Death Devil's Bridge by Robin Paige Page A

immediately that she should not act on it. If she were caught, it would go hard with her, for there was no possible explanation she could make. But having reflected on the matter while she was milking her cow and feeding the chickens and gathering willows for her baskets, she discovered that the idea was now firmly lodged in her head, and she could not choose not to do it.
    So on Friday night, after it had grown dark, she gathered what she needed, tucked the bundles into the pocket of her skirt, and wrapped her black shawl around her. Then she set off in the direction of Bishop’s Keep.
    It was unlikely that motorcars would be out and about at this late hour, but Bess still throbbed with angry resentment at Lord Bradford and she did not care to be knocked into any more watery ditches. So instead of following the road, she took the footpath into the Bishop’s Keep Park. The land lay in darkness, but the moon was bright enough to see the cars lined up near the road under a large banner that proclaimed GRAND MOTOR CAR EXHIBITION AND RACE! She shuddered when she saw them, swift, steel-clad monsters, out to devour quiet lanes and destroy sleepy villages and run down pedestrians. If what she read in the newspaper was true, soon every county family would have its horseless carriage, steam tractors would replace wagons, and even the vicar’s bicycle would be motorized. The way of life she loved would soon be gone forever.
    Beyond the exhibition area, illuminated by a gaslight so bright that it turned the night to day, was the balloon’s launch site, whence Bess was bound. The night was still, and so quiet that she could hear the low voices of the two men tending the balloon well before she reached it. Bending low, clutching her shawl around her, she kept to the shadows of the trees.
    The balloon was a pale ghost that quivered, half-filled with gas, within its net of confining ropes. In just a few hours, it would rise from the earth and go soaring, sailing away through the bright air, to land who knew where. If she could go with it—but that was a vain hope. No, her only expectation of flying lay in the secret formula in the leather book tucked into its secret cache before the fireplace, where Gammer Gurton had hidden it after her successful flight.
    The balloon, moored to the ground, its gondola attached, was secured to a canvas hose, through which gas passed with a slight hissing sound. The fragile gondola was draped with hempen lines and ballast bags, and a five-pronged metal anchor hung from its side. Bess crept forward through the darkness, one eye on the two men. After a few moments, the pair turned their backs and walked away, sharing quick nips from a brown bottle.
    Sure now that she was unobserved, Bess darted to the gondola and swiftly did what she had come to do. Then she slipped into the shadows, and hurried back along the wood toward the exhibition area. Here, there was only moonlight, flickering like a candle as thin clouds moved across the face of the moon, and she was less fearful of being seen. Scanning the line of mechanical monsters, she easily singled out the one that belonged to Lord Bradford. Going to it, she knelt down in the shadows and spent several moments completing her mission. Then she stood and brushed herself off, feeling strong and powerful and vindicated. A moment later, confident of having achieved success without detection, she stepped out boldly into the lane. She had tripped along only a few paces, however, when she was suddenly brought up short by the sight of a stout figure on the road in front of her, and a familiar voice.
    â€œBess Gurton!” Sarah Pratt demanded, hands on hips. “Why in ’eaven’s name are ye skulkin’ through the dark?” Sarah’s voice became suspicious. “Wot’re ye doin’ that ye shudn’t?”
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    The day of the balloon’s arrival had been a long one, and the night dragged on longer still. By