A Mutual Interest in Numbers (Love and the Library Book 2)

by Linda Banche

  Mr. Coffey bent over and retrieved the paper. “Actually, my interests run to mathematics.” He glanced at the piece of foolscap before setting it with its fellows on the table. His eyebrows rose. “As, apparently, do yours, too.”

  Oh, dear. Why hadn’t she hidden her calculations? She usually waited until she knew a man better before she told him about the mathematics. Most men could not abide an intelligent woman, especially one more intelligent than they were, and ran posthaste when they discovered her skills. What could she do to salvage the situation?

  The maid set out the steaming tea pot, cups, and a large plate of lemon biscuits on the table before she left.

  Ellen fussed over the tea as her thoughts rocked back and forth. She did so want him to like her. Should she lie? Without looking up, she poured. “How do you like your tea?”

  “Black.”

  She handed him a cup of fragrant Darjeeling.

  He smiled, the ocean blue of his eyes lighting them from within. Oh, she did so like his eyes. But, if he could not abide her knowledge of mathematics, she would bid him farewell, as much as she didn’t want to.

  Her stomach knotted so tightly the organ might never unravel, she let her words flood out before she could change her mind. “Yes, I like mathematics. But my mathematical scribblings have practical use. Papa is an inventor and Tom helps him when he is not at school. They love to tinker with mechanical devices. Their latest project is a new type of steam engine. Unfortunately, they have no patience for the mathematics involved and would try to build something impossible without my calculations.”

  Well, she had admitted her talent. He hadn’t fled. His face hadn’t screwed up, either. Her stomach untangled a tad. Dare she hope?

  He glanced at the paper again. “These are the equations for the amount of pressure a gas will produce in a closed container of different sizes.” He squinted. “I think I found an error.” He flushed. “I beg your pardon. I did not mean—“

  “Oh, think nothing on it. I knew there was a problem but could not figure out the mistake.” I couldn’t concentrate for thoughts of you. “If you can see what I missed, I would be most grateful.”

  He set his cup down and then picked up the sheet. Forehead puckered, he concentrated on the calculations. A cluster of hair fell over his eyes, lending him an endearingly boyish air, and he made an absent swipe at the offending lock. “Here.” He set the paper on the table between them and pointed out an equation near the bottom. “There should be a minus sign here, not a plus sign.”

  “Oh, thank you.” With a small piece of India rubber, she erased the plus sign and then penciled in the correction. “I looked and looked at that equation and could not see what was wrong.” She set the pencil aside and clasped her hands at her breast. “Sometimes two heads are better than one.”

  His eyes darkened. “Indeed.”

  Everything in the room stilled. Outside, birds warbled cheery songs and carriages clattered over the cobblestones, but the sounds flowed over her as if from far down a tunnel.

  He bent toward her. She lifted her face to his…

  “Ellen, do you have those calculations ready yet?” Tom’s voice rang out from the corridor.

  She and Mr. Coffey jerked away from each other.

  Her brother bounced inside. “Father and I need—” He stopped and his slitted gaze swung from her to Mr. Coffey. “Mother isn’t here yet? Good thing I came back.”

  “Yes, good thing you did.” Gracious, was that breathless little voice hers? Her hand shaking a little, she held out the sheet to her brother. “Here they are, all ready. Mr. Coffey was able to find an error I couldn’t see.”

  Her brother’s suspicious look abated a little. “So, you know mathematics?”

  “Yes. I took a first in mathematics at Cambridge.”

  “Well, then, maybe you could help Ellen out sometimes.”

  “I would be delighted.” He lips curved into that charming grin that had kept her awake much of the night. “Miss Palmer said you were working on a steam engine.”

  “I never expected a nob to be interested in mechanics.”

  Oh, Tom could be so ill-mannered sometimes. She must take him to task for his rudeness, but Mr. Coffey didn’t seem to notice.

  “Well, I liked to tinker with mechanical things when I was a boy. I have not had much chance to do so lately. I regret it.”

  Her brother’s scowl vanished, replaced with an eager grin. “You like to tinker? How about coming downstairs to see our engine?”

