Free Airborne - The Hanover Restoration by Blair Bancroft Page A

remained out today, unobscured by clouds of either white or gray. With light streaming in from high windows on all four sides of the building, the shadows before me gradually took shape.
    Shape without meaning. I saw, but could make no sense of it.
    Rochefort was waiting for me to say something—to exclaim, praise, gasp with wonder—and all I could do was stare with my brow furrowed, my mouth sagging open like a fish without water.
    It was large. Larger than Elbert, though not as long as a railway carriage. Yet it seemed to be a vehicle of some kind, for it had windows. Round windows, like a ship’s portholes. I’d think it a submarine—I’d heard of experiments with underwater craft—but surely such a ship would have to be constructed entirely of metal, and this was not.
    I moved a few feet left until I could see the end of the craft. A propeller. Definitely a propeller. I moved closer. The construction appeared to be . . . canvas and wicker ? Truthfully, it looked a bit like an elongated covered basket, the sides gently rounded and reenforced by thin strips of metal spaced at regular intervals.
    Basket. Propeller. No. It couldn’t be!
    “Matt.” Evidently, Rochefort had grown tired of waiting.
    I heard the sound of an engine starting, and an amorphous shadow to the right of the strange vehicle began to stir.
    There was another part to this strange beast?
    Only thirty seconds of pumping, and I knew, this time without a doubt. I covered my face with my hands, rocking back and forth, completely speechless. My greatest dream—to fly through the air like a bird and see the world from above. To be free of the earth, to touch the sky. Controlled flight. Rochefort had done it. Built a machine that wasn’t a slave to the vagaries of the wind, but soared like an eagle—
    No, that was too much to ask. More like a plump pigeon lumbering through the skies with a will of its own.
    I took another look, blinked, and looked again. Next to the submarine-shaped vehicle, a giant mass of silk was still inching its way upward, most definitely becoming a balloon. Rochefort, evidently taking the wonder on my face as comprehension, signaled for Matt to shut down the pump. Point made.
    “Well?”he demanded.
    My dream had been so small, just a lightweight one-person swing that could be steered, instead of drifting with the win d. But Rochefort had created a—
    “What do you call it?” I asked, getting words out of my mouth at last.
    “An airship.”
    Of course. “You’ll stun the world,” I told him, hoping my praise wasn’t coming too late.
    “Perhaps. There are others working on the problem, some eager to steal my ideas. And we won’t know if it really works until we take it out to the park and test it.”
    Swallowing my chagrin that Rochefort’s airship eclipsed my own efforts to fly, I allowed the full force of my admiration to show. “It’s quite wonderful,” I told him. “I know you’ll get it to work.”
    He actually smiled. A radiance that lit our little corner of the workspace and took my breath away. Dear God, I was married to this man.
    He offered his arm. “Shall we continue our tour, Lady Rochefort? I believe you haven’t seen the Abbey courtyard yet? Matt,” he called over his shoulder. “I leave you to close up.”
    “Aye, Guv.” His voice came faintly from the far corner of the room.
    As we walked toward the light outside, my heart was singing, as it always did for a fine new machine. For Elbert. For this incredible thing called an airship. And . . .
    Yes, today it was singing for something that wasn’t a machine. This was my wedding day, and at last I was certain I had done the right thing. My heart was singing for . . .
    Coward. Admit it!
    My heart was singing for my husband. For Julian .
    We walked out into the sunshine, and all was well with the world.
    I didn’t hear the sound of the shot. One moment I was clinging to his arm—the next, my world went black.
     
    “Call it off,