“These plans are for a new engine.” For a few moments, he puzzled over a few drafts, recognized the problem. “Here,” he said quickly flipping over the drawing and taking a pencil from his pocket. “It’s easier to understand this way.” He drew a picture of what was required, indicating the outlay of his diagram with simple lines. It took some doing, taking his pocketknife out of his pocket to renew the point of the soft lead. He was a natural draftsman, twisting and abstracting images, as if feeling his growing powers. He was good at what he did, and he knew it. It was not a juvenile notion. He simply accepted what was his.
Every time he turned a page of his designs and looked up, he was confronted with an expectant gaze.
“I marvel at your genius,” she said breathlessly.
O’Reilly clamped his pipe in his teeth and drew back the shirt sleeve of first one arm then the other. Both were knotted with muscles.
Dyer pulled up in his carriage and leaned his arm out the window. “I understand you’ve had a bit of bad news.”
“Interesting you should be so thorough,” said Zachary.
“I’m always concerned about my investments,” he sighed, flicking a thick nubbin of ash from the end of his cigar. He arched a brow, looked behind Zachary, eyeing the remaining ruins of the factory.
Elizabeth sidled next to Zachary’s side.
Dyer stared daggers at Zachary, and then at Elizabeth. His eyes shone like amber fire. Zachary saw the awakening of lust in Dyer that not even a row of chorus girls could have aroused. He pushed her behind him.
“Elizabeth, you should not be with unsuitable company and unescorted. Think of your status.”
“My lady’s maid is with me.”
“It is highly inappropriate for you to be here. Your western friend is a ticklish sort, my dear. He needs to prove things. He copes remarkably well, but surely you realize his ambition is aggravated by his scarcity of funds.” Dyer set his gaze on Zachary as if he were something offensive he found on the sidewalk.
The oil baron shot his cuffs and brushed his lapels, seeming more concerned with his appearance. “New York City, Mr. Rourke, is a strumpet who whispers her tales in the ears of whoever will listen. I have many sources. We can go head-to-head for the time being, playing cat and mouse for God knows how long,” Dyer taunted. “Time for me to be the cat. I understand some are poor with numbers. Should have had financial padding for a rainy day?”
“I have plenty left over.”
“So, you are a genius,” mocked the oil baron.
“You underrate me, Mr. Dyer.”
“On the contrary.”
A brief silence followed, with Dyer’s bottomless eyes drilling into Zachary’s.
“You must loan Mr. Rourke more money,” said Elizabeth.
“The well has run dry, my dear.”
“We all know you are the one behind this latest destruction,” said Zachary. “Add the lateness in supplies, lack of materials by suppliers.”
“Are you doubting my honor?”
“I am not doubting your honor. I’m disproving its existence.”
“You dare to accuse me?”
“You’re damned right.”
Dyer snorted, made a show of taking out his violet-stitched handkerchief and covering his nose as if the air were foul. “No one could ever prove such a thing. Looks like I’ll be the owner of your patent.”
“Over my dead body.”
“So be it.” Dyer tipped his bowler, clapped the side of his carriage, leaving Zachary in his dust.
“I’ve never seen this side of him. How horrid,” said Elizabeth, moving to Zachary’s side.
“It means we are out of funds to rebuild. We might as well close our doors. Dyer has won,” said Zachary.
