“Lord Wrexford!” William Hedley, noted inventor of the steam locomotive Puffing Billy and other mechanical innovations, batted at the cloud of vapor enveloping his face and gestured for the earl to enter his laboratory. “It’s always a pleasure to see you.” A glint of anticipation flashed through the mist. “Voltaic batteries, computing engines, multi-shot pistols—what unusual and challenging questions do you have for me today?”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” replied Wrexford over thewhooshandclangof the model steam engine sitting on Hedley’s worktable. “I would just like to hear your general thoughts on a certain technological subject.”
“Fire away, milord,” said the inventor after pulling a few levers to silence his machine.
“I’m interested in bridge design. Have any new developments caught your attention?”
“Hmmph.” Hedley rubbed at his chin. “As you know, that’s not my bailiwick. I make things that move, and bridges are designed to do exactly the opposite. You would be better off asking Thomas Telford.”
“But word is he’s in St. Petersburg consulting with the tsar about a canal and bridge project in Russia,” pointed out Wrexford, “and my interest is rather pressing.”
“Then let me think . . .”
Not wishing to rush his friend, the earl turned to survey the work counters and the various projects in different stages of development.
Creativity is rarely tidy, he thought with an inward smile, as he regarded the chaotic-looking piles of screws, gears, rods, and various other unidentifiable implements of invention. One construction in particular drew his eye . . .
“Ah, you’ve picked out the most interesting of my various experiments,” said Hedley as Wrexford moved in for a closer look. “I’m working on a new system for coupling the wheels of a steam locomotive, which will alleviate the wear and tear on the iron tracks.”
A pause. “Or so I hope.”
“I have no doubt you’ll figure out a solution,” he replied. “I look forward to the day when your locomotive design is a common sight chugging over hill and dale.”
For a moment, Hedley stood very still, a faraway look in his eyes. “We shall see, milord. We shall see,” he said softly, but then with a small shake returned to the earl’s original question. “You might want to have a chat with Marc Isambard Brunel. He’s a very clever fellow with a wide range of practical technological interests. He fled from France to America in the early days of their revolution and was chief engineer for the city of New York before settling here in Britain—so he may be of more help to you than I.”
“That’s an excellent suggestion. I don’t know him, but I’ve heard he was just made a Fellow of the Royal Society, so I look forward to making his acquaintance.” After another look around, he gave a nod of thanks. “And now, I’ll not keep you any longer from your work.”
Wrexford was halfway down the corridor to the stairwell when the sound of footsteps caused him to look around.
“I just recalled something, milord, though it may be of no consequence,” huffed Hedley as he skidded to a stop. “At the last meeting of the London Society for Progress, one of my colleagues mentioned hearing a very interesting presentation by a young man who is working on technical innovations that would make it possible to construct bridges with a longer span.”
“Did he perchance mention the fellow’s name?” asked Wrexford.
“Aye, he did!” Hedley paused to draw in a breath.
“It was Oliver Carrick.”
* * *
Charlotte swore softly after reading the note that had just been delivered by an errand boy from the Royal Institution. “Wrex won’t be home until late. He met up with a scientific colleague, and they are hoping to find Marc Isambard Brunel attending the evening lecture at the Royal Society, as he may be able to shed some light on the latest developments in bridge design.”
“Brunel,” mused Tyler. “He’s the fellow who’s been working on digging a tunnel under the Thames.”
“I’m not sure that speaks highly of his bridge knowledge,” quipped McClellan.
Tyler chuckled. “If you can’t gooversomething, might as well try goingunderit.”
“Kindly stubble the levity,” muttered Charlotte. “The hunt for a murderer is no laughing matter.”
Tyler’s expression immediately sobered. “I did not mean to make light of it, m’lady.”
“I know, I know.” She sighed. “It’s simply frustrating to have no real leads—”
“Save for Lady Cordelia’s missing cousin,” interjected McClellan. “The fact that she’s had no word from him strikes me as suspicious, especially given what his fellow member of the Revolutions-Per-Minute Society told you.”
“Unless Carrick has also been murdered,” she countered.
“No corpse that might be his has been found,” pointed out the valet. “Sheffield had Mr. Goffe, the coroner who discovered Milton’s remains, alert all of his colleagues in Cambridgeshire and the surrounding counties to report any unidentified bodies. So far, there’s been no word.”
