Success without an understanding audience was still success, however.
If he opened a baffle on both the port and starboard sides of the ship, he could have a positive airflow, enough to give him more control over altitude. He made a notation about tilting the fins just a few degrees before glancing over at Edmund.
“Is that all?”
“You don’t care about Doncaster Hall at all, do you, Your Lordship?” Edmund asked. His voice held a befuddled amazement, robbing the words of their sting.
He glanced up from his notes and focused on the other man.
“No, I don’t.”
“May I ask why not, sir?”
He smiled. “No, you may not.”
“Is it that you have no intention of remaining in Scotland, Your Lordship?”
He regarded the man steadily until Edmund took the hint, turned, and left the distillery.
“Those that board with cats may count on scratches, sir,” Ralston said from behind him.
He turned to see his majordomo, now budding Balloon Master, staring at Edmund’s back.
“I take it you don’t like the solicitor, Ralston.”
“I’ve no fault with him, sir. He thinks like a lawyer. What cannot be helped must be put up with.”
He decided not to tell Ralston that he, too, had studied law with every intention of practicing. Life had interfered, however.
“He’s got good intentions, sir,” Ralston said. “But he’s all for the estate. Never mind that people are more important.”
He doubted Edmund would see it that way. From the moment he’d met the solicitor, it was evident Edmund was devoted to Doncaster Hall and him, but only because Montgomery was the 11thLord Fairfax. It was the position he revered, not the person.
Damn it. His concentration was broken. He stared down at the plans in front of him and cursed the solicitor.
“I’m nearly ready to take the balloon up, Ralston,” he said. “To test the air currents. Care to accompany me?”
Ralston shook his head.
“It’s not as bad as all that.”
“Better be a coward than a corpse, sir,” Ralston said, grinning.
“I’ll have to get you to change your mind,” he said, deciding to end his work early.
“You can certainly try,” Ralston said, walking beside him as he left the distillery. “It’s only fair to warn you, sir. The habit of stubbornness is bred into a Scot.”
He knew that only too well, being married to a stubborn Scot. Yet any comment he might have made was lost in amazement at the scene before them.
Doncaster Hall had a staff of forty, equally divided between men and women. Most of the men were arrayed on the sloping lawn in front of Doncaster Hall, forming three lines, while his wife stood at their head. In front of each line of men was a bucket of water.
When Veronica raised her arm, the first man grabbed the bucket, passed it to the next man, who passed it again, until the bucket reached the last man in line who threw its contents on a pile of flaming straw behind them.
Evidently, Veronica was timing each group, and when the winner was announced, the men in the middle line raised their arms in triumph.
“What’s she doing?”
“A fire brigade, sir,” Ralston said. “Lady Fairfax has insisted upon it.”
