by Regina Scott
“An interesting woman, this Miss Thorn,” Worth said. “What do you know about her?”
His friend’s gaze went out toward the park. “A great deal. We grew up together in Surrey.”
The facts added up quickly. “Then Wey must know her as well.”
Julian glanced back at him. “Assuredly. She introduced him to his wife. Sir Harry and Carrolton too. Be warned.”
Worth shook his head. “I’m not looking to take a wife. But it sounds as if you are.”
His smile deepened. “I admire Miss Thorn more than words can say.”
Words perhaps, but the tone and the light in his eyes said Julian cared about the regal employment agency owner. Worth envied him.
They chatted a while longer about mutual friends and plans for the rest of the Season, then Julian took his leave, and Worth turned for home. His steps felt buoyant, as if the hot air he studied had inflated his chest. How odd. His secret was out and in the hands of the one person he had vowed never to trust again.
So why did he feel so good?
Chapter Six
Lydia felt a bit like a balloon herself as she headed for her work the next day. Meredith had offered the use of her maid, Enid, who would be coming over later in the afternoon with Lydia’s ballgown and accessories to help her dress. But the ball was the last thing on her mind.
She was doing something important, with the potential to improve the future for thousands of people, something that could change the world for the better. It was positively…
“Uplifting,” she said aloud as she rapped on the door.
Bateman opened the door just as she was giggling. Lydia quickly schooled her face, but his stern mouth twitched as if he was trying not to smile. He stepped aside and let her in.
Charlotte appropriated her straight away. She wore a heavy dun-colored canvas overcoat on top of her day dress and handed Lydia one like it to don.
“Miss Pankhurst is busy replicating her perfected stitch on yards of scarlet silk,” Charlotte reported. “I have a platform set up in the garden. I want to test containers.”
A tremor went through her, and she thought her pleasure must be shining from her eyes. “How exciting!”
Charlotte led her down the corridor and through the rear door out into a small garden surrounded by high stone walls. Unlike the house, it remained separate from the adjacent garden, from which came clanks and thumps and male voices raised in discussion.
Charlotte must have noticed Lydia’s puzzled glance, for she waved in that direction. “Pay no attention to them. Worth is testing the strength of Miss Janssen’s basket. Beast will be assisting when he finishes his other duties. This is where we’ll be working.”
In the center of the garden, where the graveled paths led to a flagstone square that had once likely held a statue or sundial, someone had erected a bronze brazier and surrounded it with various transportation options, including a copper pail and what looked suspiciously like a medieval shield covered in studded leather. A pile of wood and a canister of whale oil stood not far away, as if waiting to see if they would be needed.
“Worth tells me you surmised the purpose of our research,” Charlotte said as they paused before the brazier. Already coals glowed red, the heat pulsing against Lydia like a caged tiger yearning to be free.
“Yes,” Lydia admitted. “But I promised not to breathe a word of it.”
“Good,” Charlotte said. “We have four tasks, then: to advance the construction of the basket that carries the weight, the envelope of the balloon itself, the method of heating the air, and the propulsion of the balloon. I can only hope Worth is making progress on the last.”
Lydia put a hand on her arm. “He doesn’t even share his results with you?”
“No.” Charlotte looked just the slightest saddened by the fact. “He has been…disappointed in his previous collaborators. He prefers to work alone now. But never fear, our task is just as important.”
She nodded toward the brazier. “You must see our difficulty. Currently, the air used to fill the envelope is heated before lifting, so the balloon can only stay aloft until the air inside cools. If longer-range, higher-altitude flights are to be achieved, we must find a way to keep the air hot, or at least have the capability of reheating it as needed. And that means we must have a way to transport the flame and the fuel with the basket.”
“Of course.” Lydia circled the brazier, mind busy. “What have you tried?”
“Nothing,” Charlotte admitted. “Everything I considered proved impractical on closer examination. But your idea of using leather inspired me.” She smiled at Lydia. “Shall we?”
They spent the next little while using tongs to transfer portions of the heated coal to the various containers. Charlotte’s journal lay nearby. She kept going to it and noting time and changes with a pencil. To Lydia’s dismay, the leather shield deformed quickly, and the copper pail swiftly became nearly as hot as the coals themselves.
“Not ideal for a woven basket,” Charlotte said, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her gloved hand.
Lydia eyed the remaining coals. “Why not simply use the brazier itself?”
“Too large,” Charlotte said. “And how would we suspend it so that the heat entered the envelope rather than spread to the winds?”
“Make it smaller then,” Lydia countered, “and lift it on a pedestal.”
Charlotte cocked her head, studying the brazier as well. “Wouldn’t that design just direct the heat into too small a space?”
“Not if we add feet and insulate them. Felted wool, perhaps? We could raise the base of the brazier on flame-retardant wood like cork so that the heat was diverted directly into the mouth of the envelope. Air flowing beneath the brazier might keep it cool.”
Charlotte cupped her chin, eyes narrowed. “Would too much cooling cause the heat to dissipate?”
“Not if the fire was sufficiently hot to begin with,” Lydia reasoned.
Charlotte’s russet brows rose. “Just how hot would that have to be?”
