CHAPTER 13 #2
Handing his overcoat to one of the porters, Wrexford headed up the grand staircase to the top floor of the building where sounds of whirring and clacking in the north corridor announced that he had reached one of the areas devoted to engineering.
A knock on the far door elicited a hearty, “Come in, come in!”
“Ah, Wrexford!” Parnell Hamden looked up from his worktable, revealing a long, craggy face that was currently streaked with mud-colored grease. “I thought you were rusticating in the country for the month.”
“Alas, so did I,” answered the earl. “However, a matter of grave importance has required my presence in London.”
At the word grave, Hamden’s welcoming smile faded. “Dear heaven, are you investigating another murder?”
Wrexford chose not to answer. “Might I ask you a few questions about a recent lecture given at the London Society for Progress by Oliver Carrick?”
“Carrick! A brilliant fellow,” responded Hamden. “He isn’t in any trouble, is he?”
“That is what I am trying to discern,” Wrexford answered. “Have you perchance seen him lately?”
“I have not, milord. However, it is my understanding that he doesn’t live in London. I believe he’s currently employed by Thomas Telford as a project manager for one of the Holyhead road and bridge sections.”
“Do you know exactly where?”
Hamden shook his head. “I don’t, milord.”
Wrexford considered what he had just heard. “You just called Carrick a brilliant fellow, and yet I’ve heard that it is his friend Jasper Milton who is considered the real genius when it comes to bridges.”
Hamden rubbed at his chin, leaving another streak of grease on his sallow skin. “An interesting observation. I suppose it depends what materials and technology you believe are the most likely to allow the most impressive innovations.”
“I’ve been told that Milton was using advanced mathematics to shape his structures and determine optimal weight-bearing designs. What did Carrick talk about in his lecture?” asked Wrexford.
“He seemed to believe that Telford’s work with suspension cables was the right direction, but my sense was that he and his fellow collaborator were developing a new and innovative idea.”
“In what way?”
Hamden chuffed a laugh. “That he didn’t say. But then, inventors never give away their actual designs. Patents are potentially worth a fortune, so they merely tantalize their audience with hints of their cleverness.”
Wrexford had good reason to know all about patents and their worth. But something else that Hamden had just said suddenly stirred a question.
“You mentioned that Carrick had a collaborator. Any idea of who he is?”
“Again, Carrick was rather coy about revealing any specifics.” A smile. “But my guess is that it’s a she, not a he.”
* * *
Charlotte buttoned up the padded fencing jacket and flexed her knees, enjoying—as always—the feeling of freedom that came with wearing breeches rather than layer upon layer of stifling skirts.
The carriage had dropped her and the boys off at a discreet back entrance to Angelo’s Fencing Academy, allowing her to enter the building unobserved.
The boys peltered off to one of the practice rooms while an attendant led her to a dressing area attached to the room where Harry Angelo gave his private lessons.
The ring of steel against steel echoed through the outer corridor, stirring a flutter of butterflies inside her rib cage.
“What if I’m about to fall flat on my arse?” she whispered as she tugged on the heavy leather glove that she had been given. Her brush with disaster in the stews had left her confidence shaken. In the past she had never doubted her physical abilities. But now . . .
A tap-tap on the door roused her from such worries.
Squaring her shoulders, she clicked open the latch and stepped onto the canvas mat.
“Good day, milady.” Harry Angelo cut a flourish through the air with his fencing foil and dropped into a graceful bow.
“Thank you, sir. But I am here merely as a student,” said Charlotte. “Let us please dispense with social formalities.”
A twinkle lit in his grey-green eyes. “As you wish.” He moved to the side wall and took down a face mask made of wire mesh. “Please put this on as a safety precaution—it goes on by tying the two leather ribbons together at the back of your head.”
Once she had done so, he handed her a weapon. “As you know, there is a button on the tip, so there is little chance of drawing blood. But I do caution you, this is not an activity for the faint of heart.”
“I have three boys at home who have made that abundantly clear. So far there are no missing fingers or limbs.”
