Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
Mrs. Fernsby set an earthenware jar on the worktable next to Amelia in the kitchen. “Here’s the lard you requested, Mrs. Greystone.”
“Perfect.” Amelia’s suggestion to the housekeeper that they make soap that morning had been met with enthusiastic approval.
She had intended to go to an apothecary after her previous attempt had been interrupted, but she couldn’t make herself go out.
The worry of encountering another bomb followed her like a dark and ominous cloud.
Witnessing the explosion yesterday had apparently shaken her more than she realized.
Telling herself that her distress was normal didn’t help. How did Henry bear it?
She shrugged away guilt for not facing her fears. Tomorrow was another day. For now, she’d let the household task soothe her nerves. This afternoon she was scheduled to conduct experiments at the school for the children, something she had looked forward to—except it meant she must leave the house.
Lye was already waiting on the table, along with a bit of salt to harden the soap and lavender, one of her favorite fragrances, to scent it. A large iron pot and metal stirring paddles also sat at the ready, along with a scale to measure the ingredients.
“I’ll prepare the molds, shall I?” Mrs. Fernsby asked, seeming not to sense anything was amiss.
“Yes, please.”
Mrs. Appleton had released the reins of the kitchen to them while she stepped out for some shopping. The housekeeper lined long wooden boxes with muslin, then tore another length of the fabric to strain the soap. “This is the perfect task for a cloudy morning, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Amelia readily agreed as she measured and weighed. “You already did the difficult part of rendering the fat.”
“Mrs. Appleton helped with that yesterday.” The older woman watched Amelia as she worked, her expression troubled. “In all honesty, we’re quite pleased to still have you with us.”
The emotion in her tone caught Amelia off guard. She glanced up, thoughts of soap flying out the window. “Oh, Mrs. Fernsby.”
The housekeeper sniffed, lifting the tail of her apron to wipe her eyes.
Filled with dismay, Amelia wiped her own hands and offered Mrs. Fernsby an embrace. Though they rarely showed physical affection, she knew how much the housekeeper and her husband cared. They’d shown that numerous times over the years in all manner of ways; had become part of her family.
“I’m so sorry,” Amelia murmured, not sure what else to say. Clearly the incident with the bomb had upset her household more than she’d realized. “I’ve given you and the rest of the staff too many frights of late.”
“Through no choice of your own.” The housekeeper eased back as she shook her head. “We just don’t care for the idea of you in danger, madam.”
“Nor do I.” Amelia smiled, hoping levity would lighten the moment. “I had no idea visiting my editor might prove to be such a dangerous outing.”
Mrs. Fernsby heaved a sigh, her ample bosom rising and falling in the process. “What is the world coming to? Bombs exploding, all over London? It’s terrible.” She returned to the worktable and the lard with a sniff.
Amelia agreed. It was terrible. She worried over Henry’s safety even more than she had in the past. Surely the police would soon find out who was behind the trouble. If she’d noticed that man acting oddly, other people might do the same if another bomb was set.
Yet it was impossible to conceive of another bombing before they managed to arrest those involved.
Amelia continued to measure the ingredients, weighing them with unnecessary precision, though the extra effort took enough of her attention to allow her to set aside her concern for a time. Soon they were pouring the soap into the molds to harden, then tidying up the kitchen.
“Well done,” Amelia declared with a satisfied smile.
“Indeed. I’m pleased to have the task done for another few months.” The housekeeper eyed the molds on the table one more time. “Hopefully those won’t be in Mrs. Appleton’s way.”
“I wouldn’t think so.” Amelia wiped her hands. “I’m going to check the supplies for the demonstration at the school to make sure I have everything.”
“Those children are in for a treat.” Mrs. Fernsby smiled. “You’ll create a few budding scientists with your efforts.”
“That is a lovely thought. I certainly hope so.”
Amelia departed to walk upstairs to the laboratory.
The idea of inspiring the children’s interest in science delighted her, yet she couldn’t help but think of the scientist behind the bombs.
Whoever it was must be highly knowledgeable and intelligent—and ruthless.
This wasn’t the first time she’d encountered someone who’d used their scientific talents for evil purposes.
A well-known scientist who Amelia had once admired for her work in organic compounds had chosen to use her skills to harm others, her experiments ending in murder.
She’d insisted it was for the greater good—to help England.
In Amelia’s mind, her ends didn’t justify the means.
The same was true for the person behind the bombs; it was terrifying to think one scientist could do as much damage as an entire army.