“Hotter than what we have now, I should think.”
“Could we devise some sort of additive to make it burn hotter?” Charlotte mused.
Lydia glanced to the other fuel waiting nearby. “What about whale oil?” She took up the container, opened the spout and sprinkled some over the glowing coals.
Flames roared skyward.
~~~
On the other side of the stone wall, Worth was watching Miss Janssen bounce up and down inside the pale wicker frame they had suspended from four stakes driven into the dirt of the yard.
“You see?” she said over the squeak of the material. “It’s flexible yet firm, just as you asked.”
“So it appears,” Worth said. “Now, to test it for weight. Bateman, climb in with Miss Janssen.”
Standing to one side, his bodyguard didn’t move. Bateman’s gaze was on the grey stone wall that separated them from the garden of the other house. Worth hadn’t removed the barrier when he’d combined the houses. For one thing, it gave him two spaces for experimentation. For another, it kept the work nicely compartmentalized. The fact had offered some comfort. This time, no one would steal his work.
“Bateman?” he nudged.
“Is your sister working with Miss Villers in the garden?” the boxer asked.
“That was the plan,” Worth said as Miss Janssen ceased bouncing and waited.
Flames shot into the sky, accompanied by cries. Of fear? Of pain?
Bateman was moving a moment before Worth. He leaped into the air, caught the top of the wall, and hauled himself up and over. Another time, Worth would have followed more slowly, knowing the big man would protect Charlotte.
But Lydia faced the same danger.
He could look for handholds in the stone, calculate their ability to hold his weight, carefully scale the surface. But fear for her drove him up and over, following Bateman.
As Worth dropped into the other garden, he could see that
his bodyguard had Charlotte in his arms, well away from a brazier that was engulfed in flames, smoke clouding the garden. Coughing, he waved his hand in front of his face, gaze darting here, there. Where was Lydia? If anything happened to her…
“One side, if you please.” Lydia bustled past him, pail of water in her arms. She swung it, and the bright liquid arced through the air. The fire hissed and popped as the water hit, smoke changing to steam. Worth caught her arm and drew her back from the hot clouds.
Face streaked with soot, Lydia smiled at him. “I’m not sure that was sufficient to put it out. Perhaps you could help?”
Worth stirred himself, grabbed up an oddly shaped leather platter that rested nearby, and followed her to the garden pump to fill the receptacles with water. After two trips, nothing but a soggy mass of coal remained.
“Well, that was eventful,” Charlotte said, stepping away from Bateman at last.
“That was a farce,” her rescuer said. “You could have been burned.” He aimed his scowl at Lydia.
Very likely the greater blame lay with his sister. Charlotte knew the possible dangers of the work she was doing. Lydia was still relatively new to her role.
“I asked you to take precautions,” Worth told his sister as he lowered the platter.
“And I did,” Charlotte informed him. “We had it well in hand. There was no need for you to intervene.” She glanced at the brazier and shook her head. “Now we won’t be able to proceed for hours.”
Lydia did not appear the least abashed at nearly catching herself on fire. “A shame, but there was nothing for it. We’ll simply have to consult another expert.”
Worth stiffened. “I believe we agreed we would not discuss the work with others, Miss Villers.”
Her smile remained sunny, but her voice held just the hint of an edge. “I didn’t intend to, my lord. I’d like to talk to your cook.”
Worth blinked.
Bateman snorted. “Mrs. Hestrine’s not likely to know much about such things.”
Lydia did not take umbrage at his disparaging tone. “She might surprise you, Bateman. In this case, she might hold the key.” She turned to Charlotte. “Surely she has some ideas on how well various materials conduct heat. We might have missed something.”
Interesting approach, and one that might gain them some unexpected insights. Besides, if she and Charlotte spent the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen, he wouldn’t have to worry about his research or them.
But there was one sure way to safeguard his sanity.
“Excellent suggestion,” he said. “I’ll join you. Charlotte, perhaps you could work with Miss Janssen on her testing, then help Bateman set up a new test platform for you and Miss Villers.”
He thought his sister might argue. She had enough on her hands with completing her own task to jump in with his basket weaver.
But she slid a glance toward his bodyguard before nodding. “Yes, of course.” She turned to Lydia. “We’ll regroup afterward. I’m sure you’ll have a great deal to relate.”
As it turned out, not as much as Lydia had obviously hoped. Their cook, Mrs. Hestrine, directed her undercook and pot boy to keep working while she answered Lydia’s questions at one side of the bustling kitchen. Worth had never spent much time in the space, but he wasn’t surprised to find it bright, clean, and well organized. Charlotte would have had it no other way. For his part, so long as food arrived on a predictable schedule and was largely edible, he saw no need to interfere in his staff’s domain. And on the rare occasion when interference was needed, Charlotte saw to it.
He had met his cook at the once-a-year Boxing Day festivities, when his parents and now Charlotte held a party for the staff. The older woman was heavyset, with a round face and meaty hands that looked equally capable of wielding a rolling pin or a battle axe.
“Thank you for allowing us to interrupt you, Mrs. Hestrine,” Lydia said when introductions had been completed. “We had a question about the pots and pans you prefer in your kitchen.”