  “Well….” He cast her an uncertain look. “But I would also like to talk to your sister.”

  Tom grabbed his arm and hauled him toward the door. “Ellen isn’t going anywhere. She will still be here when we come back.” He flashed a devilish grin before he dragged Mr. Coffey away.

  Mr. Coffey gave her a startled smile before he disappeared.

  Drat Tom! Mr. Coffey had come to see her! She ran out into the passage as her brother and their guest vanished down the basement steps. Well, she would not play tug-of-war with Mr. Coffey as the rope, but she would make sure her brother paid for spiriting her guest away.

  And she would visit the basement in a few minutes and take him back.

  Chapter 6

  Laurence scowled at Tom’s back as he followed the youth down to the basement. He had come here to see the delectable Miss Palmer, not peer at some invention, although in other circumstances, he would leap at the chance. But, to be polite, he would take a brief look before he returned upstairs.

  Hang it, why had the cursed boy showed up at such a crucial moment? He had almost kissed Miss Palmer!

  He drew in a deep breath, forcing his racing pulse to slow. On second thought, mayhap they were fortunate her brother had interrupted. As much as he would like to kiss her, they had just met and he didn’t want to do anything that would ban him from her company.

  Laurence twisted his lips. Better her brother had found them than her mother. If Mrs. Palmer had been present, he would now be out on the pavements.

  Hissing and the rancid odors of grease and oil emanating from the room at the bottom of the stairway jerked his attention from Miss Palmer. The basement spanned the entire width and breadth of the house. A scarred table covered with papers flanked the doorway, and misshapen pieces of metal lined the walls. On a thigh-high platform in the center of the floor, a small metallic object that could only be a steam engine wheezed and puffed and expelled streams of mist.

  Laurence pulled out his handkerchief and mopped the perspiration from his brow. Even with the few high windows open, the heat and humidity in the enclosed space could warm the entire row of townhouses for the next decade of winters.

  Tom halted before the hissing mass. “And here is our latest model.” The engine was about the size of a two small trunks, one behind the other. “The front box contains the cylinder and piston, and the one in the back the furnace and boiler.”

  Laurence had read everything he could about steam engines, but he had never been this close to a working model. As if the engine was a diagram come to life, he mentally traced the entire cycle.

  First, the furnace heated the water in the boiler to steam. Next, a maze of metal pipes transferred the high-pressure gas into the top of the cylinder. The incoming steam drove the piston in and out of the side of the cylinder with a rhythmic metallic clank. The spent steam, emitting the characteristic steam engine hiss, exited from the bottom of the cylinder into a metal tube that snaked back to the boiler.

  “A bit small, is it not?” Laurence owned satchels that were bigger than this machine.

  “Not if you want to put it in a small place. We plan for our design to become the engine of choice for carriages. No more horses.”

  “Quite an ambitious project.” Laurence circled the device. He folded his arms and rested his chin in one hand. “And it works well?”

  The apparatus gave a pop and then ground to a halt.

  Tom scowled and crouched down by the mechanical assemblage. �
��Well, most of the time. We condense the used steam back into water and reuse it, but we have yet to solve the problem of how to supply a continuous stream of coal.” He opened a door on the side of the furnace to reveal a chamber full of coal on a slightly slanting floor. “The tilt should feed the fuel down into the furnace a bit at a time, but right now, either too much goes in or not enough.”

  “How about putting in a door between the coal and the furnace, and then attaching the door with a linkage to the piston? When the piston moves one way, the motion will open the door. The return stroke will shut the door. Or, perhaps a small voltaic pile to power a switch that will open and close the door at set intervals?”

  The lad’s eyes widened. “I never thought of either of those.”

  Footfalls tapping on the stairs heralded the entrance of a tall, lean man dressed in worn clothing stained with grease. This older version of Tom regarded Laurence from sparkling blue eyes lit with intelligence. Exactly the same as Miss Palmer’s. “And what have we here?”

  “Father, we may have solved our problem with the coal.” Tom poked Laurence in the arm. “Tell him.”

  “Your manners, son. Who is this fine gentleman?”

