A Passion for Pleasure(96)

He and Andrew walked along the flagstone paths until they came to an area of the garden that was clear of trees. Andrew began twisting the material around a hoop and attaching it with cords to a small basket that he had painted emerald green with yellow stars.

After setting out their supplies, Sebastian dropped a pound of iron filings into a jar filled with water, then picked up a bottle of oil of vitriol with his left hand. As he forced his fingers to close around the top, Andrew appeared at his side. Without looking at him, the boy twisted off the lid of the bottle and grasped the jar.

Something tightened in Sebastian’s chest, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. No embarrassment or sense that the boy pitied his inability to rely on his hand. Instead Andrew gave him a matter-of-fact nod and pushed the jar closer. After Sebastian poured the vitriol, Andrew stopped the jar with a cork and together they pressed a glass tube through the cork.

“Ready?” Sebastian asked.

The boy nodded and moved closer. They fitted the other end of the tube into the hoop and watched as the gas caused the taffeta to inflate into a balloon. At Sebastian’s instruction, Andrew clamped his hand around the material to prevent the gas from escaping. Sebastian removed the tube.

“Now let go,” he said.

Andrew released the balloon, which instantly caught a current of air and began to rise, the green basket dangling below. Andrew applauded as it bobbed on the air, rising higher and higher.

A smile broke out across Sebastian’s face as the balloon drifted like a bright bubble. He remembered all too well the joy he and his brothers had experienced constructing balloons exactly like this one and setting them aloft. It filled him now, the delight of watching the balloon bounce through the air, the enjoyment of being outside, the pleasure of being concerned only about whether or not the linseed-coated seams would hold.

“Now we have to chase it,” he warned Andrew as the balloon drifted farther.

Andrew turned and started to run, a laugh breaking from him suddenly. The sound caught Sebastian by surprise, verifying his suspicion that Andrew’s muteness was not the result of any physical affliction. The boy could make sounds. He just chose not to.

Rather than tussle with the question of why, Sebastian raced after Andrew as they followed the path of the balloon. The wind surged cold against his face. His muscles flexed and pulled as he ran, and for a moment his snarled emotions loosened. A new feeling spread through him, a sense of freedom that he’d thought had died with the end of his musical career.

As the gas inside the balloon dispersed, it slowed on the current and began to descend. Andrew and Sebastian chased it to the river, where it floated to snag on a branch jutting out over the water.

“I’ll try to grab it.” Sebastian hurried down the grassy bank toward the river, but Andrew got there first.

After shucking off his boots, Andrew stepped onto the first of several flat stones that provided a path to the opposite bank. The current cascaded over the stones, polishing them to smoothness.

Knowing well how cold the water was, Sebastian grinned as Andrew made his way cautiously to the largest stone in the center, then reached to grab the dangling balloon. Clutching it in one fist, he retraced his path back to Sebastian’s side. He held up the deflated balloon with a triumphant smile.

“Well done, Andrew.” Sebastian tousled the boy’s hair. “You’d make a fine retriever. Shall we give it another go?”

Andrew nodded, and they walked back to the garden where they had left the supplies. Sebastian mixed another batch of the gas concoction, and they set the balloon aloft again. As Andrew ran off to give chase, Sebastian saw Clara coming toward them from the house.

Tension knotted his shoulders as half of his soul urged him closer to her and the other half remained locked behind the wall of his anger. Even understanding the desperation behind her revelations to Rushton made it no easier for Sebastian to accept the fact that Clara hadn’t trusted him.

“He seems happy.” Clara paused beside him, her smile belied by the strain in her brilliant eyes. She looked to where Andrew ran along the path back down to the river. “I’m so grateful for the time you’re spending with him, however short it might be.”

“He’s good company. Intelligent, curious.”

Clara didn’t look at him, her gaze fixed on her son. “Has he said anything to you?”

“No.”

Clara’s shoulders sagged, as if she had been holding her breath while awaiting his response. Sebastian surrendered to the urge to comfort her and slid his arm around her. A ripple of unease went through her, but she stepped closer to his side.