Regina Scott (15 page)

“What about those two?” Nick asked, noticing two men with their legs straight out in front of them strapped to what looked like pieces of wood as rough as the struts on the first version of Alice’s kite.

“Broken legs,” Emma reported with a sympathetic look to the men. “They’ll need more than my skill to set. The best I could do was splint them with sheeting and some kindling from the hearth to immobilize them. I’m more concerned about them.” She nodded at three men near the back of the office. Nick could hear their labored breathing from where he stood.

“Coal dust,” Jennings said with cheerful disregard of his men’s condition. “It can eat through the lungs. This explosion didn’t help.”

Emma’s face tightened. “Can nothing be done?”

Jennings shrugged. “Part of the job, miss. You take the dangers with the pay. If you’ll excuse me a moment, I’ll go see if the physician has arrived yet.”

Emma nodded, and he left the office. She stepped closer to Nick. “Is everyone all right out there?”

“Yes,” Nick told her. “We were able to rescue the last man.”

She smiled at him. “Because of your quick thinking. I’m sure he’s grateful.”

Nick would have been more grateful for a moment alone. The office walls seemed to be closing in, the air becoming more dense. Any second and his lungs would be laboring, too.

“Now,” she continued, “if only science had an answer for their breathing problems.”

Nick felt as if she’d stuck him with a pin. “Science isn’t God, Emma,” he managed to say, “and even He seems to have some limitations. Excuse me.”

He shoved out of the office, strode away from the confining walls, the choking memories. Each step brought him closer to the road home, farther from his nightmares. He put his back to the mine works, stared back down over the hill to where the chimneys of the Grange were just visible.

It took no great hypothesis to determine the source of his reaction. The explosion reminded him of his previous failure. And the miners’ raspy breathing reminded him of his worst failure, for it was too much like Ann’s painful gasps. The sound still made him break into a cold sweat.

How had he missed her illness until it was too late?

How had he so badly miscalculated to cost four people their lives?

Why couldn’t he find a solution to this problem of firedamp?

Was he good for nothing?

“Nicholas.”

Emma had followed him from the office. Now she put a hand on his arm, her touch gentle, calming. “They will all survive,” she assured him. “I know they’re thankful you brought help.”

Nick drew a breath. “Thank you, Emma. But you must realize it was the least I could do.”

“More than most,” she insisted. “I’ve heard Lord Hascot’s horse farm isn’t far from here, yet he didn’t send aid. Servants at the duke’s estate must have noticed something, as well.”

“They wouldn’t know the source,” Nick said, feeling compelled to exonerate people he respected. “The mine’s been on my family’s land since my father was a boy. But our profit should not be another man’s pain.”

Her eyes widened. “You blame yourself for this? It was an accident!”

“An accident I could have prevented, if I’d just finished that lamp!”

Her mouth was a stern line. “Nonsense. As you pointed out, science cannot solve every problem.”

“And I suspect you will tell me God can,” he retorted.

Her smile was sad. “I could tell you that. I believe it. But I don’t think you’ll believe me.”

He wanted to. For the first time in a long time, he wanted to believe in a God who gave His children everything they needed. Who forgave His children when they made mistakes, even ones for which forgiveness was otherwise impossible.

“Pardon my mood, Emma,” he said. “I’m simply troubled to think men might have died, working to supply my family with income we scarcely need, providing our nation with fuel we all too often squander.”

“I suspect they would say they were only doing their jobs,” Emma returned. “That they were thankful for a way to support their families. Though I was troubled to see the children. Is it necessary for them to work?”

He’d actually envied the boys when he’d been younger—crawling around in the tunnels, exploring places no one had ever seen before. Then he’d learned how hard they worked, and he’d pitied them.

“Sometimes they are the support of their families,” Nick explained. “A father dies, a mother is left with many children and no source of income. I don’t like it, but I respect the boys for trying to help.”

By the way her eyes dipped at the corners, he surmised that she was not comforted by the fact. “Your lamp will be the greater help,” she said. “I must be satisfied with that, for now.”

If she dreamed of finding a way to improve the conditions for those boys, he would not stop her. He had insisted on humane treatment at his mine, with limited hours and clean food and water. He knew conditions at other mines were far worse.

