Regina Scott (18 page)

Nick blinked. Strawberry ice dripped off his spoon where the implement was poised halfway to his mouth. By the amount dripping, the warmth of the room and the state of remaining ice in the crystal cup in front of him, he’d estimate the spoon had been hanging that way for a good two minutes. Alice was frowning, Emma had her head cocked as if trying to determine what troubled him and Charlotte’s mouth was set in an even sterner line than usual.

“Really, Nicholas,” she scolded. “Was it too much to ask that you leave your work behind for one evening?”

For once he was glad his work was much on his mind, for if Charlotte had suspected the true direction of his thoughts her ice would probably be dripping, too, from the heat of her temper. She would never understand another woman taking Ann’s place in his affections. And he could not tell her that his affections for Ann had been more about compatibility than romance.

Nick lowered the spoon and smiled by way of apology. “Forgive me. When you are all finished, I’d be delighted to show you out to the laboratory.”

Charlotte sighed and returned to her ice and a conversation with Alice about the need for gloves when leaving the house or some such matter. Emma offered him a sympathetic smile before taking a bite of an apricot.

He could not ask her to marry him. Though marriage to him would provide her with benefits—her own home, a reliable income, stability, she would have to give up something she found altogether precious: love. Their discussion in the woods last week had made her opinion plain. She had called love the pinnacle of human achievement. His skills in that area were considerably lacking, fundamentally inferior he felt.

She would never accept a safe, civil arrangement with no expectation of entanglements. And that was all he was capable of.

He had composed his thoughts by the time he led the ladies out to his laboratory after dinner. He would find some other way for Emma to stay with Alice, and he would continue his work. Though he held a conventional lamp to light their way, he had high hopes Mr. Jennings and the other miners would soon have a much safer light to work by. He threw open the door to his laboratory and set about lighting the lamps in the room.

“And where exactly have you hidden this contraption?” Charlotte asked, skirts lifted slightly to keep them from touching the marble floor.

“In the box on the table,” Nick explained, finishing with the lights.

He turned to find them all frowning at the worktable. It was the cleanest it had been since he’d moved them all to the Grange.

Entirely too clean.

Nick stumbled forward, touched the scarred and stained surface. The box with his prototype, the binder with his notes, everything to prove what he’d done and how he’d done it, was gone.

Chapter Eighteen

E
mma saw the change in Nick. One moment, he was smiling, his brow clear of its occasional furrows of concentration. The next, he had stiffened, and all pleasure had vanished.

“Did you ask someone to clean my laboratory, Charlotte?” he said. The tone was polished, curious, but tension gathered in the room as surely as the poisonous smoke she’d seen the day they’d first met.

“Certainly not,” Mrs. Dunworthy declared. “Most of the staff are too afraid to even set foot in the place.”

“Someone mastered that fear, then,” he said, taking another look around the room as if expecting to find a servant cringing in a corner. “My work is not where I left it.”

Emma glanced at the empty space on his worktable. The last she remembered, it had been filled with a large metal box, with the prototype safety lamp burning brightly inside. Now there was no sign of the box or the lamp, and the notes she generally saw scattered about his work area were missing, too.

Mrs. Dunworthy waved a hand to encompass the crowded space. “And how would you know if you lost something in all this mess?”

“Because I know precisely where I leave things.” As if he suspected she doubted him, he pointed to what appeared to be random piles in rapid succession. “That is Davy’s alternative design for the lamp from two years ago. Those are my calculations on the properties of iron for use in industry that earned me the knighthood. That, to my sorrow, is what’s left of the wool blanket Ann gave me our last Christmas together, and that—” his hand stilled over the yawning space on the worktable “—that is where I left the prototype and my calculations.”

Emma’s stomach threatened to rebel. No one on the staff, she was certain, would have moved his work. As Mrs. Dunworthy had said, none of them dared to so much as set foot in the laboratory. That’s why Emma had had to be the one to rescue him nearly a fortnight ago. They would never have taken his work.

But she was afraid she knew who would.

What if Jerym hadn’t left the area as he’d promised? Her foster brother could easily have slipped into the laboratory while everyone was busy at Alice’s ball. With a fast team of horses and a good carriage, he could be miles away by now.

“It seems we have a thief,” Mrs. Dunworthy said, voice gone colder than the night. “We’ll search the house, Nicholas. The creature can’t have gone far. Miss Pyrmont, return Alice to the nursery. I fear our pleasant evening is over.”

Emma hesitated. She had no proof it was Jerym, no evidence he was anywhere in the area. Should she say something? Only Nick’s previous success had kept her from mentioning her foster father the other day. But if she was wrong about Jerym, she would have to explain her relationship to Samuel Fredericks, and she wasn’t sure how Nick would take it, particularly under the circumstances.

But before she could reach for Alice’s hand, the little girl stepped forward and slipped her fingers into her father’s hand.

