“What do we do next?” asked Octavia as Charlotte took hold of the door latch. “Benedict—”
“Patience, Miss Merton,” she cut in. “For now, discretion is the better part of valor. You must concentrate on giving nothing away to Mrs. Ashton. Lord Wrexford and I must have a council of war. Our enemy is clever . . .”
From outside came the sounds of the horse snorting and stomping.
“But so are we.”
CHAPTER 22
“Pressure, volume, temperature,” muttered Wrexford to himself as he entered his townhouse and headed straight for his workroom. “If the temperature remains unchanged within a closed system . . .” He flung open the door, and marched to the bookshelf above the spirit lamp. “Then the absolute pressure and volume of a specific mass of enclosed gas is inversely proportional.”
“Boyle’s Law,” said Tyler, without looking up from the eyepiece of the microscope.
“Yes, Boyle.” The earl quirked a grimace. “Do you, perchance, recall if he experimented with steam?”
“With a name like that, one would hope so,” quipped Tyler.
“Stubble the attempts at humor, if you please. As the patron saint of modern chemistry, the fellow deserves the utmost respect from the likes of you.”
“I do know the august history of science in our realm, sir.”
Ignoring the comment, the earl selected several volumes on chemistry and carried them to his desk. “But enough on the past. Let us focus on the present. I’ve just come from speakingwith Horatio Johnson and Joseph Clement, and their answers to my questions have convinced me that Ashton’s new design for a steam engine is technically feasible and will work.”
“I’m not surprised,” said the valet. “He was one of those rare geniuses who was not only a brilliant theorist, but actually possessed the engineering skills to fabricate what he envisioned.”
“Yes,” agreed Wrexford. “But there’s just one problem.” He began thumbing through the pages of the top book.
“Which is?” prompted Tyler.
“The chemical composition of the iron used in the boiler. Ashton’s increase in power is based on his revolutionary valve design, which creates much higher levels of steam pressure than in previous engines. To ensure new machines won’t explode, the iron has to be strong enough.”
Tyler frowned. “Surely he must have been aware of that.”
“Yes, but he wasn’t a chemist. And to my knowledge, neither is Hillhouse.”
Wrexford took a long moment to ponder the problem. “My guess is the formulation of the iron was the last element to address before he could build a full-size working model.”
The drumming of his fingers beat a soft tattoo on the open pages.
“Are you thinking it’s possible—”
“Possible that he was murdered by a chemist who decided to steal the invention for himself?” interrupted the earl. “The thought has occurred to me.” The drumming grew louder. “Though it wreaks havoc with our assumption about the widow, Kirkland, and McKinlock.”
Tyler pushed his chair back from the worktable. “Well, as you are so fond of pointing out, one mustn’t make assumptions about the outcome of an experiment. One must base the answer on empirical data.”
“Thank you for throwing my words back in my face,” grumbled Wrexford. He made a face. “However, you’re right.”Silence, save for the tap, tap, tapping. “So we must consider two more things. Firstly, I need to learn more about gases and pressure.”
“Avogadro.” Tyler shot up from his seat and hurried to the bookshelf at the far end of the room. “He’s the leader in that field. And we just received the latest book on his work.”
“Excellent. I’ll begin reading while you head to the Institution and make some inquiries on who might be working with the composition of metals.”
“Very good, sir.” The valet brought over the volume. “And when I’m done there, I think I should visit several of the taverns where the ironworkers and toolmakers congregate. They may have heard some useful gossip.”
As he turned to take his leave, Wrexford muttered, “Would that your questions will help us untangle this damnable coil.”
* * *
Charlotte shot yet another impatient glance out the window and muttered an oath under her breath. The sun, shining with an unholy brightness, seemed glued to its spot in the sky rather than following its natural course to drop below the horizon. Even the clouds seemed to be taking perverse pleasure in prolonging the day. They were nowhere to be seen, allowing the light to sparkle with a brilliance that drew an additional unladylike word from her lips.
