Excerpt: The Daughters of August Winterbourne

The Daughters of August Winterbourne

Chapter One

August, 1873

The airship Emma's Lightning gleamed golden in the late afternoon sun as it hung over the grassy meadow just outside the village of Windmill Hill. The errant breezes from the ocean would have made landing the craft a challenge for a lesser pilot, but Celia Winterbourne had been piloting her father's airship since the age of eleven. Eight years of practice had made her skilled in all the craft's nuances. Her fingers flew over the control panel, making minute adjustments to the rudder and the seven small propellers that helped guide the airship.

The control deck was open to the warm August air, giving Celia excellent visibility on three sides. There were window panes that could be put up in case of inclement weather, but the day had been so fine that she felt no need for them, even when the ship was cruising high above the English countryside. Taking careful note of the landing markers as well as the windsock, she made yet another adjustment to the starboard-side propellers, swinging the tail of the ship slightly to port. Perfect! A touch to another control, and the graceful ship set down precisely beside its dock, with only the most gentle of bumps to tell her they had landed. She grabbed a green flag and waved it out the front window as a signal for the waiting attendants to come anchor the ship in place.

“Bravo, Celee!” her father cried from the aft engine compartment, where he had been tending the burners that provided the craft's lift as well as the steam engine that turned both the seven small maneuvering propellers around the ship, plus the much larger one to the rear that drove it. “Perfect as always!” He stepped through the door to beam at her. “Great heavens, but I'm going to miss you! I shall have to hire a pilot, and Lord knows I'll be hard pressed to find anyone half as good as you.”

Celia could feel herself blushing, but she also couldn't help grinning at her father's praise. “Thank you, Papa. I shall miss flying with you.”

He put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “I still can't believe it. My little Celee, off to attend the Royal Academy of Science. And one of the first four girls ever to be admitted! Not that I ever doubted that you could pass the entrance exams, mind you. I know how clever you are.”

“I still can't believe that they decided to accept female students at all.” Celia remembered clearly the day the announcement had been made last January. In fact, she still had the newspaper article, folded up among her keepsakes and mementos. “Even as little as three years ago, they were adamantly against it. I wonder what changed their minds?”

“I don't know for certain,” her father said in a conspiratorial tone, “but I've heard that Her Majesty, Queen Victoria herself, had something to do with it. She'd heard all the talk about how the chancellors deemed women to be of inferior intelligence and pointed out to them that if a woman could be Queen of England, then certainly women were capable of possessing enough intelligence to enter the Academy. Or so I'm told,” he winked.

“I just wish I weren't so nervous.” Celia still held the green flag in her hand; she twisted the fabric around the short stick.

“Celia Leonora Winterbourne, you have no reason to be nervous.” Her father's expression was stern. “You'll do just fine, I know you will. Haven't I raised you to always do your best?”

“Of course, Papa, but ...”

“But me no buts, Celia. If landing this airship on a sixpence doesn't make you nervous, then you are more than capable of facing any challenge the Academy might present you.”

She finally looked up at her father. He was still beaming at her, and she couldn't help grinning back. He had a streak of soot alongside his nose, and his normally tidy ascot was rumpled and stained with coal dust and engine grease. Cavender, her father's valet, would be livid, but Celia thought it was endearing. She knew that women often described her father as “handsome,” and she supposed he was, but to her, he was just her dear, dear Papa. “All right. I'll do my best, I promise.”

“Good girl. And besides, there's always next summer. I'll have made a whole new set of improvements to Emma's Lightning by then, and I think we should celebrate and test them out by going somewhere special. Perhaps India, or Greenland, or Peru. What do you think?”

Celia's mind raced. “Oh, Papa! I've always wanted to go to India!”

“Then that's where we're bound, as soon as your summer holidays begin. I'll start planning our flight path as soon as we get home.” He laid a hand on her brown curls, so like his own, just as there was a rap on the flight deck door. “Yes, Bates?”

Bates, who was their ground crew chief, let himself into the tiny flight deck. “The craft is secure, sir. As soon as you and Miss Winterbourne disembark, we'll deflate the envelope and get her ready for storage.”

“Excellent, Bates. Best run and get your things, Celee. I'll be right down.”

“Aye, Papa.”