CHAPTER 6
A dark, churning sea, fraught with peril and uncertainty . . .
Charlotte gave a wry grimace as she took up her cup of fresh-poured coffee and went to stand by the breakfast room windows. She wasn’t usually plagued by bad dreams, but the past night had brought yet another troubled reverie—one that felt like a metaphor for her current state of mind.
A silvery mist still clung to the plantings and ornamental trees in the gardens, blurring the textures and colors to an amorphous grey as she fretted over her various worries.
The stony silence of McClellan, the air of tension between Sheffield and Cordelia, the Russian’s mysterious appearance . . .
Her mood was further dampened by Wrexford’s continued absence. Charlotte had been disappointed to find no missive from the earl in the early morning post. As she took another sip of coffee, she couldn’t help but wonder what was keeping him in Oxford.
A sigh misted the glass panes. Oddly enough, the only letter on the silver salver had been addressed to Peregrine. She hoped it wasn’t bad news. The boy had suffered enough losses for someone of his tender years.
The sudden patter of footsteps caused her to turn away from the window. Half-hidden in the shadows, Peregrine was standing in the doorway, with Raven and Hawk just behind him.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, m’lady—” began the boy.
“But Falcon has just received a special invitation!” blurted out Hawk. “And we are all included—”
“Sshhh!” Raven elbowed his brother to silence. “Let him do the talking.”
Charlotte smiled on seeing their expectant faces. “Do go on, Falcon,” she urged. “This sounds very intriguing.”
“Mr. Samuel Tilden, a good friend of Uncle Jeremiah, has invited us to visit him,” said Peregrine.
“Mr. Tilden is an inventor, too,” offered Hawk.
The name sounded familiar, but Charlotte couldn’t remember why.
“I met him a number of times at the Royal Armory, and he wrote me a very kind letter after my uncle’s death,” continued Peregrine.
“We’ve kept up a correspondence since then—he knows I’m interested in mechanical devices—and a note just arrived this morning asking if we would like to visit the laboratories at the King’s Dockyard in Greenwich this afternoon. ”
The King’s Dockyard? The boy now had her full attention.
“The Royal Navy does its experimental work on weaponry at the Royal Armory at Woolwich,” explained Peregrine, who had good reason to know that because his late uncle had been one of its top engineers.
“But the laboratories at the King’s Dockyard are home to all its research on nautical innovations. ”
Charlotte was well aware of that. And given her thoughts of the previous day about learning more about marine propulsion systems—as well as Wrexford’s observation on why the government had a vested interest in being the first to create the new technology—the invitation provided a perfect opportunity to begin her investigation.
Raven and Hawk fixed her with pleading looks. They, too, had become fascinated by mechanical devices.
“Why, that sounds like a splendid idea!” she announced.
There were advantages to the fact that Society thought women’s intellectual abilities couldn’t hold a candle to that of men, she added to herself with an inward smile.
A lady, especially one married to a gentleman known for his interest and expertise in science, could ask a great many questions without stirring any suspicions.
“I’ll have the carriage readied,” she added, “and ask Mac to pack a hamper of food and blankets so that we can picnic by the river.”
She set aside her cup. “You three should change into heavier jackets, as it can turn chilly down by the water. Then let us be off without delay.”
As the boys raced off to ready themselves for the trip, Charlotte went to find McClellan in the kitchen. The news of the planned trip brought the first real smile to the maid’s lips since their uncomfortable tête-à-tête.
“Aye, the lads will love mucking about in such an interesting place,” replied McClellan. “It will be a long day, so I had better pack enough food to feed a regiment of Hussars.”
Charlotte chuckled at the quip—and then reached out to take hold of the maid’s arm as she started to turn.
“Mac, I can’t bear the tension between us.
Please, if you feel that I have somehow changed .
. .” She swallowed hard. “And have taken on the airs and graces of a pompous aristocrat, you must be honest and tell me—”
“Ye gods—no!” McClellan’s eyes widened in surprise, and then she quickly looked away. “It has nothing—nothing!—to do with you, m’lady. I simply need some time to . . .” The maid hesitated. “To sort out some things. I fear—”
“Surely you know that Wrexford and I would do anything to help you.”