Nick took her hand, bowed over it. “Thank you for your concern, Emma, and for always seeing what might be instead of what is before us. You would make a marvelous natural philosopher.”

He had intended it as a great compliment to her logical mind, her optimism. She snatched back her hand as if he had burned her.

“Thank you,” she said, but her tone implied she was more hurt than pleased by his praise. “Now let’s see what more we can do to help.”

Chapter Fifteen

I
t was late when they returned to the Grange. The physician had arrived at the mine and dealt with the injured men, thanking Emma and Dorcus for their help. Mr. Jennings, the mine manager, also thanked them as well as Nicholas.

“I’m working on a new design,” Emma heard Nicholas say to the man. “I hope you’ll be willing to give it a try when it’s ready.”

“And can you tell me this one will work?” he’d challenged, shoulders stiffening.

“I won’t bring it to you until I’ve tested it myself,” Nicholas promised as Emma and Dorcus settled into the wagon with the rest of the Grange staff.

“I’ll see if I can find you a volunteer,” Jennings had said, turning away. “But I won’t make any of them risk their lives again.”

Emma thought she understood his concerns. The men and boys had talked with shudders about the firedamp that choked their breath, set off explosions with no warning. Now they used candles or open-flame lamps that were no proof against the stuff. They needed that safety lamp.

She was beginning to understand why Nicholas was so set on fixing the problem. While her foster father and his colleagues saw developing the safety lamp as an interesting pursuit, and a potentially lucrative one, he took the matter more personally. This was his land; these were his people. He wanted them to be safe. Having seen the consequences of an explosion firsthand, so did she.

Still, she felt sorry for Alice, for it was clear by the set look on Nicholas’s face that it would be all work from here on out.

Perhaps that was why, after checking that Ivy had settled Alice in bed and someone had returned the kite to the nursery, Emma took the wicks downstairs and knocked on the door of his study.

When no one answered, she tried again. Had he gone to the laboratory after such a long day? By all accounts, he’d had little sleep the previous few nights. Had he passed out in exhaustion? Concerned, she turned the handle and opened the door.

The room looked different here than it had when she’d been peering through the window the other day. Between the fire and the lamp on the desk, the space was warm and bright. Crowded open bookshelves covered every swath of wall, from floor to ceiling, even over the tops of doorways and around the fireplace. More books were piled on side tables, with a particularly large stack beside the sofa that faced the fire.

Leather folios, parchment spilling from them, were stacked just as haphazardly on the end of the sofa, the floor and most of all the desk. Indeed, there was only a tiny space in the center of the desk for Nicholas to write.

He was seated there now, head fallen and pillowed by his arms. His fingers were threaded through the raven strands as if he would pull them out.

Leaving the door open behind her, she tiptoed to his desk and laid the wicks beside him.

He sighed in his sleep, as if even in dreams he struggled to find answers. A shame she couldn’t stroke his hair, which looked as smooth as satin, find some way to comfort him. But that was not her right.

So she closed her eyes a moment and helped him the best way she knew how.

Dear Lord, I was wrong about him. He is capable of caring, deeply. He genuinely wants to help those miners. You know the dangers they face better than any of us. Won’t You help him find the answer?

The peace that usually accompanied her prayers flowed through her, and she opened her eyes. Nicholas was gazing up at her, as if arrested by the sight.

Emma felt her face heating as she took a step back. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

He flexed his shoulders as if to loosen stiff muscles, but with his coat off, she was suddenly aware of the breadth of those shoulders, the strength in his body.

“Has something happened to Alice?” he asked, rising.

“No, she’s fine.” Emma found herself retreating further and drew herself to a stop. She had nothing to be ashamed of, no reason to fear. “I finished two of the wicks,” she explained. “I thought you would want them.”

He stared down at his desk as if noticing the tiny pile of wool for the first time.

“Those should get you started,” Emma said. “Now that I know the proper gauge, I can knit others in less than a quarter hour each. It may take longer if you vary the dimensions or the material.”

He dropped his hand to finger the wicks. Then he glanced up at her. His eyes were heavy, his face worn. Again she wished she knew how to take some of the burden from him. Surely it was not his task to single-handedly save the world.

That’s Your work, Lord! Help him to remember that and lean on You.