“It’s all right, Papa,” she said. “I’m sure we’ll find your special lamp to keep the little boys safe.”

He gazed down at her, and his face softened. “Thank you, Alice. I won’t let them down.”

Alice pulled back her hand. “You should pray about it,” she insisted. “That’s what we’re supposed to do when we’re worried.”

He smiled at her. “I have heard that, as well. Go along now. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Alice turned to Emma, who took her hand. Nick laid a hand on Emma’s shoulder, stopping her.

“Thank you as well, Emma,” he said. “For everything. When this is settled, I’d like to talk to you about plans for your future.”

Emma’s breath caught. Even in his distress she thought she heard a warmth in his voice. Only yesterday morning she’d thought he meant to propose and had her hopes dashed. If she told him the truth now, would he still be so willing to discuss a future together? And how would he feel if he learned the truth later? Would he think she’d hidden it from him out of loyalty to her foster father?

“I’d like to talk to you as well, Sir Nicholas,” she said. “I’ll settle Alice and then come find you. Excuse me.” She took Alice’s hand and hurried away before either he or Mrs. Dunworthy could question her. She needed time to think about what she would say and how she would say it.

And she could only hope that time would prove she was wrong about her foster brother, and someone would find the prototype tucked safely away in the Grange instead of on the back of a coach headed for London.

* * *

Emma stopped by the Green Salon to retrieve Lady Chamomile then returned Alice to the nursery suite and set about preparing the girl for bed.

“I don’t want to sleep,” Alice protested, wiggling out of Emma’s grip. “I want to help Papa find his lamp.”

“I know,” Emma said, catching her close once more. “I want to help your papa, too. But the best thing we can do right now is to be very good and very quiet. Can you do that for him?”

Alice nodded, but the way her lower lip stuck out told Emma she wasn’t pleased about the approach.

Luckily, Ivy came up to help.

“I could barely slip away,” she confided to Emma as they helped the four-year-old out of her ball finery and into a flannel nightgown. “Mrs. Dunworthy has turned out the entire staff, from the stable boy to Mrs. Jennings. They’re searching corners I didn’t even know we had here.”

Emma could imagine. Nick must be frantic thinking his work gone. She had to find a way to speak to him about it.

Lord,
she prayed as she tucked Alice into bed,
You promised to give Your people the words when it came time to testify about You to kings and authorities. I haven’t been called to testify about You in word but in action. I know You would not want me to be silent in this case. Please show me how to explain the situation to Nicholas so that I don’t diminish the feelings he has for me.

“Shall I help you change for bed as well, miss?” Ivy asked after Alice had said her prayers and they’d left her to sleep.

“Help me change out of this dress,” Emma replied, heading for her room, “but into my day dress. I must speak to Sir Nicholas.”

She didn’t glance back to see if Ivy was following her. She knew she had to confide her suspicions. If Jerym had taken Nick’s work on orders from Samuel Fredericks, Nick might still have a chance to catch her foster brother before he reached London.

She opened the door to her room and stopped on the threshold, staring at the large gray metal box sitting at the foot of her bed. She felt as if it reached greedy fingers toward her.

“What’s that?” Ivy asked from beside her.

Emma swallowed. “That, I very much fear, is Sir Nicholas’s prototype.”

Ivy’s voice fell to a frightened whisper. “You mean that’s what they’re all searching for?”

“Yes,” Emma said, amazed her voice could come out more firmly. “Help me with it, if you will. We need to take this to Sir Nicholas. Now.”

* * *

Nick knew his staff was searching the Grange. He could hear their feet on the stair, catch glimpses of them as they dashed past the withdrawing room door. He hardly attended to Charlotte as she paced about the room. His mind was already calculating, his fingers tapping at his black wool evening breeches.

“We will find your lamp, Nicholas,” she assured him. “No thief could have entered this house without leaving some trace.”

“This isn’t a random theft, Charlotte,” he countered. “Surrounded by so many opportunities like vases and paintings, a common thief would never resort to a strange-looking lamp in a gray box and a leather portfolio of scribbled notes.”

Charlotte stopped her pacing, her skirts swinging to a halt. “What are you saying?”

“Whoever took the box and my notes had to know the value,” Nick replied. “And anyone observing the laboratory would quickly have discovered that I might be found there at any hour of the day or night. Determining the precise moment when I was occupied elsewhere would have required information from someone who knew us well.”

Charlotte blanched. “To think one of the staff...”

“Ah, but we agreed that few on the staff understood my work,” Nick reminded her. “If one of the servants stole the items or aided in their theft, it was more likely on the order of someone outside the house, someone who stood to profit.”

Charlotte took a deep breath, as if relieved to find her staff at least partly exonerated. “Who would profit from the theft of a safety lamp?” she demanded.

His thigh protested, and he realized he’d been tapping rather mercilessly. He moved to the window, braced his hand on the molding. At least there his tapping would only be another noise along with the hiss from the nearby fire.

