Page 70 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
She smiled. “Pay them no mind. They’re lost in each other’s company. I do believe this is a dream come true for dear Lisbelle. She’s been dizzy over Giles for months now.”
“Is that so?”
“You haven’t noticed her fumbling like a drunkard every which way tonight?”
“I thought it was just her way,” he said.
“Not at all. She’s normally fairly composed. Oh, she has her moments of insanity, as we all do, I suppose. But she’s never so maladroit as she is around Giles.” She leaned in and whispered, “And he’s at least ten years her junior!” With this, she at once put the back of her hand to her mouth and giggled.
“I shall be on watch for the poor boy’s health, then.”
Madeline felt her eyes widen in delightful shock. “My Lord!”
He laughed at her reaction as they approach a filbert stand that billowed with delicious smoke. Bag in hand, she strolled next to Oliver, he with both hands locked behind him.
They entered the gardens proper, and the sights were even more wondrous. Everywhere the eye peered, there were bustles of human activity. Sight and sound combined like clashing hues and discordant melodies. There were tumblers and jugglers, fire eaters, tiny theatres with tiny dramas enacted in dance; there were stalls of wares – jewellery and pottery and castings; there was a Punch and Judy show with a crowd of spectators laughing uproariously; there were oysters and nuts and fruits to be had and enjoyed up and down the walk, and there were rows of deep green hedges, sculpted and pruned to fine angles lining a long, narrow walkway.
“Oh, Oliver, that looks so mysterious and wonderful,” said Madeline, pointing to the narrow path. “Let’s go down it, shall we?”
“I do not think it proper for a Lady to take such a path.”
“What?”
“My Lady Madeline, you remember the words of our sacred man of letters when he spoke of taking ‘the primrose path’? Well, I’m afraid there is quite a literal one in that direction. It is said that men and woman go there, er, without chaperones, to, er, engage—”
Madeline gasped. “Say no more, My Lord. I shall act as if the subject never arose.”
He leaned in. “I would keep an eye on Lisbelle and Giles, though, if I were you.”
She laughed again, hand to mouth. “Stop that this instant!”
“There!” Oliver said excitedly.
“What is it?”
“It’s her!” He pointed off to the left, and there they saw a tightrope suspended at least fifty feet into the air, extending across a lawn, and descending by steep decline to the main walk.
Madeline smiled in wonder. “She really walks upon that rope? But how?”
“They say there are no tricks to be had. ’Tis pure craft. Come. We must see this to believe it.”
A fanfare began and a cheer rose from the crowd as a figure appeared on the lawn. She wore a red and purple plumed headdress whose feathers reached up into the air and billowed in the breeze. Her white-stockinged legs were exposed due to the rather low-cut dress, which flowed around her stiffly as if trying in vain to resist the air.
“She is an immodest one,” remarked Madeline.
“They are an immodest lot in France. Does it offend you?”
Madeline thought for a moment. “No. I think she’s rather lovely.”
The woman gave a flourish with one arm and proceeded to the tall mast that served as a moor for the tightrope. This she began to ascend on large nails that served as rungs driven into the side. Up and up she went to a dizzying height to the audible amazement of the crowd.
“I fear I might swoon if I watch her,” said Madeline. “But I shan’t turn away, not for all the tea in India.”
The woman, a mere speck now, paused with her arms out, and then took her first step onto the rope. A woman several feet away from Madeline fainted, causing a mild bustle of men to come to her aid. She watched as the woman slowly made her way to the middle of the rope, then paused and lifted one leg, then the other, and continued in a sort of ballet. She hopped and landed on the other foot. She knelt on one knee and flourished with her arms, then stood and continued her dance. With every move, every flinch that could be detected from this distance, the crowd of people—which had nearly tripled since the show commenced-hollered, screamed, and laughed in pure delicious fright and joy.
Madame Saqui then padded over to the other end and began the long descent to the ground. As she did so, a stream of fireworks rose into the air behind her, exploding into a perfect rainbow of colour. Then another, and another, their thunderous reports drowning out the roar of the crowd, who began to applaud relentlessly as if their lives depended on it. The fireworks continued as she descended, and just before she got to the end, she reached behind her and pulled out a parasol, which bloomed above her, revealing a small Union Jack on a tiny mast at its tip. This elicited a fury of ecstasy from the crowd, and the woman, giving one more flourishing gesture, leapt from her perch and floated gently to the ground. She handed off her parasol and bowed as gracefully as she had done everything else, then bounded off to frenzied applause.
“Hurrah!” cried Madeline.
