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  Roberta looked at Father. “Do you approve, Sir?”

  “Within reason. I told the Lieutenant that he must forward any difficulties involving engineering and cost decisions to either of us as might be most conveniently available.”

  “Yes. If you are away at one of the other yards, I can leave my plans and models to assist him. But it really is a most generous offer, Sir. How fortunate we have been to have all you gentlemen at Clydebank at this opportune time.”

  She saw Mr. Holmes hold the eyes of Lieutenant Worthington. “It really is a benefit, old chap, that we are able to thus prepare for our future duties in the actual circumstances that will surround them. I think Lord Bond will be impressed when you tell him of your suggestion . . . and if I may offer my own—if you invite him to accompany you on your duties and so afford him the practical experience he came here to acquire.”

  When he learned of the Lieutenant’s offer, Lord Bond expressed suitable approbation, but it did not trump his irritation at the necessity for consulting the First Lord on the matter of finding another candidate to replace Worthington in the spying mission. After speaking with Miss Stephenson at dinner he learned he must direct two letters to London, not just about personnel but also about a technical question he had no expertise in.

  When they returned to the topic in the library later, she confessed to the problem of determining the degree of protection that the crew of the new warship would need.

  “Lieutenant Worthington suggested the use of thicker iron plates toward the bows of both the spitefuls as well as the larger vessel to protect the crew from the cannon fire of ships they intend to ram. However, I have no knowledge of the thickness of the plates that would be required. Has the Admiralty investigated the equivalent protection of iron as compared to twelve inches of sound oak timber?”

  “Not that I know of, Miss Stephenson. Perhaps Mr. Holmes knows.”

  “I’m afraid not. I asked him and he had to inform me that Their Lordships of the Admiralty had given no thought to using the protection of iron for warships. They are wedded to the protection of wooden walls, and have no plans to supplement them with iron.”

  “We may have some yardstick once we penetrate the French shipyard and learn what armour thickness they plan.”

  She looked pensive. “I suppose that might answer, but it will be rather late. If we could borrow an eighteen pounder cannon, perhaps we might make a trial ourselves.”

  He frowned. “I would not recommend such an attempt, my dear. Not only would it add more work to your already full load—I fear it would prove a very hazardous enterprise. Only the most experienced gunners should attempt such an experiment. I do have a friend in the Royal Artillery at Woolwich . . . . I will write him for his knowledge of the matter as well as the possibility of their making a trial. Who would supply these iron plates for the experiments?”

  “I had not investigated to that degree, My Lord, but I will consider the matter further. The best and thickest iron plates that I would hope to use come from Derbyshire.”

  “Then I will see what a few letters may answer, but I also have another matter to discuss with you. I want to place some soldiers in the shipyards as guards—not necessarily to ward off a threat but to act as participants in some much needed training for our putative spies. I would like you and Miss Grandin to take part—to evaluate the quality of their discoveries, of course.”

  “Really? How much time will this require?” Their discussion was interrupted at this point when her father arrived and she addressed her next words to him. “His Lordship has presented a request, Father. I hope you will listen to his intention and offer your assent.”

  Mr. Stephenson seemed a bit nonplussed at her words so Lord Bond quickly amplified upon them. “It concerns the matter of my imminent departure to prepare for my clandestine visit to the Continent, Sir. I wish to engage in something of a charade to test our fitness for the intelligence gathering expedition.”

  Mr. Stephenson seemed, if it were possible, to be even more confused, but his daughter came to the rescue. “Lord Bond wishes to use our shipyard and works as a counterfeit replica of the premises in Antwerp where Boney’s people are building their steamships. He wishes to conduct an exploration as if we were trespassers attempting to gather knowledge that might be otherwise forbidden.”

  “Ah, I see,” Mr. Stephenson said with a much lightened expression. “You wish to learn how to spy upon our shipyard. I confess I know nothing about the arts of either spying or concealment.”

  “Then, in that case, Sir, my little masquerade may be of value to you should French spies actually attempt such a thing here. I expect to have a friend of mine in the 92nd Regiment of Foot loan us a company of soldiers for the exercise . . . to act as guards . . . perhaps as early as Monday next.”

  “What do you think, Father? He wants Miss Grandin and myself to be a part of the deception, as well as himself, Mr. Holmes, and Lieutenant Worthington.”

  “I do not understand why you and Miss Grandin should be a party to this,” Mr. Stephenson said with a deep frown.

  Lord Bond hurried to reassure the anxious father. “Mainly for their greater expertise in the shipyard. They may be better able to pronounce upon the value of the men’s observations.”

  “I see, My Lord. Please excuse me if I felt an inclination to refuse your request . . . my daughter did mention the American passport in your possession that included the identity of a wife.”

  Lord Bond put on his most reassuring smile. “Indeed, Sir, that instrument is in no way connected to this deception. Rather one other thing—perhaps we might attempt an investigation of your recalcitrant subcontractor’s yard as well. It may not expose anything untoward, but the owners of the yard will not know that.”

