“Careful—any closer and you might lose your nose!” Tilden caught him by his collar and drew him back. “What I mean is . . .” He straightened and signaled the man running the lathe to shut it down.
Once the blades had spun to a stop, Tilden allowed the boys to move right up to the behemoth machine. Charlotte, too, inched closer, fascinated by the opportunity to see how a lathe worked.
“You see, the lathe operator can set the milling blades to any number of precise configurations,” explained Tilden. “And once the blades are locked in place, he can make hundreds—or thousands—of identical parts.”
“Mass production,” said Raven with a glance at Charlotte. “A. J. Quill did a series of drawings on the subject.”
“Yes, and the artist was actually quite thoughtful and accurate in explaining to the public why that has changed our world,” mused Tilden. “With mass production, we can produce parts far faster and in greater quantities than by hand. Which means we can make a wide range of machinery far more efficiently and at a lower cost.”
“Very impressive,” replied Charlotte.
The inventor gave the lathe a fond pat. “It may not sound very exciting, but it truly is. As costs drop, the public will be able to afford more goods that will make their lives more comfortable.”
Turning to Peregrine, he smiled. “Your uncle Willis loved scientific innovation. I wished that he had lived to see the remarkable progress we are making in precision engineering. The lathes are now allowing us to create smaller and smaller tolerances.”
Seeing the questioning looks from the boys, he hastened to explain. “Quite simply, what that means is pieces of a machine fit together more snugly.” He paused to let his words sink in. “That is especially important for steam engines. You see, if the steam can’t leak out, the engine will be more powerful.”
And, thought Charlotte,a powerful engine is key to moving a ship through the rough waters of the oceans.
“Good heavens! More powerful machines?” She widened her eyes. “I have heard my husband and his scientific colleagues discussing Mr. Hedley’s Puffing Billy, a steam-powered carriage which they said will soon carry people around the country at unimaginable speeds! I confess, it sounds rather . . . unbelievable.”
“Not at all, Lady Wrexford! Progress is moving at lightning speed, and transportation is leading the way,” replied Tilden. “Things will radically change—but one should think of that as exciting rather than frightening.”
Charlotte nodded. “That is exactly what Wrexford says.” Her brows drew together. “Come to think of it, he also mentioned an American—a man named Fulton, I believe—who has created boats powered by steam that can travel up and down rivers.” A pause. “But because of the, er, thingamabobs that push them through the water, Wrexford thinks they will never be able to navigate the oceans.”
“Not at the moment, but there is a great deal of interesting experimentation going on with the thingamabobs.” A spark lit in Tilden’s eyes. “As well as work on—” His voice faltered for an instant.
“On some other ideas,” he finished in a rush.
The whirring of the other lathes filled the momentary silence. Tilden then cleared his throat and, after turning and instructing the lathe operator to restart his massive machine, led the way through an archway to another section of the laboratory.
“We do some very interesting experiments with smelting iron in our foundry,” he explained. The temperature grew noticeably warmer as they walked down the corridor. To Charlotte, he added, “Being a chemist, Lord Wrexford would appreciate how we tinker with our formulas to test the different strengths we can create in the finished metal. For steam engines, we are looking to—”
From within a recessed foyer, a door—an imposing iron-banded slab of oak that would have looked at home guarding a medieval castle—was suddenly flung open.
“Tilden!” a harried-looking man sporting a grease-stained leather apron skidded to a halt as he spotted the inventor. “Thank goodness I’ve found you. We need to have a conference with the head of the foundry over . . .”
He fell silent on spotting Tilden’s companions. “It will only take a few minutes.”
Tilden nodded. “Yes, of course.” He gave Charlotte an apologetic look. “I shall return shortly.”
“Please don’t hurry on our account,” she replied. She retreated several steps, allowing the two men to hurry off down one of the side corridors.
She had only looked away for a moment, but the boys had already moved close to the half-open door and were peering inside.
Charlotte heard a low whooshing and gurgling, as if a dragon were slumbering in the depths of its lair.
“Maybe we shouldn’t—” began Peregrine.
“Mr. Tilden didn’t tell us not to go inside,” pointed out Raven. He looked to Charlotte in mute appeal.
It was true. He hadn’t. And besides . . .
Charlotte joined them by the door. She, too, was eager to see what work was going on inside.
“I don’t see the harm in having a look,” she decided.
A mammoth trestle table was set in the center of a well-equipped laboratory room. Behind it, a work counter ran the length of the far wall. It was bristling with an array of tools and bottles of pungent chemicals.
