Peter rolled his eyes. “No, I cannot smell you from this distance, and neither can she.”
“It’s just magic,” Jac said. “I have powers.”
Andrew frowned. “Am I interrupting anything?”
“No,” Peter said, more forcefully than he intended. “Just London gossip that I do not care to know.”
Andrew broke out in a wide grin. “Good. Because it’s here.”
Peter’s heart lurched. For the past seven years, he and Andrew had read through the monthly report from the Court of Chancery that recorded all the British patents granted. Their goal had been simple—find and invest in new technology that promised high impact and strong yields. Some of their investments had failed to pan out. Others had experienced moderate returns, nothing outrageous but enough to supplement the Strafford Estates’ dwindling income. They still needed that one metaphorical gold mine, an investment so successful that his sleep would finally be settled.
In the years since Peter had become duke, the exodus of people from the country to burgeoning cities had quickened. The upkeep of buildings and modernization of farming systems cost money at a time when rent was bringing in less and less revenue. It was becoming more difficult to find money for new schools or to fund local hospitals.
Then his baby sisters grew into women, and the urgency of his situation fully grasped him. Meg married, and her husband up and left thrice in five years—the latest while she was with child. Jac had shown no interest in marriage, which meant that she might one day require funds to live comfortably on her own. And Winnie? The Lord only knew what trouble she would cause and how much it would cost to extract her from it.
His desire to harness the industrial revolution became an urgent need.
Two years ago, a new patent was granted for the Linotype. Every part of the book and newspaper printing business hadbeen revolutionized except one—the setting of type. It was the bottleneck preventing a new age of information. Automating the setting of type would decrease the cost of book production, paving the way for more affordable books that even the middle and lower classes could purchase. Automating type would shorten production timelines. Newspapers could be published daily instead of weekly. Imagine how much more news one could read when there were daily papers. Imagine what could be achieved when everyone on his estates was well-read and well-informed. Imagine the security he could provide them once the Linotype turned a profit.
He glanced toward a pouting Jac. All he had to do was replenish the coffers and his sisters would always be cared for.
Andrew gestured to the hall. “It’s too big to fit through the door.”
Peter’s hands shook as he left Jac behind, protesting. Light from the foyer’s floor-to-ceiling windows set the machine’s metal components gleaming. His breath caught. It was the first time he’d seen it in person. Until now, he’d received two photographs and detailed diagrams of each part. The pamphlet they’d created to advertise the product used an expertly rendered sketch, but none of it did justice to the real thing.
“What is it?” Jac had felt her way from the drawing room chair to the doorway. She had both hands wrapped around the frame as though she were frail instead of blind. Lifting her nose in the air, she sniffed.
“It is the future, Jac. But you can’t smell that either.”
“Is it more interesting than the rest of my mail?”
“Definitely.” Peter took a seat on the stool, with its shiny leather cushion and sturdy oak legs. He and the Linotype’sinventor, Ottmar Mergenthaler, had wanted every element of the setup to be of high quality. Each machine would see all-day use for decades. Peter would not skimp on any part of it.
As he placed his hands on the keys, his breath caught. Tentatively, then with more force, he pressed a key. There was a small metallic click as a letter dropped from its channel and slid down to the assembler. A second tap set another matrix free.
THISWILLCHANGETHEWORLD.
He slid the letters to the left, where, in practice, liquid metal would cast the line of words into something solid that could be coated with ink and pressed with paper.
“I didn’t think to melt the tin for this,” Andrew said.
“No. That’s sensible. We don’t need molten metal around Jac right now. Do we have slugs ready to show people?”
Andrew reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, solid line of type. “Many. The plan is to leave one with each printer we visit, regardless of whether they order.” He placed the type into Peter’s outstretched hand.
“That’s smart,” Peter said, rolling the slug between his fingers. “If they don’t purchase a machine, the slug can be a reminder that they’re behind the times. They’ll crack eventually. When their competitors start producing newspapers every day or twenty book titles in a year, they’ll have no choice.”
From the doorway, Jac scoffed. “Don’t you sound conniving, brother? Truly, you could hide your anticipation of other people’s failure.”
Peter scowled. Her words demonstrated a fundamental misunderstanding of his intentions. “Just because I expect laggardsto fail doesn’t mean that I want it. The Linotype offers businesses the opportunity to succeed in ways that no one has before. But if they choose not to embrace the future, their failure is inevitable and no one’s fault but their own.”
“Cold, brother.”
“It’s not cold. Is it?” he asked, turning to Andrew.
Andrew cocked his head. “It’s a little cold, but necessary. You can’t hold back the tide. If we didn’t invest in this, someone else would have and the future would still be the Linotype.”
“See?” Peter turned back to his sister. “You can’t hold back the tide.”