He laughed. “Lord Wrexford tells me that I am supposed to make you, er, exert yourself. Is that true?”
“Yes,” replied Charlotte firmly. “Treat me exactly as you would a male pupil.”
His lips twitched. “As you wish.”
Charlotte was soon ruing her hubris. After showing her how to hold her foil and demonstrating the basic fencing stances, Angelo then proceeded to put her through a grueling series of drills that left her soaked with sweat and gasping for breath.
“You have great balance and athleticism, milady,” he announced with an approving nod, once he took pity on her and ended the lesson. “We shall make an excellent swordswoman of you . . . that is, once we put a little steel in your muscles.”
Fearing that she couldn’t manage more than an exhausted squeak, Charlotte merely nodded.
“You are lucky—you have excellent practice partners in your Weasels and Peregrine. “ He offered her a towel. “They are good lads.”
She accepted it with a grateful look and nodded in answer, still not trusting her voice.
Angelo chuckled. “You know, many of my male pupils would have puked after the workout I just put you through.” He gave her a jaunty salute. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Lady Wrexford. Your husband was right—you’re tougher than nails.”
“S-So why do I feel that someone has hammered a handful of them through my biceps?”
Another chuckle. “You may be a trifle sore tonight, but it will soon pass.” He stepped back and inclined a bow. “Until next time, milady.”
* * *
“A she,” repeated Wrexford. “Are you referring to Mademoiselle Benoit, the secretary of the Paris Society for Practical Science who is part of the French scientific delegation?”
Hamden dismissed the question with a brusque wave.
“The French build aesthetically lovely bridges, but as far as I know, they are not making any notable innovations in the actual engineering of such structures.” He tapped his fingertips together.
“Mind you, I could be wrong, but I think that the lady in question resides right here in England.”
“A lady? Trained in engineering?” queried the earl.
Hamden smiled. “Obviously, she didn’t attend Oxford or Cambridge.
However, she comes from a very wealthy merchant family who believed in the importance of education for both their sons and their daughter.
So she’s as well-schooled as most men in science and mathematics.
But more than that, she has a special flair for creating successful commercial ventures, as well as practical experience in running her husband’s various businesses, one of which fabricates machinery. ”
He paused. “I believe that Carrick met her a little over a year ago while working on a construction project that she was funding, and my sense is that she took him under her wing, so to speak.”
“Interesting.” Wrexford was now on full alert. A clearly ambitious woman with business acumen and an interest in bridges . . . “Do you perchance know this woman’s name?”
“But of course,” answered Hamden. “She’s actually very well known in the engineering world, especially after she and her husband won a very handsome contract of ￡40,000 from the Royal Navy.
They created an innovative design of copper nails and sheathing to protect the bottoms of naval warships from barnacles and hole-boring marine worms.”
A very handsome contract, reflected Wrexford. Given the woman’s obvious talent for making money, partnering with someone who was on the cusp of creating an innovative technology that would revolutionize bridge building could very well be worth a bloody fortune.
“And then, of course, in 1811 she received a patent in her own name for an innovation in bridge design.”
“A woman with a patent in her own name?” The earl was both surprised and impressed. As far as he knew, that had never happened before.
“Indeed. In fact, one so important that Thomas Telford asked permission to use her idea in the bridge design he is currently working on to span the Menai Straits.” A pause. “It will connect the island of Anglesey with the mainland of Wales, and thus be the longest bridge ever built.”
“The lady’s name,” urged Wrexford. “If you please, just give me her name.”
“Sarah Guppy,” said Hamden. “She and her husband live in Queen Square, Bristol’s most fashionable neighborhood, and are leading lights of the city’s high society. But my guess is that she’ll be coming to London for the Royal Institution’s conference on improving transportation.”
“Thank you,” said Wrexford. “You’ve been a great help.” It seemed possible that he had picked up a clue that would lead them to Oliver Carrick . . .
But he feared that Cordelia wouldn’t thank him for it.