“That doesn’t explain the vast extent of your knowledge. Lord Ward was educated in the best of England’s institutions. You could have him for breakfast.”
Rachel laughed, warming to the subject. “I thank you for the compliment.
“I always tinkered with things, making them better. When my father and Jacob started the shipyard in Boston Harbor, I begged to accompany them and became a regular visitor.”
“Your knowledge of hydraulics?”
“I studied the Greeks and Romans, fascinated by the mechanical properties of liquids. I improved on a suction bilge pump, making a double-handled lever, with its fulcrum between the common suction pump. I implemented up-and-down pump handles to drive two pump boxes with two valves in each box that released the water in the bilges and fed the sludge into the sea.”
Anthony scoffed. “And you invented this whiletagging along?”
She moved to the clock on the wall, decorated with a rich Chinoiserie that played a minuet on the quarters of six bells. “Actually…when I ran the shipyard.”
Anthony turned his head toward her. “You ran a shipyard?”
She peered through the beveled side glass absorbed with the gears and their workings. “I had to,” she said, curling her finger around a tendril of hair and still studying the gears. “This clock is based on Harrison’s design.”
“And you know that because”
“Because of the two counterweights at the top of the clock linked by a metal coil in the middle. This is designed to swing back and forth, to act as shock-absorbers against the roll of a ship.”
He stopped gathering the jars and gave her his full attention. “Of course, your experience in the shipyard. Harrison designed the clock to take in temperature, humidity, and motion so sailors could calculate longitude with precision. No ship should be without it.”
She looked out a front window and caught the yellow gorse and the flattened spiny leaves of Butcher’s Broom, lining the lake. “My father died at the Battle of Bunker Hill. My mother followed, dying of influenza, but I believe more from a broken heart from the loss of my father. My brother, Ethan was out privateering. My younger brother, Thomas, died.” Her voice caught from the memory of Thomas. “When the British controlled Boston, we suffered the impressment of soldiers in our home.” If only Thomas…his senseless death… Guilt, simmered beneath the surface like a capped volcano, unable to erupt. She clutched her heart and tamped down the misery.
Anthony took a step toward her, but stopped when she shook her head.
She didn’t want sympathy. Didn’t deserve it.
“War broke out and Ethan had been captured and, as far as I knew would breathe his last breath in an English prison. Jacob had been accused of a crime he didn’t commit, escaped Boston, and embarked on privateering, raiding the coasts of England. My family had put too much work into the shipyard to let it collapse. I was the only Thorne left. The workers came to me because they didn’t want to lose their jobs.”
She walked to the sink arrangement and pushed the pump up and down until a spray of water burst out, and then opened the cupboard beneath to investigate the brass piping. “Fascinating to have a pump inside. Brass, too. A fine piece. Guericke’s vacuum pump? How deep is the well?”
“I made improvements of Guericke’s design. Forty-three feet. I insisted the lab be built over the well. About the shipyard”
“When the British left Boston, I was commissioned by the Continental Congress, who had authorized the creation of a Continental Navy, to build ships needed to counteract the British naval activities in coastal waters and to facilitate the seizure of commercial and military prizes. So through the encouragement of the workers and Patriots, I managed the shipyard.”
“Remarkable.” Anthony finished all thirty-five jars, seven rows of five, sealed with a wooden cap and contact wires projected within.
She glanced at him. “I did what I had to do and readily handed over the reins when Jacob returned. The time freed me to work on other interests.”
“Electricity.”
“Exactly. I was always fascinated when I scuffed my feet over the rug and static fire would appear. After reading Dr. Franklin’s notes, I improvised by taking a glass jar with a metal foil cemented to the inside and outside surfaces, and then, projecting a metal terminal vertically through the jar lid to make contact with the inner foil. Like making lightning in a jar.” She paused to examine the cluster of jars. “What do you hope to attain by making this series?”
Anthony brushed a wand near the top of the jar, prompting an electrical charge. “You see, the charge passes along the rod and is held within the insulated vessel. Watch when I touch the conducting element to the ends of the rod.”
Electrical fire snapped from the device.
“You have stored energy.” In a twinkling of the eye, pure energy boomed around them, and Anthony transformed into an eager boy, full of innocent enthusiasm. His excitement was infectious, the pursuit of the unknown and attaining discovery a sphere of activity in which they were permitted to remain children.
She clapped her hands together. Oh, how he made her world full of magic.
When the spark went out, Anthony let out a breath. “It is not good enough. There has to be improvement.”
She stroked a gilded jar, her fingers traced the subtle shape of each dip and turn, then rubbed against the thick ridge of the stem. A little purr escaped from her throat and the slight shift of his body caused her to look into deep stormy blue eyes. His pulse throbbed at the base of his throat. The force of his aura crashed through her like an electrical charge. Heart racing, she shifted back a step.
Someone knocked. Anthony opened the door and bade a footman to enter. “His Grace has sent a reminder that it is time to get ready for the ball,” he intoned, pivoted and left.