  “Mr. Laurence Coffey, sir.”

  “I am Mr. Matthew Palmer. Sad to say, I am the father of this rude young sprout.” He extended a callused hand. “And how did you come here?”

  Laurence coughed. Here it comes. Now he will throw me out of the house. “Your daughter lost her handkerchief and I returned it.”

  Mr. Palmer’s hand stopped in midair. But only for a second. The momentary angry blaze in his eyes became a twinkle. “Ah, the old handkerchief trick. I admit to using that ploy myself a time or two in my youth.”

  Laurence could have sagged to the floor. Thank the stars he wasn’t angry. They clasped hands. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Yes, yes. But be sure I will have the entire story of how you came to be here. And no havy-cavy antics.” His eyes still held humor, but also steely resolve.

  Laurence swallowed. “Yes, sir.” He might still end up outside, this time with the seat of his trousers dusting the pavements.

  “Father, Mr. Coffey is interested in mechanical devices, and he has a good idea for the coal feed for the steam engine. Mayhap he could help us?” Tom jabbed Laurence in the arm again.

  Laurence winced. Tom was stronger than he looked. Under the boy’s prodding, and to prevent him from poking him again, Laurence had no choice but to outline his proposals.

  Mr. Palmer pursed his lips. “Best suggestions I have heard. Well, young man, you have just come up with a solution to a problem we have wrestled with for weeks.”

  Tom bounced on his toes. “He also took a first in mathematics at Cambridge.”

  Mr. Palmer cocked an eyebrow. “While I am not averse to assistance of any kind, Tom, your sister and mother are our mathematical experts.”

  Tom waved a dismissive hand. “A little extra help wouldn’t hurt. And he could work with us on the machining, which Ellen can’t do.”

  His father’s forehead puckered. “Well, Mr. Coffey, the decision is yours. If you are not opposed to manual labor, we would be happy to have you. I cannot pay you, although that may change in the future. But I know quite a bit about steam engines, and I can teach you in exchange for some labor on your part. Mechanics, mathematics and perhaps some heavy lifting.” He rubbed his back. “I’m not so spry as I used to be.”

  Laurence’s pulse kicked up. “I would be delighted.”

  Mr. Palmer clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, then, if you are not busy, shall we get to work?”

  Laurence would have preferred to return to Miss Palmer now, but, trapped again, he nodded. He would stay for a while.

  Mr. Palmer rolled up his sleeves. “We don’t stand on formality here. I suggest you take off that coat and cravat. This room becomes positively tropical with heat and we don’t want you fainting.”

  Laurence complied, and unbuttoned his waistcoat, too. If his father could see him now, he would have an apoplexy. “Yes, sir. And please, no ‘Mr. Coffey”. Both of you, call me ‘Laurence’ or ‘Coffey’.”

  Mr. Palmer nodded and then gestured to the steam engine. “Now, young man, tell me more about these ideas of yours.”

  ***

  “Matthew, we must leave for the party soon.” A lilting feminine voice drifted from the open doorway.

  Laurence blinked as he straightened from bending over the plans spread out on the table. Red streaks of sunlight slanted through the west-facing windows. By thunder, how long had he been here?

  Despite his intention to return to Miss Palmer, Laurence had found himself mesmerized by the engine and her father’s willingness to explain every part of his ingenious improvements. Even Tom subsided to only a slight annoyance under his father’s watchful gaze. And, while Mr. Palmer had raked him over the coals about how he had come to meet Ellen, he wasn’t angry. At least, not so much that he would bar Laurence from returning.

  A whiff of lavender perfume, welcome after the all-pervading stench of grease and coal, preceded the arrival of a smiling lady. She was short and slim, with a few wisps of grey in her blonde hair, but there was no mistaking her resemblance to Miss Palmer.

  Mr. Palmer grabbed Laurence’s arm and pulled him forward. “Laurence, my lad, let me introduce you to my lovely wife, Rose.”

  After the introductions, Mr. Palmer wiped his greasy hands on a worn cloth. “What have I forgotten now, dearest? I confess, I often lose track of time when I’m at work.”