  Mr. Stephenson frowned as he looked toward his daughter . . . then he lightened a little. “I begin to understand what these deceptions involve, My Lord. But I should not wish to take any advantage from them. However, if they facilitate our nation’s business I must not stand upon my reservations. What do you think, Roberta?”

  “I do not like it, but Urquhart and McArthur really deserve to be treated with disrespect. Perhaps if the deception will allow the opportunity for us to examine this difficulty with them, we will not be judged badly. The prices we have offered them are already beyond generous, and it is mostly the Admiralty’s money that is at stake.”

  “Indeed, I believe your judgment is sound,” Mr. Stephenson said with a smile as he turned from speaking to her. “And if you can reassure me, My Lord, that there is now no intention to involve my daughter in this clandestine activity on the Continent, I will be doubly enlightened.”

  Lord Bond spread his hands wide. “The First Lord himself was disinclined to think the inclusion of Miss Stephenson appropriate, especially because her knowledge increases the need for her to be better protected. As far as Admiralty planning goes, the passport will not be used now we have the papers of the captured French spies.”

  “Thank you, My Lord. You have reassured me greatly.”

  “For that I am thankful, Sir . . . . I would not like to think your generous offer of assistance should bring your family and your enterprise any untoward outcome.” He was glad that the reassurance seemed accepted at its face value . . . by the father at least. Miss Stephenson still regarded him with a marked expression of deliberation.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Ideas and New Blood

  Roberta puzzled over her drawings the whole morning. Designing steam engines of the required power for the new warship proved a more difficult task than she had anticipated—with so many variables involved, solving one problem merely led to another. She rose from her desk to pace the office floor.

  She had gone back and forth a few times when one of her draftswomen poked her head in the door. “We are making tea, Miss Roberta. Would you care for a cup?”

  “Yes, please.” Perhaps relaxing over a cup might loosen the cobwebs in her head. She decided to go into t
he outer office to sit with the drafts-people. When she reached the door she noticed through the glass upper panel that Lord Bond and Lieutenant Worthington were already sitting there.

  “Having a problem?” Lord Bond asked.

  His words ignited instant irritation. His presence in the shipyard had elicited none of the interest in steamship engineering that had been his reason for requesting the invitation. Ostensible reason at least. His plan to involve her in the spying exercise made her suspicious. She hardly needed to lose valuable time from her work to sneak about the slipways—she could easily pronounce upon the spies’ notes in the evening. “No. What makes you think that?”

  “We could see you pacing the office floor.”

  “I needed to think. It helps if I walk.”

  Lord Bond smiled. “May I ask what you are working on?”

  “The engines for our large warship. I have to send a request to the foundry for a mold of a trial cylinder this week.”

  Lieutenant Worthington looked at her sympathetically. “The cylinders for this ship must be very large, Miss Stephenson.”

  “Indeed they are . . . somewhat larger than our boring machinery can handle, I fear. It would be another critical delay if we had to order a new, larger machine.”

  “What might we suggest as a hol’ternative, Miss Stephenson?”

  “Anything, if you know of one. Every thought of mine has led only to another difficulty.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes as Connie, one of the younger girls, arrived with beakers of tea. Roberta sipped carefully at the hot tea while Lieutenant Worthington plied the sugar spoon generously.

  Then he looked up. “When we had a similar problem with a Maudsley engine trial at Chatham, we was able to solve it by raisin’ the boiler pressure.”

  “I thought of that, but the boilers we must use are too close to their limit for that. We would run the danger of one exploding.”

  “Can you increase the number of cylinders instead of making one larger?” Lord Bond asked.

  Roberta frowned into her cup. How easily these problems could be solved if one knew no engineering. “We then have the problem of transferring the power of another cylinder to the driving gears, My Lord. They must be kept in accurate synchronisation as they work.”

  “Hmm, I cannot quite visualise your problem, but I have seen it done in Cornish mines with man engines. Of course, there the power is that of men working treadles to raise or lower the device between different workings.”

  She had no experience with such things. “It would seem that men can adjust their effort with greater flexibility than can cylinders of iron, My Lord.”

  Lieutenant Worthington began to grow a pink hue, but nevertheless asked his question. “An’ these man engines use the force of many men together, My Lord? What does the mechanism look like?”

  Lord Bond raised his hands to imitate some particular shape in the air. “The treadles are connected to power shafts that drive the wheels of the device on an inclined track. As I recall, they each are connected through a crank . . . like those used on railway locomotives.”

  Roberta tried to visualise two steam cylinders operating a single crankshaft. “Unfortunately the strokes of shipborn steam engines are very large and each crank would need to be pivoted at a different angle so the steam demands do not coincide. It seems a promising idea but there are new problems. Come over here to the drawings of the Spiteful’s engines.”

  They took their cups of tea and stood looking at the drawings pinned to the wall. Lord Bond seemed to see no problem, but Lieutenant Worthington pointed out the biggest. “If the connecting rods were required to follow the radius demanded they would collide with the upper walls of the cylinder.”

