Death Devil's Bridge by Robin Paige

and Motorcars Strictly Prohibited,” with the accompanying terse directive: “Aeronauts, motorcar drivers, and all such trespassing on this land will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of Her Majesty’s Law.”
    â€œThat means,” Whipple interpreted, “that any leaseholder’s got the right to summon the constable if yer balloon er any o’ them motor cars comes on ’is land.”
    Bradford handed back the proclamation without comment. He glanced gravely at Thornton. “How are you involved in this business, Squire?”
    â€œSome of those in attendance tonight are my tenants at Thornton Grange. I happen to share their concerns. I fear for the horses, as do other owners and breeders in the area.” Thornton lowered his voice. “I shall say to you what your father would say, were he here, Bradford. The horseless carriage is a threat to the horse, and to the horse trade: stud stables, harness and carriage manufacture, even farming itself. You are bringing catastrophe on our heads.”
    â€œOh, come now, Roger,” Bradford said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You cannot seriously argue that—”
    â€œI can certainly so argue,” Thornton said fiercely, “and others agree. I tell you, Bradford, every leaseholder in the district intends to post one of those proclamations. What’s more, they plan to gather at the launch site tomorrow morning. There’s going to be serious trouble.”
    Bradford controlled the expression on his face, but he could not keep the anger out of his voice. “You are collaborating with these men!” he exclaimed. “You are encouraging them in their lunacy!”
    Thomton’s stern face was dark, his frown fixed. “And just who is the lunatic here? What will your father say when he returns home and learns how you have betrayed his beliefs? What will your mother say when she discovers that you have encouraged your sister in her foolish flirtation with—” His eyes began to blaze with the flame of the Thornton squires. “I warn you, Marsden. You and your heedless friends and your motorcars and balloons are wreaking havoc. I won’t stand for it.”
    â€œExcuse me, gentlemen,” said a quiet, firm voice. “Is there anything wrong?”
    Bradford turned and squinted into the darkness. “Oh, good evening, Constable Laken,” he said. He laughed uncomfortably. “No, nothing wrong. A lively exchange of views on a controversial subject, that’s all.”
    â€œThat’s fine, sir,” Laken said evenly. “But perhaps, in view of the lateness of the evening and the proximity of residences, you would not object to exchanging your views in a lower tone.”
    â€œAgreed,” Bradford said with a careless laugh, “although I think we have had our say.”
    â€œMarsden?” called Charlie Rolls, coming around The Marlborough Head with his horse. The young man sounded a bit sozzled, not surprising, since he had done more than his share of the drinking. “I say, Marsden, old chap, are we ready to leave?”
    â€œI’m ready,” Bradford said to Rolls. “Good night, Constable.” He turned to Thornton. “I wish you a good night, Squire—and better company.”
    â€œYou’d best mind what I said,” Thornton snapped, “or you’ll be sorry.”
    Bradford leaned over his horse. “I hear you, Squire,” he said. “But it is much too late to change anything, even if I wanted to.”
    â€œThen I pity you, Bradford,” Thornton said bitterly, “for you have called up the very devil, and you shall have the devil to pay.”

10
    â€œBut I always want to know the things one shouldn’t do.”
“So as to do them?” asked her aunt.
“So as to choose,” said Isabel.
    â€” The Portrait of a Lady
HENRY JAMES
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    W hen the idea came to her, Bess knew