“I have several theories,” he replied, gaze on Charlotte’s reflection in the glass. She stood watching him as if unsure of his reaction. “The mining association is avid to procure a working lamp, but they’d have no reason to take it. Jennings must have told them I’d already scheduled a test.”

“And what of your colleagues in the Royal Society?” Charlotte challenged. “They haven’t been nearly so patient in their own work, if memory serves.”

Nick shook his head. “Davy was working on his own approach. With Fredericks’s disdain for my work, he’d be the last to seek to copy it.”

“How naive you are, Nicholas,” Charlotte chided.

Nick turned with a frown. Her lips were compressed as if she fought strong emotions.

“These colleagues of yours are men,” she explained, “and thus prone to weakness. Perhaps they lacked vision and sought to steal yours. Perhaps they wanted the money that could come from manufacturing such a lamp. Perhaps they were jealous. Simply pick a motivation and you will likely find it true!”

Nick struggled to find the flaw in her logic. He didn’t like seeing greed or jealousy among his fellow natural philosophers. They all held a common goal, after all, the betterment of the human condition through the expansion of knowledge.

From his youth, the parable from the Bible came to mind. The Lord had cautioned His followers not to attempt to gain the places of highest honor at banquets but to wait until they were invited to such seats. Nick had never sought the praise of his peers, only their respect. Was praise or income of more interest to one of his colleagues, no matter the cost?

Just then Emma and the nursery maid came through the doorway, balancing a load. He recognized their burden in an instant and dashed forward to meet them.

“What’s all this?” Charlotte cried, following him.

“I believe this is Sir Nicholas’s prototype,” Emma said.

Relief washed over him. He’d known he could re-create his work, but the effort would have taken time, and more miners might die while they waited.

He took the box from her with a smile, but she did not return his look. Indeed, her face seemed smaller, as if it had been pinched with worry. Perhaps he should reassure her, and himself, that all was well.

He set the box on the drum table by the sofa and worked the clasp to lower one metal side. The glass chimney of the prototype winked back at him in the light of the wall sconce.

“It’s intact,” he told them all, closing the box once more. He felt as if his shoulders had somehow broadened, his lungs expanded. The very air tasted sweeter. “I’ll need to check it more closely, of course, but it appears that no harm was done.”

Charlotte put a hand on the chest of her green ball gown. “No harm done! How can you say that? Someone has abused your trust terribly.” She turned to Emma. “Where did you find this?”

Emma met her gaze, chin high. “In my bedchamber, Mrs. Dunworthy. But I assure you, I did not put it there.”

“Of course not,” Nick agreed, running a hand over the box. “Perhaps the culprit thought it a safe place for the moment while the rest of us were busy with Alice. You had no reason to take it.”

She drew in a breath as if she had been holding it and offered him a smile at last.

“Unfortunately,” Charlotte said, “that isn’t true. I am very disappointed in you, Miss Pyrmont. I knew about your background, and I chose to offer you an opportunity. This is how you repay me?”

Nick pulled his hands from the smooth surface of the box. “What are you talking about, Charlotte?”

His sister-in-law waved a hand. “Oh, open your eyes, Nicholas! She’s obviously our culprit.”

“Nonsense,” Nick said, but Emma took a step forward, hands reaching out as if she were begging.

“I didn’t take it!” she protested. “I would never do anything to hurt Sir Nicholas or Alice.”

“It wasn’t there when I helped her change for the ball,” the maid put in, then cringed when all gazes swung her way. “I promise!”

Nick turned to his sister-in-law. “Stand down, Charlotte. Emma isn’t our enemy.”

“I think you will change your mind when you hear what I have to say,” Charlotte insisted. She nodded to the maid. “That will be all, Ivy. You’ve done your duty. Go tell the others to call off the search.”

Ivy started to back toward the door.

“But what about Sir Nicholas’s notes?” Emma protested. “They weren’t with the box.” She looked to Nick. “You’ll need those to prove your work.”

Certainly he would, though he wondered how she knew.

“We can deal with that matter ourselves,” Charlotte said. “Go about your business, Ivy.”

With an apologetic glance at Emma, the maid fled.

Nick closed the distance between him and Emma. She was hunched, as if nursing some inner pain. He remembered Ann looking that way when the consumption made it hurt to breathe. The thought of Emma in such distress made him put his arm about her shoulders, drawing her closer to shelter her.

“Do not coddle her,” Charlotte demanded. “Force her to tell us the truth!”

Force her? What, did Charlotte think he should strike Emma? Lock her in a tower with only bread and water. Ridiculous!

“Be reasonable, Charlotte,” Nick replied, tightening his grip. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.”

“Of course there’s a logical explanation,” Charlotte said. He wasn’t sure of the entire spectrum of the human voice, but he was fairly sure Charlotte’s approached the strident. “Only you are too much a gentleman to see it.” She narrowed her eyes at Emma. “This woman came into our home under false pretenses.”