  “Yes, I know. The clock has just struck six, and we must prepare for the party at the Tinney’s.”

  “Indeed.” He tossed the cloth onto the rag pile in the corner. “Laurence, I wish we were at home this evening, so I could ask you to dinner, but I’m afraid not. Another time, perhaps?”

  “Of course.” Gads, he had forgotten all about the time. And Miss Palmer, too. He would certainly never get anywhere if he ignored her. He grabbed a relatively clean rag from the pile and scrubbed the oil off his hands as well as he could. How had he become so filthy? “I, too, have an engagement tonight.” If he could see her before he left, perhaps he could salvage some of the ground he had undoubtedly lost. “Good evening, sir, and thank you. I enjoyed working with you.”

  “And I with you. I like a man who isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. Come back any time. Tomorrow would be good. The earlier the better.”

  “Very well. May I also take my leave of your daughter?”

  Tom rubbed a smudged hand over his nose, leaving a thick black streak of grease. “Ellen went out a while back. Has she come back, Mother?”

  “Not yet, but she must return soon to dress for our night out.”

  Damnation. “Well, then I will take my leave. Until tomorrow.”

  Mrs. Palmer gathered up his coat and cravat and beckoned him to follow. “No sense in your smearing grease all over your clean clothes. You can come to the kitchen and wash up before you leave. Gracious, I never can understand how one little engine can make you men so grimy. I suggest you wear your old clothes when you return, Mr. Coffey.”

  “Please, call me ‘Laurence’ or ‘Coffey’.”

  “As you wish, Laurence.” She smiled again, her smile as entrancing as her daughter’s. No wonder Mr. Palmer had married her.

  In a little room off the kitchen, she poured Laurence a basin of hot water and then set out a bar of soap and a towel.

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Laurence washed his hands and forearms and then his face. Some of the grease remained, especially under his fingernails, but he didn’t care. He had thoroughly enjoyed the afternoon. After donning his gentleman’s garb, he followed Mrs. Palmer to the front of the house where he retrieved his hat and walking stick.

  “Ellen told me you returned her handkerchief. Kind of you to come all this way to do so.”

  Did she suspect his true motive for coming? Probably. Mothers were like that. “No trouble at all. I regret I will not see her a
gain today.”

  Her countenance, so soft only a moment ago, hardened. “When Tom asked me to go to the parlor to watch the ‘gentry cove’ with Ellen, I intended to ring a peal over your head. Until I had the whole story out of Ellen. Both of you were to blame.” She tapped her foot. “Giving her name and address to a complete stranger. Entirely foolhardy and very out of character for her. As punishment, I sent her on errands to keep you two apart.” Her sternness relented a trifle. “But I think she wanted to meet you very much.”

  His stomach sank at the same time his heart leapt. “I would never hurt her.”

  After another narrow-eyed look which had Laurence squirming, she nodded. “I believe you. But, if you want to see her in the future, no more sneaking around. My husband or I must be present when you and Ellen are together.”

  Laurence swallowed. “Yes, ma’am. But I meant no disrespect. I could not find anyone who knew you to get a proper intro—”

  She held up a dismissive hand. “Yes, yes, I was young once. I understand the impatience of youth. But now we will begin anew.” The lady’s blue eyes twinkled as she opened the door. “Ellen will be here tomorrow.”

  Her words could be nothing but encouragement. Any doubts flitted away like petals in a breeze. “I look forward to that.”

  He took in a deep breath as he strode down the street. Birds warbled, a soft breeze caressed his face, and the blossoms in the park released their sweet scents. His visit with the Palmer family had been sheer pleasure. How lucky he was to find a man who invented steam engines. And since Mr. Palmer had invited him back, he could indulge his interest in mechanics as much as he liked while furthering his acquaintance with the daughter of the house.

  He halted at the intersection between Hans Street and Sloane Street to allow a large dray to pass. Should he have let her brother drag him away? He hadn’t seen how, in all politeness, he could refuse, and he hadn’t meant to tarry in the workshop. But everything else had slipped his mind as Mr. Palmer explained about the steam engine.