Escapade by Walter Satterthwait

Corneille.
    “ Yoo hoo! Mr. Houdini ?” Mrs. Allardyce. She was wearing a brown dress and white gloves and she was holding a pale blue parasol over her head, maybe to protect it from all that shade. “Won’t you join us?”
    The Great Man and I joined them. We took off our hats and said hello and sat down on the other bench. I pulled the watch from my pocket, glanced at it. Twelve-fifteen.
    Still safe, I thought.
    I was wrong, but I wouldn’t know that for a few more minutes.
    “Are we keeping you from something, Mr. Beaumont?” said Mrs. Corneille, smiling. On her lap was a white straw hat with a broad brim. On the rest of her was a white linen dress that made her shiny black hair seem even blacker. The hem of this dress was lower than the hem of last night’s dress, but it was high enough to show off a fair amount of her legs. They were still very good legs.
    The broad blue sky, the broad green lawn, Miss Turner’s eyes, Mrs. Corneille’s legs. There were a lot more distractions around here than I liked.
    I slid the watch back into my pocket. “Mr. Houdini and I had a bet. How long it would take to circle the grounds on foot.”
    “And who won?”
    “We haven’t finished yet.”
    She turned to the Great Man. “Are you feeling better today, Mr. Houdini?”
    “Very much so,” he said. “Thank you.”
    “I shouldn’t attempt to circle the grounds,” said Mrs. Allardyce. “Not even on a horse.” She frowned. “Did you see Jane? She’s off riding somewhere.” She glanced around vaguely.
    “Yes,” said the Great Man. “We spoke with her a while ago. She seems a very accomplished rider.”
    “Yes, I suppose she is. And that’s surprising , really, when you consider that basically she’s such a bookish sort of person. When she’s not writing one of those interminable letters of hers, she has her poor head buried in a book. Personally, I’ve never found Jane Austen all that fascinating.”
    She heaved her heavy bosom forward and looked eagerly at the Great Man. “Mr. Beaumont did tell you about our excitement last night? Jane’s ghost? Well, today, of course, the poor girl realizes that it was all merely a nightmare, a figment of her imagination, but last night she was absolutely hysterical , wasn’t she, Mr. Beaumont? It was all I could do to calm her. She can be so emotional sometimes.”
    The Great Man nodded. “Mr. Beaumont has told me of this. I—”
    He was interrupted by the cheerful toot toot of a horn. We all turned toward the south.
    A big motorcycle raced toward us along the walkway, gravel and earth spitting from its wheels. Lord Bob and his Brough Superior.
    Lord Bob hit the brakes. The motorcycle skidded for ten or twelve yards on the gravel, wavering left and right, and finally it stopped in front of us.
    Lord Bob was wearing the tweed suit he had been wearing earlier, but now he also wore a leather cap and a pair of goggles. He ripped up the goggles and let them slap back against his forehead. He grinned. Except for the white circles at his eyes, like a raccoon’s mask, his face was coated gray with dust. His mustache had been swept back along his cheeks. “Capital machine! Capital! What an adventure! Reached a hundred on the main road!” Beaming beneath his goggles, he looked around at all of us. “Anyone care to give it a go? I’d be—” Suddenly he looked off, down the walkway. “Good Lord. Is that Miss Turner?”
    Once again, we all turned.
    About fifty yards away, the big black horse had just burst from the forest. It reared up, forelegs clawing at the air, but somehow Miss Turner held on. Then the powerful legs came back to earth and the horse wheeled toward us and began racing along the walkway. The reins were flapping loose against its neck. Miss Turner was bent forward, her arm groping for them. Her bowler hat was gone and her long brown hair was streaming like a banner in the wind.
    “Oh dear,” said Mrs. Allardyce. Mrs. Corneille stood up from the bench,