His cook glanced at the bright copper pots hanging on the sunny yellow wall to their right. “Always preferred copper myself.”
Interesting. “Why?” Worth asked, leaning forward. “I’ve found it altogether difficult to manage for my applications.”
Mrs. Hestrine stared at him. Lydia stepped in smoothly.
“What his lordship means is that copper seems to heat too readily, unlike iron.”
“But cast iron can be terribly heavy when filled for a large event,” the cook protested. Then she blushed. “Not that I’m complaining about cast iron, mind you. Miss Charlotte keeps us well equipped.”
“I’ll be sure to let Miss Worthington know how much you appreciate that,” Lydia promised her.
“Have you found a particular metal that does not conduct heat well?” Worth asked, gaze going over the various cookware. Porcelain, perhaps? Or would it not tolerate the changes in altitude and temperature?
“Conduct heat?” She glanced from Worth to Lydia and back. “I’m your cook, my lord. Not my place to conduct anything.”
Worth felt a tug of impatience, but Lydia showed not the least of it. “Of course. Forgive us. What I believe his lordship meant was, have you ever cooked in a pot that simply didn’t heat well?”
“Well, certainly.” Mrs. Hestrine pulled up on the strap of her voluminous apron as if preparing for a fight. “You have to season the iron, you know. If you don’t, the fish won’t fry evenly.”
Seasoning. Would some coating make the metal less vulnerable to overheating?
Lydia had brought one of Charlotte’s journals and a pencil with her. Now she made a note of something. “Interesting. With what do you season it? Wouldn’t salt affect the taste of the food?”
“Salt?” Mrs. Hestrine shook her head. “You season with drippings—pork fat, perhaps, or beef. You rub it into the iron. Keeps it cooking nicely.”
“Fascinating,” Worth said, while Lydia made another note.
Again the cook glanced between them. Then she drew herself up with a sniff that must send her pot boy scurrying for cover. “I have been working in this house since before you were born, my lord. Never have I had anyone complain about my work, much less make fun of it.”
Lydia glanced up, face bunching. “Oh, Mrs. Hestrine. I wasn’t making fun of you.”
The cook sniffed again, as if she highly doubted that.
The floor seemed unsteady under his feet. Here was his greatest lack. He could have told Lydia the exact temperature each of the cook’s vessels could tolerate, but he struggled to understand why Mrs. Hestrine had decided not the tolerate their questions.
“I’m sure Lord Worthington has nothing but respect for your culinary skills,” Lydia said with a glance his way.
Mrs. Hestrine glanced at him too, waiting.
They both expected him to set things right.
He was sweating, but he squared his shoulders. “Of course. My father praised your work, my mother praised it, and Charlotte praises it. I may have been remiss in not letting you know how much I appreciate it, but it is because of the faith I have in you that I accompanied Miss Villers to consult you.”
He held his breath, hoping he’d judged the situation correctly.
The cook’s nose came down, and a smile turned up her generous mouth. “Thank you, my lord. I am always at your service. Is there anything else you wanted to know?”
Worth exhaled.
Lydia asked some more questions, followed the cook around to examine various metal pots and porcelain bowls, then thanked her for her time. After Worth had reiterated his thanks, they left the kitchen together.
“I hope you have a good dinner tonight,” Lydia said as they headed back for the garden. “I didn’t consider the possibility that she might see our questions as interloping. It’s almost as if she expected that from us.”
Worth held open the door to the laboratory side of the house for her. “Perhaps she did. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I have failed t
o praise her work. I may even have suggested at some point that my efforts were not to be interrupted for meals.”
She shook her head. “You gave her the impression your work is more important than hers. Small wonder she isn’t eager to share her thoughts.”
“But my work is more important than food,” he said with a shrug.
Lydia stopped just short of the rear door to the garden, and he stopped as well.
“What an interesting theory,” she said, green eyes bright as grass in spring. “Let’s test it. For the next forty-eight hours, you may work as long as you like, but you may eat nothing.”
Worth chuckled. “Point taken. I was wrong.”
Lydia pressed a hand to her chest. “What! The great philosopher made an error? What is the world coming to?”
“The world continues to advance,” Worth said, moving forward to open the door to the garden for her. “Regardless of whether I make an error in judgement.”
“That,” she said, passing him for the yard, “is one of the most intelligent things you’ve ever said.”
The words held no rancor, simply observation, but they made him pause on the back stoop, while she continued on to where Charlotte and Bateman were studying the brazier as if trying to determine the best way to resurrect the fire. Why was it Lydia’s insights so easily disrupted his thinking? With seemingly little effort, she made him stop and consider.
And she was more right than she knew, for he could not tell her that it was exactly his errors in judgement that had landed him where he was. And he still had not recovered from them.
Chapter Seven
Lydia, Worth, and Charlotte spent the rest of the afternoon debating ideas for augmenting and transporting the coal. They worked in Charlotte’s study, Worth roaming about the room while his sister and Lydia perched on stools at the table. Worth and Lydia looked up recent research; Charlotte sketched promising concepts. Unfortunately, every avenue they pursued quickly proved itself useless.
