When Baron Von Schmidt had stated that he intended to take me for a spin, I had not anticipated a man of such boorish intellect intended this statement to be quite literal. Puns were hardly this stuffy German aristocrat’s style.
I was scarcely in the mood to appreciate his unique brand of humour either. My attention was instead fixed on the many coarse ropes binding me fast to the propellers of the Baron’s prized biplane. These restraints, wound about my body and legs in a criss-cross pattern, did a top job of holding me suspended above the ground, not to mention crumpling my expensive red skirt suit in the process. I tried flexing my leather glove clad hands from where they were fixed to my side, but there was no slack to be found. Additional rope wound about my ankles and feet conspired to keep my newest pair of black high heels on my feet, though my expensive dark hat with wide brim had long gone. I feared it was already in the possession of the odious Governess.