“Of course, a simple square knot does the bulk of the work.” He picked up one of Eleanor’s ropes and tied a quick and clumsy square knot.
Even to Tristan’s barely trained eye, it looked sloppy. Eleanor signaled a footman, whom she whispered to discreetly before sending him on his way.
“Any others?” Eleanor prompted this rude interloper.
Mr. Martell stared at the knot, thinking. “Perhaps a slip knot?”
Eleanor said nothing, but gestured for him to continue. Mr. Martell fumbled with the rope, the point of his tongue darting out to the side. Tristan was unimpressed.
The footman returned, hauling a bucket full of water. While Mr. Martell struggled, more footmen hauled in two more buckets, and then handed Eleanor a twig. She thanked them and turned her attention back to Mr. Martell who had finally executed a simple slip knot.
“Thank you, Mr. Martell. Very informative.” Eleanor gave him an encouraging smile, which seemed to confuse him. She should be red-faced and indignant in his estimation, no doubt.
“Of course, this is simple common sense. Any right-thinking person would know this. Frankly, it’s clear that giving this kind of education to females only muddles their brains.” The man didn’t know how to exit the stage.
Eleanor didn’t crack, even though Tristan heard Bad News shifting in her chair. Ophelia was pale with anger. Indeed, Tristan wouldn’t mind taking this man to task for his arrogance.
“Indeed. Perhaps I can show you why I didn’t consider your suggestions in the first place. Now, Mr. Martell, you were late to the demonstration, so you weren’t here for the section where I dunked a length of hemp, manila, and cotton ropes into these buckets of water.”
Martell shook his head, folding his arms. “And?”
“So, while cotton is a tempting option because of how much smoother it is on human skin, I’d like to demonstrate what happens to cotton fibers when they get wet. And, when climbing in snow, the rope will likely get wet.” Eleanor used metal tongs and pulled the length of cotton out of the bucket. It dripped, but she took it in hand, putting the tongs down. She pulled it apart, and it stretched further and further. “Now, with the fibers stretched so thin, we can infer that the strength of these fibers has been compromised. As the son of a prominent shipping merchant, I’m surprised this was not one of the first lessons you were taught. Myself, I spent time down at my father’s office and watched how impossibly heavy crates were taken off ships. These jobs were typically done with manila fiber ropes because they fare so much better in wet weather.”
Martell had the sense to duck his head.
“Indeed, hemp, which is typically used on board ships, is very strong, however—” she pulled the hemp length from the bucket, “while it doesn’t have the stretch the cotton fiber does, you’ll see that it is very absorbent.” She wrung out the rope, producing a stream of water so prodigious that the audience squirmed and chuckled at the prolonged cascade. “If you spent time aboard your father’s ships, you would have seen them applying tar to the hemp ropes to prevent the rot that can occur in the saltwater. While we won’t be in seawater, given the location of the Matterhorn in landlocked Switzerland, rot could still occur should we be trapped on the mountain for any length of time, which would lead to breakage.”
Martell huffed and reddened. Tristan smiled as Eleanor calmly picked him apart in front of the crowd.
“As for a square knot,” Eleanor made an apologetic grimace to the audience, swiftly tying a knot and producing the twig the footman had given her. She shoved it right through the middle of it. “A knot that is so easily compromised isn’t strong.It can collect debris, and is easily broken when pulled taut across boulders, as could have been the case in Mr. Whymper’s expedition. Any sailor will tell you that a square knot is responsible for more deaths than any other knot.” Eleanor smiled sweetly, as if she was thanking Martell for a dance. “So you see, Mr. Martell, anyone with the knowledge and experience with these materials understands that there is a deeper level of thought required when entering these life-or-death situations.”
Ophelia applauded, as did Bad News. Tristan dropped the practice rope he’d been death-gripping to applaud as well. Soon the entire crowd did so, and Martell slunk out the door. Eleanor finally blushed, the color high on her cheeks in a way that charmed him even further. While Tristan wanted to protect her from a blow-hard idiot who hated women on principle, Eleanor proved she didn’t need it. She was quite capable of holding her own against a man like that.
Ophelia urged Eleanor to curtsy, as if she were an actress on the stage. She did, humbly, and Tristan’s heart surged. He got to his feet to control the crowd. It gave him the opportunity to whisperexcellent jobin her ear and touch her back to usher her to a seat.
He thanked Eleanor for her expertise and patience, made a plea for money, announced refreshments, and then dismissed the crowd.
Bad News was up like a shot, pulling Eleanor to her feet again. Tristan wanted to take her hands. He wanted to beam at her. But no, as a gentleman, he couldn’t be seen engaging in that sort of behavior in public. But by God, that was impressive. The woman should run for Parliament, if they’d only have her.
Chapter Five
“This is absurd!”her mother said, pushing the fish around in the sauce on her plate. “Whoever heard of anyone doing this?”
“Indeed, whoever heard of a woman climbing a mountain?” murmured Eleanor. She didn’t like fish, and she didn’t like the sauce, but she didn’t want to offend Mrs. Branson, who had been their cook for as long as she could remember. Mrs. Branson, for a short time, watched after her on the days when her mother would take ill. Those days had been filled with baking, sneaking juice-soaked currants, and learning how to lay a precise fire.
Her father leaned back in his chair and slapped the side of his belly. “I’m all for it. You can find no better chaperone than Lady Rascomb.”
“You’re only saying that because Eleanor gave that Martell boy such a put-down at their salon.” Eleanor’s mama huffed and took a bite.
A footman stepped forward and cleared Papa’s plate. Eleanor wished she could signal that she was done as well, but she’d wait until her mother had finished pushing things about.
Papa leaned forward. “I couldn’t have engineered such a delight. Well done, Eleanor! Well done. I’ve been wanting to put those upstarts in their place ever since they jumped into bed with the American rebels. Fools! All that man’s crowing for those years about his profits. Well now look at him, broke and near bankrupt for all his smug nonsense. Paying restitution for idiocy!”
Eleanor flushed with pride. Rarely had her father singled her out for praise, and it felt good to have his solid attention, rather than her mother’s fluttering worry. Either way, it was nice to have both of them aware of her presence at the dinner table. They usually talked between themselves, not bothering to solicit or even allow her contribution to the conversation. Once, when she was much younger, her father had accidentally left her at the office after he’d gone home for the day. No one realized she was missing until well past the eleventh bell. Moments like that seemed to stick with her, despite the apologies and the blame that had circulated in the house for weeks on end. The blame was never addressed to Eleanor, nor was an apology. She was more like an expensive vase than a child to them, sometimes.
Her mother pushed the fish away as if it were the source of her frustration. “It was one thing when this, this, this training retreat as Miss Ophelia called it, was to be at their country home.”
The footman stepped forward to clear her mama’s plate, and Eleanor waved at him to take hers as well. “No one ever said that, Mama. You assumed that.”