“Thank you,” he said. Still he didn’t move away from the desk. She’d thought surely he’d dash off to his laboratory, wicks clutched in one hand. The accident at the mine had obviously taken a greater toll on him than she’d thought.

She ducked her head so she could meet his downturned gaze again. “You are very welcome. After today, I can’t deny your work is needed. I’m sure you’ll solve the problem soon.”

His fingers closed on her gift. “Not soon enough. Rest assured, I will put these to good use. Could you have two more ready by noon tomorrow, just in case?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Emma replied. “I ask one favor in return.”

He frowned as if he couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of her words, and she knew what she was about to do was right.

“Favor?” he asked.

“Yes.” Emma approached him and held out her hand, palm up. “Leave those wicks in my keeping, and get a good night’s sleep. I’ll return them to you with the others after you’ve rested.”

It was the boldest thing she’d ever done, and he would have been well within his rights as her employer to refuse. He’d have been within his rights to discharge her for such impertinence!

He eyed her a moment, but the finger tapping against his leg told her that his reasoning ability was still functioning. “Do you use such tactics on Alice?” he asked.

Her cheeks felt hot. “When needed. Forgive me, Sir Nicholas. I know you’re not a child. But someone must care about your health, especially if you won’t.”

His smile was grim as he handed her the wicks. “You are a very good judge of character, my dear.”

She exhaled a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding and curtsied to him. “Good night, then, Sir Nicholas. Pleasant dreams.”

His smile softened. “Dreams, eh? No warnings about bugs and fleas?”

Emma returned his smile. “And where would they possibly find room among all this knowledge?”

He inclined his head. “Good night, Emma, and thank you again.”

She turned for the door, but she felt as if invisible hands were tugging her back to his side. She had no reason to stay, less reason to offer to help him, yet she longed to do both.

What must it be like, to have a calling, to have a vision that compelled you to stay up long into the night to achieve it? Of course, her work with Alice took all her time, and she knew she’d be proud to see the girl grow into the woman she could become, if Emma was given that chance. But his work could save the lives of hundreds, earn him the praise of a nation. Small wonder he was so devoted to it.

Just as Mrs. Jennings was devoted to her work. That was evident when Emma stopped by the kitchen in search of some food before retiring. The cook was waiting for her with a tray of cold beef and cheese. “Just rest a moment and catch your breath,” Mrs. Jennings said, pulling out the stool by the worktable before going for the teakettle.

“Thank you,” Emma said. She climbed onto the stool and reached for a slice of the cheese.

“Was it bad at the mine?” Mrs. Jennings asked, returning to pour Emma a cup of tea. Her face sagged with sorrow, as if she expected the worst.

Emma nodded but managed to swallow her mouthful. “More than a dozen injured, but no one killed, thank God.”

“Oh, thank God, indeed,” Mrs. Jennings said with a relieved sigh. The dying fire cast shadows on her cheeks. “Such difficult work, coal mining.”

“It seems to be dangerous,” Emma agreed. “The coal dust, the firedamp, cave-ins. I don’t know how they do it, day after day.”

“They are only doing their duty,” the cook said with a nod of approval. “And bringing home an income for their families.”

Her words reminded Emma of what Nicholas had said.

“There was a Mr. Jennings up there, the mine manager,” she remembered. “Is he a member of your family?”

“Mr. Jennings’s brother Evan’s son,” Mrs. Jennings said proudly. “He was raised in that mine.”

And she’d thought her upbringing difficult. “He’s safe,” she assured Mrs. Jennings. “And the physician said the others would mend.”

The cook blew out a breath. “Thank the Lord for that, as well. Last time I thought poor Sir Nicholas would rip out his heart he felt so responsible.”

“But that’s not fair!” Emma protested, setting down the cup of tea with a clatter. “He isn’t there to direct their work. He can’t be held responsible for a pocket of flammable air.”

“Flammable air?” Mrs. Jennings wrinkled her nose. “Is that the proper name of the firedamp?”

Emma nodded. There she went again—all but proving she knew more than she should about the matter. “So I’ve heard.”

“Flammable air.” The cook rolled the words around on her tongue as if tasting her latest recipe. “Nasty stuff. You’re right the master can’t be held responsible for when and where it appears. But he blamed himself for the last explosion, that’s clear as day. All on account of some calculations that went wrong.”

