The Scottish Companion (6 page)

H
e was damned if he knew what he was doing. There was no reason to welcome Gillian Cameron into his laboratory, the haven he’d created out of necessity.

True, there was something about her that appealed to him, some look in her blue eyes that made him wonder at its source. He found himself studying her mouth, as if certain a plea would soon be uttered between those full lips. What would she say to him?
Stay? Talk to me? Converse with me upon a myriad of subjects, only do not leave me to the solitude of my own thoughts.

Or was he only mimicking his own thoughts? Perhaps he’d been alone too long, and that’s why he slowly opened the door to his laboratory before turning to her.

“I would appreciate it, Miss Cameron, if you would give me your word before entering.”

Gillian stopped and wrapped her arms around her waist, staring up at him as if she were gathering her thoughts. Or was she simply arming herself with her dignity?

She was so controlled that he wanted to bend down and jolt her out of her composure by doing something idiotic like grinning at her, or making a sudden strange noise. In a word, he wanted to act suddenly unlike himself, unrestrained and defiant, coaxing some sort of reaction from Miss Cameron.

“What is that, Your Lordship?” she asked in a very composed voice. A very mannerly, quite austere tone of voice.

“I would ask that you keep what you learn within these walls to yourself and not discuss this room with anyone.”

“Is what you do so special, Your Lordship? What exactly do you do here that you would ask such a promise of me?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea why, Miss Cameron,” he said as he stepped back to allow her to precede him into the room, “but I’m about to show you.”

“Perhaps I will not understand, Your Lordship, and any concerns you have are simply misplaced.”

“Perhaps,” he said, amused at her sudden look of indignation. Did she think she could goad him so easily?

His laboratory was a large rectangular room with two tall windows in the long wall, and a red brick fireplace at the shorter end. At the opposite end of the room was a door, now closed.

A scarred wooden table, easily ten feet long, sat in the middle of the room, and on it rested a dozen or so strange machines, one prepossessing structure nearly four feet high, crafted of wire, wheels, and metal parts.

“What is that?” she asked, pointing to one of the machines.

He stopped, reached out, and turned a crank. Sparks emerged from it so fiercely that she stepped back in precaution.

Another apparatus had glowing wires emerging from it. Without a word, he walked across the room and extinguished the gas lamps on the wall and then pulled the curtains closed over each of the windows. The room was filled with shadows, the better to illuminate the wires and the trail of light on the table.

He was amused by her wide-eyed glances. Or perhaps he was gratified, instead, and pleased that she seemed so amazed. To the uninitiated, his experiments were grandiose and a little frightening. To those of a similar experience, they were familiar in some respects and startling in others.

Why, though, did Gillian Cameron’s impression seem to matter more than the opinions of the men with whom he corresponded?

If he had any sense at all he’d simply banish her from the palace completely. He wouldn’t keep himself still so that when she passed by he could play a game with his senses. He wondered how many petticoats she wore beneath her full skirts. By the swish of them, he guessed two. What did she wash her hair with, that it boasted gold highlights? And what scent did she wear? She smelled of something feminine, a sweet, virginal scent that he would forever be able to recall and label Gillian.

He hadn’t lied to her about his confusion, although he had muted it somewhat. Now it returned in full measure, forcing him to admit that she was a distraction.

A dangerous, unsettling distraction—a curious and beautiful woman.

She turned and smiled at him, and he dared himself to banish her. What a fool he was as the moments passed and he did no such thing.

“You’re doing it again,” she said.

“Staring at you,” he answered. He nodded and walked to the other side of the room. “Perhaps you are worthy of my regard, Miss Cameron. Perhaps I simply have something else on my mind.”

How on earth was she to take that? She decided to ignore him and concentrate on his experiments instead.

“Why does it light up like that?” Gillian asked, walking closer to the table. She focused on the strange glow coming from the wires.

“It’s a way of creating energy,” he said.

“How does it work?”

“Are you truly interested?” he asked.

