moment to indulge in theatrical airdreaming!’
‘On the contrary!’ said Alverstoke. ‘It appears to be exactly the moment!’
‘Nor is it the moment for frivolous jests!’ retorted Buxted, his colour mounting again.
‘Sir!’ Jessamy begged. ‘Will you? will you?’
Alverstoke shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Jessamy. The balloon is already some miles distant. Yes, I know it can still be seen, but that’s deceptive, believe me. Matters are not as desperate as Buxted would have you think, either: accidents are the exception rather than the rule.’
