North Bridge. Half of it has fallen into the valley below, with a broken portion still left hanging.
A large throng has gathered, lining the streets to view the bridge. Steam-powered carriages crowd the road, hardly any room between them. On the Old Town end, just beyond the bridge, traffic is being redirected to New Town via Lothian Road – no small detour, that. The whole city is a mess of traffic and pedestrians. All because of me.
‘What do you think could have caused that?’ Catherine asks.
We pass an automatic flying machine with a banner advertisement waving behind it. I focus on the words, to concentrate on something other than my destruction. Bass’s East-India Pale Ale . . . This season’s ale is in excellent condition, both in bottle and cask . . .
‘I have no idea.’ I hope they don’t notice how my voice shakes, how intently I’m staring at the sign rather than at the sight below.
‘Do you think it could happen again?’ Catherine asks.
I return my attention to Catherine. ‘Of course not.’ I sound false, the way Kiaran does when he pretends to be concerned. ‘Perhaps it has something to do with a malfunctioning carriage. Combustion is a tricky thing.’ I smile at her. ‘Fear not. We won’t be blown to bits.’
Catherine and Dona appear satisfied with that. I steer us past Castle Rock. Even in sunlight the castle is dark and imposing, a startling contrast to the greenery below. The park is mostly empty, a surprise on such a lovely day. I’m stricken by the realisation that everyone must be gathered on Princes Street to gawk at the disaster.
I find a clear patch of grass towards the east end of the Nor’ Loch, just below the cliff. The wings give a single, quick flap as the ornithopter lands.
‘Thank heavens,’ Dona mutters.
After a last sip of tea, I grab my parasol and open the door. The three of us stroll from the ornithopter, through thick trees that surround the base of Castle Rock. Damp grass squishes with each step we take.
The breeze here is brisk, but not terribly cold. This is one of the few winter days we will have when it’s bearable enough to take an afternoon walk. The sun sets too early at this time of year for many outdoor activities. Already it’s dipped below the treeline. Shadows behind the trees are growing longer and noticeably colder than the bright patches between them. The park is quiet, not even birds or other animals about. The three of us are completely alone.
‘I wanted to speak with you about something,’ Catherine says suddenly.
I open my parasol and rest the pole lightly against my shoulder. Distant rain clouds have begun to blow our way. We don’t have much daylight left. ‘Hmm?’
Catherine hesitates and glances at Dona. Dona lowers her head and immediately slows her pace to give us more privacy.
‘If Dona hears anything,’ I say to Catherine, ‘she will be perfectly discreet.’
Catherine blushes but nods. ‘I know you don’t like to discuss it, but have you at least thought about marriage?’
What you want isn’t important.
I look down at my feet. The tops of my slippers are stained with mud. ‘Aye,’ I say. I smile ruefully. ‘I’ve concluded it isn’t for me.’
Dona gasps from behind us. At my surprised look, she drops her head. ‘Quite sorry, my lady.’
‘That’s all right,’ I say. ‘Unfortunately, my father feels differently. He says I am to be engaged before the end of the season. When I brought up potential difficulties, he claimed I was being dramatic.’
‘Well,’ Catherine says drily, ‘he has all the sensitivity of a tea table, doesn’t he?’
‘Duty first, remember?’ Father’s oft-stated precept.
Catherine lets out a breath of disgust. ‘So he’s decided to be interested in your life now? And to think, it only took him a year to acknowledge you.’
I dislike her mother, she dislikes my father. Unlike my own, Catherine’s father loved her – and he showed more affection towards me than
A large throng has gathered, lining the streets to view the bridge. Steam-powered carriages crowd the road, hardly any room between them. On the Old Town end, just beyond the bridge, traffic is being redirected to New Town via Lothian Road – no small detour, that. The whole city is a mess of traffic and pedestrians. All because of me.
‘What do you think could have caused that?’ Catherine asks.
We pass an automatic flying machine with a banner advertisement waving behind it. I focus on the words, to concentrate on something other than my destruction. Bass’s East-India Pale Ale . . . This season’s ale is in excellent condition, both in bottle and cask . . .
‘I have no idea.’ I hope they don’t notice how my voice shakes, how intently I’m staring at the sign rather than at the sight below.
‘Do you think it could happen again?’ Catherine asks.
I return my attention to Catherine. ‘Of course not.’ I sound false, the way Kiaran does when he pretends to be concerned. ‘Perhaps it has something to do with a malfunctioning carriage. Combustion is a tricky thing.’ I smile at her. ‘Fear not. We won’t be blown to bits.’
Catherine and Dona appear satisfied with that. I steer us past Castle Rock. Even in sunlight the castle is dark and imposing, a startling contrast to the greenery below. The park is mostly empty, a surprise on such a lovely day. I’m stricken by the realisation that everyone must be gathered on Princes Street to gawk at the disaster.
I find a clear patch of grass towards the east end of the Nor’ Loch, just below the cliff. The wings give a single, quick flap as the ornithopter lands.
‘Thank heavens,’ Dona mutters.
After a last sip of tea, I grab my parasol and open the door. The three of us stroll from the ornithopter, through thick trees that surround the base of Castle Rock. Damp grass squishes with each step we take.
The breeze here is brisk, but not terribly cold. This is one of the few winter days we will have when it’s bearable enough to take an afternoon walk. The sun sets too early at this time of year for many outdoor activities. Already it’s dipped below the treeline. Shadows behind the trees are growing longer and noticeably colder than the bright patches between them. The park is quiet, not even birds or other animals about. The three of us are completely alone.
‘I wanted to speak with you about something,’ Catherine says suddenly.
I open my parasol and rest the pole lightly against my shoulder. Distant rain clouds have begun to blow our way. We don’t have much daylight left. ‘Hmm?’
Catherine hesitates and glances at Dona. Dona lowers her head and immediately slows her pace to give us more privacy.
‘If Dona hears anything,’ I say to Catherine, ‘she will be perfectly discreet.’
Catherine blushes but nods. ‘I know you don’t like to discuss it, but have you at least thought about marriage?’
What you want isn’t important.
I look down at my feet. The tops of my slippers are stained with mud. ‘Aye,’ I say. I smile ruefully. ‘I’ve concluded it isn’t for me.’
Dona gasps from behind us. At my surprised look, she drops her head. ‘Quite sorry, my lady.’
‘That’s all right,’ I say. ‘Unfortunately, my father feels differently. He says I am to be engaged before the end of the season. When I brought up potential difficulties, he claimed I was being dramatic.’
‘Well,’ Catherine says drily, ‘he has all the sensitivity of a tea table, doesn’t he?’
‘Duty first, remember?’ Father’s oft-stated precept.
Catherine lets out a breath of disgust. ‘So he’s decided to be interested in your life now? And to think, it only took him a year to acknowledge you.’
I dislike her mother, she dislikes my father. Unlike my own, Catherine’s father loved her – and he showed more affection towards me than
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