The obvious surprise in his voice annoyed her.

“I am not devoid of intelligence, Your Lordship. For all that I am Arabella’s companion. I do have a mind, you see.”

“I also suspect you become very annoyed when you are patronized, Miss Cameron.”

“I do not like people to think I am without intellect.”

“I should never be so foolish,” he said. “Come around here and let me show you.”

As she walked around the table, he opened the curtains, and then returned to one of the machines. “This particular device is a zinc-acid cell. An energy cell,” he added. “Each cell contains two electrodes immersed in a solution. When the cell is at rest, it doesn’t produce
current, and at that point there is a difference in the energy between the two electrodes.”

She nodded, not entirely certain she understood.

“Let me show you this one instead,” he said, evidently correctly deciphering her confusion. “This is called Volta’s pile.”

Volta’s pile was a series of wire frames containing stacks of metal disks. Each frame was connected to the next with a metal strip.

“There are two types of discs here, one silver and the other zinc, separated from each other by pieces of cloth soaked in salt water. One pile can only generate a small amount of energy, but connected together, they can be quite powerful.”

He reached out and opened a bottle, pouring a little of the mixture into the tray at the bottom of the machine. A small plume of smoke hid the damage from view for a moment, but when the acrid odor disappeared and the air cleared, she leaned forward, surprised.

“There’s a hole where you poured,” she said.

“A warning, Miss Cameron. Sulfuric acid can also blind or burn the skin. Normally I choose to use copper sulfate, but I am attempting to generate even more current with the acid.”

“And the danger is why you prefer to work in the palace?” she asked, drawing back.

He smiled again. “Actually,” he said, “I choose to work here because I’m left alone. I prefer to perform my experiments without the company of people, Miss Cameron. Does that make me sound cold and unfeeling?”

“No, Your Lordship,” she said, wondering how
much of her honesty he could tolerate. “It makes you sound lonely.”

He looked at her again. Moments ticked by in silence. Was he going to dismiss her from his laboratory? Or from Rosemoor entirely?

“Would you like to help me in my experiments?”

Surprised, she could only nod. “Tell me what to do.” She looked dubiously at the bottle of sulfuric acid. “Will it require working with that?”

“I have another task.” He reached below the table and withdrew a heavy burlap bag that he placed on the scarred wooden surface. “I am building a larger apparatus, and I need to have each of the silver disks polished. They conduct current better if the surface is clean.”

She took possession of the disks, a soft rag, and a bowl filled with a blue-tinged liquid. She eyed the solution with caution.

He pulled up a stool and sat beside her.

“It’s safe, Miss Cameron. Do you trust me?”

She nodded, the answer surprisingly instantaneous. For a few moments they worked in silence, she polishing the disks, and the earl occupied with arranging them in their wire cages.

“What will you do with it when it’s finished?”

“Prove that it’s possible to generate massive amounts of electricity, and store it as well.”

“But why?”

“Can you not imagine, Miss Cameron? Think of a world in which you needn’t be near a river or a stream to mill your flour. Or a machine that provides light and all you must do is simply turn a handle.”

“No oil? No candles?”

“None. Simply electrics.”

His face was animated, the sparkle in his eyes almost mischievous.

“Can something like that really happen?”

“It not only will, it must. There are countless discoveries we will make in our lifetimes, Miss Cameron. All things we’ve never thought would ever come to pass.”

“If you have your way,” she said.

“If I have my way. I’m a scientist.”

She didn’t comment. What could she say?

“How can you bear to spend your time on anything else?” she said, bending forward again to study the apparatus.

“I have been accused of being too involved in my work,” he said. “Some who don’t understand consider it an avocation or nothing more than a pastime, something to while away the hours between my duties as earl.”

“It seems to me that it would be vastly more interesting to be a scientist than an earl.”

“Were you an only child, Miss Cameron?” he asked abruptly.

She turned to look at him. How very odd that he was even more arresting in the bright sunlight. He probably should have been more handsome in shadows.