That drew a mirthless laugh. “Aye, that’s what I’m afraid of.” McClellan caught Charlotte’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Please, allow me to work this out on my own. I promise that I will explain. I—I just can’t say when.”
“I shall, of course, respect your wishes.” She felt a measure of relief at the maid’s explanation. “But please consider what I said.”
The arrangements were soon completed, and once the carriage broke free of Mayfair’s streets and the tangle of market traffic near Covent Garden, they passed over London Bridge to the south bank of the river.
From there, the miles rolled by, and the boys soon had their noses pressed up against the window glass as the masts of the Royal Navy frigates at anchor came into view.
The wind turned gusty as the carriage rolled through the main entrance of the King’s Dockyard, rattling the rigging of ships moored at the docks and raising foam-flecked whitecaps on the river.
A pair of marine sentries met them and led the coachman through a series of archways to a cobbled square down by the wharves.
The horses came to a halt in front of a heavy-set stone building that stretched the full width of the square and faced out at the water.
From the hum and clatter resonating from its walls, Charlotte guessed it housed the naval laboratories.
As one of the marines opened the carriage door and the boys scrambled out, she saw a tall, rail-thin man dressed in a long canvas smock emerge from the entrance portal and hurry to meet them.
“Halloo!” he called, giving a friendly wave to Peregrine as he rushed to offer a hand to Charlotte as she started to descend.
“Welcome, Lady Wrexford.” He glanced into the shadows behind her and looked a bit disappointed at spotting only McClellan. “I’m delighted that you were amenable to making the journey here with the boys on such short notice. Allow me to introduce myself—”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tilden,” interjected Charlotte before he could go on.
Again, she had a niggling sense that she had seen him before.
But clearly he had no memory of an encounter.
“Peregrine has told us so much about you during the journey here,” she added, fixing him with an admiring smile.
“I am very grateful for your kindness to him. It has helped soften the pain of his uncle’s loss. ”
The tips of Tilden’s ears turned bright red, and not just because of the biting wind. “I, too, miss Willis terribly. He was a lovely man and a brilliant colleague. I think he would be very excited about our latest project—”
Tilden caught himself and gave a brusque cough.
“But I won’t bore you with technicalities.
The reason I asked you to come today is because we are running some tests on our new precision lathes, and as Peregrine has told me that your two wards are also very interested in mechanical devices, I thought the boys would enjoy touring the workshops and seeing how we make our engineering ideas come to life. ”
“That sounds magical,” replied Charlotte as McClellan climbed down to join them. The air was sharp with the tang of salt, and another brisk gust tugged at her bonnet.
“Not magic, milady, science!” Seeing the ribbons flap around her face, Tilden hurriedly added, “How rag-mannered of me for making you stand in the cold!” He offered his arm and called for the boys to come away from admiring the thirty-two-gun war frigate that was tied up at the near wharf.
“If you and your maid will please follow me, milady.”
The noise grew even more pronounced as they passed from the entrance foyer into the central corridor. Tilden led them through a set of thick oak doors. The machinery sounds were muffled as they swung closed behind them.
“This section of the building holds the offices of our inventors.” His lips quirked. “We need a modicum of quiet in which to think.” He continued on to a closed door halfway down the corridor and opened it with a key that he pulled from his pocket.
“The work we do here is—”
“Secret,” intoned Peregrine.
Tilden nodded. “Well, yes, we must protect our innovations, as they contribute to keeping our nation safe.” He offered Charlotte a seat in the chair facing his large and cluttered desk.
“But there is no need to worry. We are very careful to maintain a high level of security to thwart spies from other countries.”
He paused and smiled, as if seeking to lighten the mood. “And closer to home, heaven forfend if a fellow like A. J. Quill managed to poke around in our restricted areas and see what we are doing.”
“Dear heavens,” exclaimed Charlotte, exchanging a furtive glance with McClellan.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to alarm you.” A nervous laugh. “I assure you, our defenses are more than a match for foreign agents, as well as the likes of A. J. Quill.”
Charlotte inclined a polite nod and changed the subject. “What magnificent pictures of our stalwart fighting ships!” she said.
“They represent some of our most fabled naval victories—the Battle of the Nile, Trafalgar, Copenhagen . . .” Tilden’s eyes lit with patriotic pride. “They remind all of us of the importance of what we do here.”
“Indeed,” she said softly.