If only they chose to use their knowledge to help others.
To solve the challenges the country faced, rather than creating more of them.
The topic was upsetting, and one she’d never understand.
Amelia gave herself a mental shake, shifting her shoulders to ease the tightness there as she entered her laboratory.
There were problems in this world she couldn’t solve, circumstances she couldn’t undo, and people she couldn’t change.
Instead she was left to hope that her attempts to lend aid and spread kindness when possible made a difference.
The notion seemed to pale in comparison to those bent on destruction to suit their own agenda.
Forcing her thoughts away from the dark topic, Amelia double-checked her list for the experiments she’d planned and decided she was as ready as she could hope to be. She ventured downstairs to ask Fernsby for help to prepare the items for transport.
“Shall I accompany you, madam?” Fernsby asked after bringing several crates to load her supplies up to the laboratory. “It looks as if you might require aid,” he added as he glanced at the various bottles, beakers, and scales she had gathered.
“I would appreciate that.” It was a relief, in fact. “Aunt Margaret will be there, of course, but I could use another pair of strong hands.”
“You may count on me to act as your assistant in whatever manner necessary.” Fernsby gave a small bow along with his offer.
“Thank you.” Amelia smiled, pleased to think she’d have the older man’s company.
It was going to take time before she could venture out without thinking twice of possible danger—though since her husband’s murder, that felt like a constant hum in the background of her mind.
For now, she intended to remain watchful and cautious.
With Yvette’s assistance, they carried the crates downstairs to the front hall. Shortly after luncheon, Amelia and Fernsby departed for the school. She kept a careful watch as the hansom cab rumbled along, as did her butler, from the way he studied the passing scenery.
“This is so exciting,” Aunt Margaret proclaimed when they arrived. “The children are beside themselves with anticipation.”
“I’m pleased to hear it,” Amelia said, even as nervousness took hold. “I only hope they find the experiments interesting.”
“I have no doubt they will.” Her aunt clasped her arm in a show of support. “Now then, we have the classroom ready for you.”
Amelia and Fernsby followed her up the stairs to the room with several tables that she’d viewed before.
She donned the apron she’d brought and set beakers and other supplies on the table.
The students would have to take turns with some items, but hopefully the demonstration should still go smoothly.
Before she knew it, the children were filing into the room in a mostly orderly fashion. Agnes and Pudge grinned, eyes gleaming with excitement as they waved at her. Goodness, it was astonishing how dear they had grown.
Much to her relief and delight, the experiments went smoothly.
The students listened carefully to her instructions: each one measured the supplies and created a thick paste, which they formed into a red ball.
Next, they placed the ball into water, where it soon began to fizz, creating a bright, bubbling foam that slowly dissolved, much to their awe and delight.
“This is amazing, Mrs. Greystone,” Agnes declared as she watched the foam expand.
The young girl looked so different compared to when Amelia had first met her last autumn, when the child had worked as a mudlark on the bank of the Thames.
Now her appearance was as neat as a pin: dark hair brushed, clean clothes that fit properly, and no mud in sight.
More importantly, happiness and good health glowed in her eyes.
Pudge looked much improved as well. Both girls had grown several inches over the last couple of months, thanks to regular meals and the comfort and security of having a roof over their heads.
From what Aunt Margaret had told Amelia, they were soaking up every subject the school had to offer.
“I’m pleased you’re enjoying it,” Amelia said. “I’m very proud of you, Agnes, for all you’ve accomplished here.” She glanced at her neighbor, who was never far from her friend. “And you, as well, Pudge.”
“Thank you.” Pudge offered a shy smile. “Reading is my favorite. They have so many books here, and they let us read them.”
“I like reading, too,” Amelia confided. “Though I like chemistry nearly as much.”
Each student took a spoonful of the foam and placed it on a sheet of paper.
It soon dried, leaving red, round circles on the page, which would serve as a keepsake of the experiment for them.
Once the foam had been cleared away by her ever helpful Aunt Margaret, she provided instructions for the second experiment, one step at a time, watching closely to be sure they understood.
Though this one wasn’t quite as exciting, the children still appeared intrigued by the steps of weighing the items and stirring the liquid into the beakers as Fernsby assisted the smallest child with the scales.
While Amelia explained the danger of mixing certain chemicals together, she couldn’t help but think of the person behind the bombs.
What went through their minds while they worked?
She nearly shuddered at the thought. How she hoped Henry would find those involved before they struck again.