“Why would you ask that, Your Lordship?’

“To rectify our ignorance of each other.”

Was that entirely wise? Probably not, but she answered him regardless.

“Actually, I’m not,” she said. “I was an only child,” she admitted, “for a number of years, until my father
remarried.” And then their home was suddenly full of children. Six brothers and sisters, all of whom she was responsible for at various stages in their lives.

“A very close family, I’d wager.”

She nodded. “My father and I were very close until he married.”

“And then you had a stepmother.”

“All girls need a mother to guide them.”

“Were you guided, Miss Cameron?”

“In a way, Your Lordship. My stepmother believed I should make an advantageous marriage.”

“But you chose a life as Miss Fenton’s companion instead?” He looked dubious, but she was not about to illuminate him as to her past. “What do your parents think of your choice, Miss Cameron?”

She didn’t answer him.

“Do you not see them, Miss Cameron?”

Not since she’d been banished from their home, another comment she would not make.

“Not often, Your Lordship,” she said, lying.

“Do you miss them?”

How did he manage to ask the most difficult questions? “Yes and no,” she answered, hoping he wouldn’t demand more of an answer.

“I miss my brothers,” he said, offering a hint of vulnerability so that they were equally matched. How brave of him, and how surprising.

“How terrible to lose both of them in one year,” she said.

“I was in Florence when Andrew died. I didn’t know about his death for two months.”

“How very terrible for you.”

“I often wondered what I was doing when he died.
Was I working on my experiments, or having dinner with friends? What was so important that I somehow didn’t know he was dead?”

“You couldn’t have been expected to know,” she said, wishing that she could ease his grief somehow.

He didn’t reply, and she wondered if he regretted his comments.

She turned her head and looked at him. “I’m so very sorry for your loss,” she said. Neither a fortune nor a title protected him from the pain of living. Everyone loves, everyone loses, and even being an earl could not insulate him from that.

For a moment he remained silent, and then he spoke, his voice sounding rougher than usual. “Thank you, Miss Cameron. I appreciate your kindness.”

“It wasn’t kindness, Your Lordship,” she said. “I, too, know what it’s like to lose someone you love.”

“Whom do you mourn, Miss Cameron?”

That she would not tell him, and he didn’t press the issue after she shook her head.

For an hour she sat beside him, watching out of the corner of her eye as he adjusted the wires on his machine. From time to time he would explain what he was doing, but for the most part they sat in companionable silence.

When she was done with the bag of coins, she folded the burlap into a square, wiped her hands on the rag, and stood.

“I should be going. Arabella’s headache must have eased by now.”

“Is she often subject to headaches?”

Only when she wished to be alone, but it would not be proper to say such a thing, would it?

“Are you certain you wish to marry, Your Lordship?” An even more improper question.

He studied the wires he was wrapping around a copper spool. “Why would you ask that, Miss Cameron?”

“Arabella prefers her own company, Your Lordship. She is involved with her books, her medicine. She would, I think, infinitely prefer to remain single all her life.”

“You have described a woman who would be my exact match in all ways.”

“Do you dislike being touched, Your Lordship?”

He looked startled at the question.

“Arabella does. She cringes if anyone accidentally brushes by her, if a maid touches her hand, or even if her father pats her on the shoulder.”

“Will you come tomorrow?”

The change of topic was so jarring that she understood immediately. She was not to bring up the subject of his marriage or Arabella.

She forced herself to look directly at him. Although it was harder this way, it was more courageous. “I don’t think so,” she said. “It would be wiser if I didn’t.”

“Do you always do the wisest thing?” he asked.

“No. Perhaps it’s for that reason that I won’t come tomorrow. Experience has taught me to be wary.”

“Very well,” he said dismissively. “Enjoy life in fear, if you must, Miss Cameron.”

Surprised, she could only stare at him. “I beg your pardon? Are you ridiculing me because of my decision?”

“Yes,” he said, “I suppose I am.”

“That’s hardly fair, is it?”