“And me,” piped up Hawk.
“Well, with two such stalwart escorts, I shall have no trouble navigating the distance.” The dowager gave them a fond grin. “Besides, I shall be the envy of all the ladies we pass for having not just one but two handsome young gentlemen attending me.”
Raven made a rude sound. “Ha! You know very well that we’re not gentlemen.”
“Yes,” said the dowager, a wink of mischief lighting her sapphirine eyes. “But Polite Society doesn’t know that, which makes it all the more amusing to cock a snoot at them.”
She placed a hand on Raven’s sleeve. “Come, let’s be off.”
* * *
“Wrex—” Sheffield stopped short at the entrance of White’s on seeing Wrexford come out of the exclusive gentlemen’s club and start down the marble stairs. “Are you headed off on some errand?”
“Yes,” he answered. “I wish to pay a visit to the British Museum and see if the scholarly staff there has ever heard of the manuscript that was stolen from the Merton College Library.”
“That makes some sense,” responded Sheffield. “But . . .” He hesitated. “But might you put that mission off for an hour or two? I’m hoping you can accompany me to a lecture at the Royal Institution, which begins shortly.”
“Kit, much as I enjoy scientific—”
“It’s important, Wrex,” interrupted his friend. “I’ll explain why, but first you need to hear the lecture.”
The earl hesitated. A small delay in talking with the museum’s scholars wouldn’t make a difference....
And the look on Sheffield’s face told him it was no idle request. “Very well. I’ll come with you.”
It was only a short stroll to Albemarle Street and the imposing classical facade of the Royal Institution, one of Britain’s leading scientific societies. Sheffield quickened his steps, leading the way down to the main auditorium, where the featured speaker was just coming to the podium.
A rhythmicwhoosh-clangsuddenly began to sound from behind the crimson velvet curtain hanging on one side of the stage.
“That’s the Honorable Reginald Maitland. He’s giving the presentation,” explained Sheffield as they settled into their seats.
“Reginald Maitland,” repeated Wrexford. “Why does that name strike a bell?”
“He was at Oxford with us. A very scientifically minded fellow. In fact, many people thought him nearly as brilliant as you. But your interests didn’t overlap.”
The earl studied the man’s face as he set his folder of notes down and began to shuffle through the pages. He looked vaguely familiar.
“As I recall,” observed Wrexford, as a few hazy details came floating back to mind, “Maitland had a very high opinion of himself.” A pause. “One that was unmerited on the cricket field.”
“A great many fellows don’t show well during their university days.” His friend smiled. “I seem to recall that there were more than few people who thought your social graces left much to be desired.”
The earl ignored the barb.
“At that age, we are young and foolish—and full of hubris. But people can change,” said Sheffield dryly. “Just look at me.”
The earl gave a rude grunt.
“Word is, Maitland has become quite an innovative thinker and a wizard at engineering,” continued his friend. “He’s spent the last five years in America, working with some of their boldest men of science in the field of nautical innovations.”
Maitland cleared his throat with a cough, quieting the auditorium. And then with a theatrical gesture, he signaled for the curtain to be opened.
A flutter of crimson velvet . . . revealing a machine belching a cloud of silvery vapor.
“Behold!” announced Maitland. “An ordinary steam engine, which as we all know can perform a multitude of supremely useful tasks that were once unimaginable, from pumping water to powering looms and propelling an iron carriage along a set of rails.”
He paused, and the audience stirred in anticipation.
There was, acknowledged Wrexford, an element of showmanship necessary in science. One needed to excite people about new discoveries. He waited, curious as to how Maitland would continue.