Emma frowned at her. “His calculations?”

Mrs. Jennings shrugged her solid shoulders. “So the papers said. And those other philosophers at the Royal Society thought so, too. A team of them had built a lamp, you see, and they brought it up to our mine to test. But it didn’t work properly, and the men who tested it were killed.”

Emma pressed her fingers to her lips. She knew the story too well. How her foster father had railed about being accused of negligence in his work.

“They’ll not blame me,” he’d warned his wife over dinner while Emma had stood along the wall waiting to clear. “They’ll not catch Samuel Fredericks in a mistake.”

Had he made it look as if Nicholas had made the mistake instead?

“Now then,” Mrs. Jennings said, reaching out to pat Emma’s free hand where it lay on the worktable. “I’ve upset you with such talk. Forgive me, my dear. I just wanted you to understand why the master frets about the matter.”

She understood. Nicholas blamed himself for the explosion gone wrong, and it seemed the Royal Society blamed him, as well. It was possible they were right, and he had made a fatal error, but Emma thought it more likely her foster father had made it appear Nicholas had miscalculated to cover his own ineptitude.

Should she tell Nicholas?

There would be no proof. Her foster father would have seen to that. And if she told Nicholas how she knew Samuel Fredericks could be so devious, she’d have to explain how she knew the natural philosopher at all.

If Nicholas realized she’d been raised by the man who’d ruined him, she could lose her post, be forced to leave Alice. She’d see the admiration she so appreciated in his gaze turn to disgust. Yet how could she watch him suffer when she suspected he was innocent?

Emma pushed the tray away, appetite forgotten, then slid from the stool. “Thank you for the food, Mrs. Jennings. It seems I’m not as hungry as I thought. I’ll be down in the morning for Alice’s tray.”

“All right, dearie,” Mrs. Jennings said, capable hands reaching for the tray. “Sleep well.”

Emma returned the sentiment, but she doubted she’d sleep at all that night.

* * *

Nick actually managed a full night’s sleep for once and woke ready for the day. With Emma’s wicks, he had an opportunity to right his wrongs. He wasn’t about to waste another moment. She must have anticipated his need, for Charles delivered the set of four wicks as Nick was shaving. Cramming one of Mrs. Jennings’s cinnamon biscuits into his mouth, he took everything to his laboratory and went to work.

Because he had only four of the wicks, he decided to forego chemical testing. Instead, he set to work inserting one of the wicks into the lamp he’d designed. He had several sets of the chimneys and bases, but he expected some revision might be needed for the device to work at peak efficiency and safety. This version would give him at least an indication of whether his approach was valid.

He had already constructed a test box—a metal frame with glass inserts, all wrapped in metal shielding that could be lowered on hinges as needed to monitor the processes inside. A bladder of flammable air gathered from a nearby swamp was connected on one side, with a bladder of oxygen on the other so he could vary the atmosphere. Now he lit his lamp and placed it inside the box, sealing the device inside. Turning the valve, he let in the flammable air.

The box shook with the explosion, and he heard the tinkle of breaking glass.

Nick shut off the gas and sagged, but only for a moment. No! He knew he was on to something. The problem must lie in the oil.

Someone tapped at his door, but he told them to leave. He wasn’t ready for company, had no need for food. He had work to do.

He spent the rest of the day varying the mixture. He replaced the glass in his box time and again. His eyes were soon gritty. His back ached from stooping over his worktable. With one wick left, he calculated and recalculated, forward and back to make sure he’d forgotten nothing.

Dawn was breaking by the time he thought he had it right. His hands shook just the slightest as he fashioned another lamp and inserted Emma’s wick. Carefully, he placed the device into the box and sealed it in. Hand on the valve to release the flammable air, he stopped.

Alice and Emma believed in going to their Lord in times of trouble. Indeed, when he’d woken from dozing at his desk the other evening to find Emma standing near him with her eyes closed, he’d known what she’d been doing. She’d been praying, for him, her devotion shining through her upturned face. The look called to him, reminded him of a devotion he’d forsaken.

Perhaps it was time he prayed for himself. Perhaps, knowing Nick’s intentions, the Lord would listen to him again. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes.