Heat billowed out. He stoked the flame with an iron rod, the added oxygen causing the fire to expand with a pop and crackle.
Benedict held his breath and waited for the piston to start moving, for the wheels to start turning.
And he waited.
There should be motion by now. Something. His heart started to race. The past year had all been leading to this moment. The Americans. Their contract.
Jeremy looked at Benedict uncertainly. With a cough, Benedict gestured toward the pile of coal.
Another shovelful on the fire. Another billow of heat. Steam shot from the chimney, but the wheels remained where they were.
Goddamn it.
They waited there in awkward silence for a full three minutes. Almost silence. The muttered comments from Nathaniel and his friend turned into giggles, turned into laughter. Then they started with a slow clap.
Benedict was tempted to shovethemin the damn boiler.
Grunt and Harcombe looked at each other and then turned to Benedict. “Well, thank you for your time.” Harcombe slapped Benedict on the arm and turned away.
All the air rushed from his lungs, and the general noise of the firm disappeared behind a ringing in his ears. Benedict grabbed at Grunt’s arm. “No. Wait,” he choked.
Grunt’s expression was kind, if somewhat pitying. “I’ve been in this business for many years, lad. You’ll get there eventually. Progress is a succession of failures until it’s not.”
This couldn’t be it. Not with everything that was riding on today, this decision. In one moment, he saw everything that would happen if he failed. Children without food, families split apart as husbands left their wives to look for work elsewhere. The village he’d grown up in turning into a ghost town of vacant homes.
“You don’t understand. It worked fine yesterday.”
Grunt shook his head. “We need something that works fine yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Perhaps in a few years when you’ve had time to refine it.” He gave a firm, this-conversation-is-over nod and followed Harcombe.
The idiots snickered as they too made their way back to the waiting carriages. Lord Bradenstock paused. “Stay. Don’t worry about seeing us to the house. I’ll send the carriage back.”
Benedict turned to Oliver, who kicked the bloody wheel with his barrow-sized foot.
“Find out what happened. They’re here for two more days.”
Chapter27
Benedict stood in the doorway that separated his room from Amelia’s, watching her touch perfume to her wrists and behind her ear. He wanted to press his nose to the spot and inhale. The candlelight reflected off Amelia’s dresser mirror, bathing her in a warm glow.
She caught his gaze in the reflection. “You look nice,” she said, indicating his new evening kit. She tugged on her gloves, pulling them up over her elbow. “How did the tour go? Did they fall in love with Tessie?”
For a split second, he considered not telling her—casting a pall over her much-awaited evening felt cruel. But she needed to know now because Nathaniel likely wouldn’t keep his mouth shut.
No doubt gossip was already traveling.
He dropped onto the bed, head in his hands. “It went about as badly as it could.”
She turned, her full attention moving from the tiny silk buttons to him.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.” He exhaled, a longwhooshof air and disappointment. “That was the damned problem. The bloody engine didn’t move.”
She leaned forward, a furrow of disbelief forming between her brows. “No.” And then a heartbeat later, “Why?”
He shook his head, still in disbelief. “The chains coupling the cars together had been shortened, and there was a penny wedged in front of the wheel.”
And there was no way that had been an accident.
