Page 84 of The Designs of Lord Randolph Cavanaugh

“Would he?” Mayhew fell into step beside Rand. Together, they forced their way through the now-packed crowd—the Prince had just moved to view the invention next to the steam carriage.

After a moment of wondering if he was overreacting and deciding he didn’t care, Rand replied, “If Winthrop was prepared to pay you to sabotage the engine, I believe we have to take it as read that he’s willing to do just about anything to prevent the Throgmorton engine from working.”

Mayhew huffed—in dismay, rather than disagreement. Regardless, he didn’t argue but helped Rand force his way through the crowd.

CHAPTER 15

Rand reached the cordon and their guards. He cast a swift glance at the knot of people around the Prince. Luckily, Albert had asked for a demonstration of the steam-powered threshing machine, and the exhibitors were still stoking their boiler.

Remembering that William John was scheduled to fire the steam carriage’s engine as soon as the Prince turned toward their exhibit, Rand stepped over the cordon, saying to the nearest guards, “Keep watching.” He jerked a thumb at Mayhew as the artist made to follow. “It’s all right—he’s with me.”

With Mayhew on his heels, Rand rounded the steam carriage.

He crouched, and Mayhew did the same.

“Winthrop couldn’t have got within spitting distance of the other side of the engine.” Rand reached for the knob that secured the side panel of the engine housing. “I can’t imagine how he might have reached this side unseen, but…” He had to check. His instincts were pricking him like hedgehog quills; he couldn’t ignore them.

He twisted the knob, and the catch released. Smoothly, he lowered the panel. With Mayhew looking over his shoulder, he peered into the engine compartment.

With his sharp artist’s eyes, Mayhew spotted the anomaly first. “There.” Reaching over Rand’s shoulder, he pointed. “That looks like material—it shouldn’t be there, should it?”

Rand looked and swore. “No.” He reached for the white band holding down the pressure valve. He felt and found the knot, tried to unpick it, and realized that wouldn’t be easy. “Damn—he’s used his silk handkerchief. The knot’s pulled tight.”

Grimly, he worked at the knot, frantically trying to ease it apart; they didn’t have much time… An unwelcome thought intruded. Over his shoulder, he murmured urgently to Mayhew, “Look further. This might not be all he did.”

Rand shifted to the side to allow Mayhew to press closer and peer deeper into the engine compartment.

Telling himself the artist’s eyes were keen, Rand concentrated on freeing the valve they knew was stuck—one of the critical valves William John had added off the boiler to equalize the pressure…

“There’s another one—looks like another handkerchief around one of those things.”

“Valves,” Rand gritted out. “Where?”

Mayhew pulled back from the compartment. “Farther from the engine. He must have reached it from underneath.”

Rand gave Mayhew due credit; the artist didn’t hesitate, but rolled onto his back and wriggled beneath the carriage’s underbelly. “I can get this one.”

Mayhew’s words were indistinct. Rand raised his head and realized the noise from the crowd had grown. The Prince and his entourage must be on the point of moving on.

His jaw clenching, Rand ducked his head and worked feverishly to ease the knot, but everything he did only seemed to pull it tighter.

Distantly, he heard Mayhew swear about silken knots.

Then Mayhew asked, his words faint but clear, “Cavanaugh—what will happen if these valves are still tied down when the engine starts?”

Rand’s jaw couldn’t clench any tighter. His eyes felt like they were burning, he was concentrating so fiercely on the silk band. “Nothing initially.” His tone, strangely, sounded entirely even. “But then the boiler will explode.”

“Explode?” Mayhew squeaked.

“Quite spectacularly.” Rand was barely aware of what he was saying, so focused was he on the knot.

Then with a rustling of skirts and petticoats, Felicia crouched beside him. “What…?” Her hand on his shoulder, her eyes had gone to the tie he was wrestling with. “Good God—is that silk?”

“Yes! And the damned knot has pulled tight.” Rand was dimly aware her hand had gone from his shoulder; a glimpse from the corner of his eye showed she’d grabbed her reticule and was desperately hunting inside it. “I can’t get this undone.” Through gritted teeth, he ground out, “Go and tell William John to wait for my signal before starting⁠—”

The coal igniter flared, flames whooshed, and the boiler rattled to life.

Rand cursed.