Page 44 of Solving Sophronia

Sophie wrote down the information for her balloon-launch story.

One of the men in the balloon basket raised his hands, and the crowd went silent. He called out a command in French. The workers released the ropes, and the balloon started to rise off the ground.

The crowd gave a collective gasp, followed by cheers and applause.

One of the men hadn’t released his rope fast enough and was pulled off his feet. The balloon lifted him into the air.

Below, people screamed. Some yelled for him to let go his hold, but it seemed he was too panicked to do so.

Sophie held her breath.

Dahlia’s hands were pressed to her mouth.

The men inside the basket leaned over the side, yelling commands to the man as they rose higher over the trees.

Finally, the worker let go and dropped, crashing down through a large birch tree as he fell.

Police officers ran to the rescue, and Sophie moved for a better view, sketching the balloon rope and the panicked man being pulled into the air as she took a step forward.

After a moment the circle of police moved away, and the man stood in the middle of them, holding his head. One of the police officers held on to his arm, supporting him.

Seeing the man unharmed, the crowd cheered again.

“Oh, thank heaven,” Dahlia muttered.

Sophie continued to walk closer, wanting to get at least the man’s name for her story. If he was in any condition to provide a comment, that would be even better.

By the time she was able to push through the crowd, she saw a nurse holding a cloth against the injured man’s head. Police still stood around the scene of the accident.

An officer walked toward her, and Sophie smiled when she saw it was Constable Merryweather.

He pulled on the brim of his bucket hat. “Lady Sophronia.”

“Constable Merryweather, what do you do here? This is a long way from Whitechapel. Are you on duty?”

“London City Police needed some extra security for the event.” He hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Distracted crowd. All eyes looking upward. Perfect opportunity for dippers and the sort.”

Sophie put a hand on her bag, glad for his warning against pickpockets.

“Suppose you’re hoping for an interview?” He stabbed a thumb over his shoulder, motioning toward the injured man.

Sophie glanced behind the constable. The man who had fallen had been led to a spot in the shade, and the nurse attending him was inspecting his arm. He winced when she lifted it.

“An interview is not necessary. But perhaps a report on his status? And do you know his name?”

“Name’s Clive Butler,” Merryweather said, watching her write in her notebook. “Broken arm, I think. Knock on the head left him seeing stars, but doesn’t seem the worse for wear.”

“That is fortunate,” Sophie said. She glanced upward. The balloon was very high now, and so small. “I am glad I found you today.” She smiled at the constable. “Are there any new developments in our murder case? Were you able to interview Nick Sloan?”

Constable Merryweather frowned, apparently considering whether or not he should share details of the case with her when the detective wasn’t present. “I did,” he answered after a hesitation.

“And what did you find?”

“Sloan seemed genuinely distressed when he heard about the murders.” The constable glanced around as if nervous he’d be overheard. “I didn’t detain him. He appeared convincing to me. Detective Graham agreed with the decision, since we’ve no evidence to the contrary.”

“I hope to call on Detective Graham tomorrow, with the list he

needs.”

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