I did not tell you what you wanted to hear.’
Esme did not answer and they walked the rest of the way in silence.
Almost the whole of the following week was taken up with preparations for her presentation at Court. For some reason Esme could not fathom, a feather headdress was a must and as her Majesty disliked small feathers, they had to be large enough to be seen by her when the débutantes entered the room in a long line, one behind the other together with their sponsors. In Esme’s case that would be Rosemary who rehearsed her over and over again until she was reduced to a trembling jelly. ‘Esme, for goodness’ sake, Mama taught us all to curtsy, do you have to look so clumsy? If you fall over, I shall die of embarrassment.’
The evening arrived at last and she set off with Rosemary to make her début into society, resplendent in a dress of pure white silk and a white gauze veil topped with the mandatory feather headdress, which made her keep her head bowed in the carriage. The journey took only a matter of minutes but there was a long line of vehicles outside St James’s Palace and they had to sit there for over an hour until it was their turn to enter. Others, whose fathers were not so high-ranking as the Earl of Luffenham, had even longer to wait. By the time they were called, Esme was shivering with cold and nerves, especially as no cloaks, capes or shawls were allowed. Once in the palace they waited in line in the gallery until it was their turn to move forward. Esme looked at Rosemary and received a smile of encouragement as she finally entered the throne room.
A couple of attendants helped to arrange her train and she walked slowly and sedately forward, following the girl in front of her, until she found herself standing before her Majesty, who was seated surrounded by standing courtiers. After Rosemary had presented her, she sank down into her curtsy and took the hand that was offered, kissed it, bowed and carefully straightened her knees, quickly righting herself when she began to wobble. The Queen was smiling at her. She dipped her head again and felt behind her for her train. A waiting footman picked it up and laid it over her arm and then indicated the direction she should take. Slowly, step by step, she retreated backwards until she was at the door.
‘Good,’ Rosemary said, taking charge of the train. ‘That’s over. Now, you are out.’
‘Out’ meant she could take her place in society and attend balls and functions and meet that desirable husband. All that expense, all that practising, all those jangling nerves, for the sake of two or three minutes in a crowded room and even less time in the presence of her Majesty.
They were soon outside, a shawl put about her shoulders because it was very late, and on their way back to Trent House. Tomorrow her Season could begin.
Between visits to Rosemary’s friends, tea parties, the odd soirée and a concert or two, Esme amused herself by riding, when she was accompanied by Rosemary, or walking when her companion was more often than not Miss Bannister. On one never-to-be-forgotten day, she and Rosemary were walking home through Hyde Park after a shopping expedition, having dismissed the carriage in Park Lane, when they found themselves being jostled in a crowd of people craning their necks to see something going on in the middle of the park. Esme, ever curious, pushed her way through, with Rosemary reluctantly behind her.
‘Why, it’s a balloon,’ she said as she came to a roped-off enclosure in the middle of which a long colourful mass of silk material was being gradually inflated.
A man with a megaphone was explaining to the crowd how it was being filled with hydrogen gas. ‘The gas is made by the action of sulphuric acid and water on the iron-and-zinc shavings in those casks over there,’ he said, pointing. ‘In passing through the water, the gas is rid of its impurities and is passed through a tube into the neck of the balloon. The gas displaces an equal volume of atmospheric air and, because it is lighter than air, the balloon rises until it reaches a layer of air equal in density to its own and there it remains, floating above the earth with the basket beneath it.’
‘How d’ you get down again?’ someone shouted.
‘We let the gas out a little at a time and admit an equal quantity of atmospheric air. The balloon descends and reaches the ground when all the gas has been expelled.’ As he spoke the balloon rose above them and the basket, which had been lying on its side, righted itself, held beneath the balloon by a network of ropes. Only the tethering ropes held the whole contraption to the ground. The crowd, including Esme, looked upwards as the huge globe, painted in red, blue and yellow, filled up. ‘Now we are ready to ascend,’ he said, standing beside the basket. ‘I can take three passengers. Who will come with me on a voyage of a lifetime?’
There was no immediate response, possibly because the watchers were mostly ladies and a few gentlemen who were out for an afternoon’s stroll, and would not demean themselves by volunteering. One lad walked across the grass and shook hands with the balloonist and clambered into the basket. ‘Any more?’ the man shouted. ‘Come along, the panorama of London at such a height is a wonder to behold. You won’t be carried away. The balloon will be tethered at all times. You will return to this very spot.’
The prospect of such a ride was too much of a temptation for Esme. ‘Oh, Rosie, wouldn’t it be fun? Shall we try it?’ She looked round for her sister, but Rosemary had been swallowed up by the crowd and was some distance away. Undeterred she ducked under the ropes and walked across the grass towards the balloon, unsure if she really would have the courage to step into the basket.
‘Why, here’s a little lady putting you all to shame,’ the balloonist called out, as he bowed to Esme and took her hand. ‘Well, miss, are you game?’ he asked.
She nodded. He opened a little door in the side of the basket and, picking her up, deposited her inside it beside the boy. She looked round her and was met with a sea of faces, all smiling and cheering. Except one. Rosemary had made her way to the front and was looking wildly round her as if appealing to someone, anyone, to fetch her sister back. Esme could not hear what her sister was saying, but she was already beginning to regret her foolhardiness. Pride would not allow her to change her mind, especially when the balloonist began shouting again, ‘Come on, you brave men, you aren’t going to let the little lady show you up, are you?’
A man pushed his way through the onlookers and began sprinting across the grass, followed by several others. They were making a race of it, each wanting to be the last passenger. Esme, who had recognised the front runner, willed him to win, which he did, jumping into the basket and closing the gate as the men helping the balloonist let out the slack in the tethering rope.
‘You are quite mad, you know that, don’t you?’ he told her.
She smiled a little weakly as the balloon rose and began to sway as the breeze caught it. ‘I wanted an adventure.’
‘Now you have it.’
‘Yes.’ Her voice conveyed her nervousness and made him smile. ‘What about you?’
‘The same, I especially could not forgo the pleasure of having it with you. Are you afraid?’
‘Certainly not!’
‘Good.’ He grinned. ‘Then let us enjoy it. Look down there.’
Tying her bonnet firmly under her chin, she peered downwards. Already the people watching them were colourful dots and the houses little squares with tiny gardens and the parks large green patches. Apart from the wind in the rigging, there was little sound. ‘See, there is the Thames and that’s St Paul’s and there’s the Tower. And just down there is Buckingham Palace