  “Then tilt the cylinder away,” Lord Bond answered.

  Lieutenant Worthington shook his head but flushed as he retreated from the fray. Roberta felt that she should say something to lessen his embarrassment at disagreeing with His Lordship—but then she saw how both of them could be right. “Perhaps tilting the cylinders on a pivot—keeping them all in the same plane—could prevent the connecting rods from striking the cylinder walls, Lieutenant.” She ran her hand down the drawing as if describing the motion of the crank. “There could then be two cylinders working together, oscillating first this way and then that.”

  “Yes . . . I sees what you are suggesting, Miss. But would that solve the power problem?”

  “Instead of single cylinders of almost ninety inches diameter, we could use double cylinders of . . . ,” she thought for a moment, “sixty or sixty five. Well within the capacity of our machine tools to bore out.”

  They stood staring at the drawings as they drank their tea. Lord Bond looked pleased with himself, as he might be permitted—in the circumstances. Lt. Worthington seemed lost in thought but when he looked up his face bore all the signs of pleasant absorption in a fascinating problem. She smiled at the drafts-people—it would seem that many heads had turned out to be much better than one. She could hardly stand there sociably finishing her tea and joining in the happy conversation when powerful urges were directing her back to her office to plunge into the designs again with this new idea.

  After lunch, Lord Bond waited at the mansion for the expected infantry company. He sat in the library with a pamphlet published by an office at Lloyd’s on the permitted loads and pressures on cargo ship steam engines that might apply to be insured by the underwriters. Within fifteen minutes he had fallen asleep.

  Miss Nelly Stephenson woke him. “There is a soldier at the front door asking for you, My Lord. The driveway is filled with soldiers.”

  “What? Oh, yes. I was expecting them.” He picked up the pamphlet that had fallen to the floor, set it on the low table beside him and then rose to his feet. He turned his head to look out the library windows—indeed, there did seem rather a lot of soldiers drawn up on the driveway.

  He walked to the front door where Mr. Stephenson’s housekeeper stood talking to a tall, red haired redcoat officer in a kilt. “Here is Lord Bond, now,” she said.

  The officer stamped to attention and saluted. “Captain James McNab of the thirrd Battalion, the 92nd Regiment of Foot rreporting fer duty, M’Lord.”

  Lord Bond responded with a slight bow. “Thank you, Captain. Did General Auchtermuchty apprise you of the requirements of this duty?”

  “I hae been ordered to bring the headquarters company to Clydebank to tak up defensive positions abit th’ shipyards, M’Lord. Hae the defensive positions been scouted?”

  Lord Bond frowned. “Hmm. There seems to have been a slight misunderstanding of the task to be carried out, Captain. I requested the General to supply me with a body of troops to come on piquet duty to allow the establishment of a guard around some of the shipyards. My purpose is to train some agents in the manner of gaining access to the premises. No expectation of hostilities is expected, Captain.”

  Captain McNab frowned and pulled at his long moustaches. “There is nae alarm of enemy intrusion then, M’Lord?” He seemed very disappointed.

  “None at all, I’m afraid. Did the company bring everything they need to bivouac?”

  “Ourr transport was left behind on the line of rroute, M’Lord. Ah can send a subaltern back to coorie them up . . . if you would be sae gude as to point out the location of our bivouac.”

  “I spoke to the town council about using some waste land adjacent to the Urquhart and McArthur Graving Dock Company premises. That will be one of the shipyards we wish to post our guard piquets in. I will have my horse saddled and accompany you to the location.”

  “Thank you, M’Lord. I will have the Sergeant Major start the men on the road immediately. Hoo far is it tae th’ shipyard?”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Curt Words

  Roberta and Elizabeth Grandin accompanied Lord Bond and the army captain to the Urquhart and McArthur Yard the next morning to help them decide on the location of sentries that might prevent unauthorised individuals from
gaining access. While she felt her presence this morning a necessary aid for His Lordship’s activities, she also hoped it might free her from participating in too many similar outings in the future.

  They were met at the yard gate by Mr. Urquhart in a dark suit that bore the oily evidence of his closeness to the yard’s activity. “What assistance do these soldiers need, Miss Stephenson? I do not want any work disrupted.”

  “This is Lord Bond, Mr. Urquhart. He is in charge of the sentry posting . . . with Captain McNab, of course.”

  Lord Bond gave a peremptory nod of the head in answer to the man’s token bow. “We do not wish to interfere with the work of the yard at all, Sir. Your workers may ignore the presence of the soldiers. Captain McNab and I will select the sentry posts based upon two criteria . . . defensive value and field of observation.”

  “Defensive, My Lord?”

  “While we have soldiers here, we will examine the ground for possible defensive positions, should there come a necessity in the future to keep French marauders out of the yard—not at all likely, of course, but a useful exercise for the soldiers.”

  “I see, My Lord . . . .”

  “Perhaps you would be so good as to walk with us a few minutes, Mr. Urquhart, to give us a brief description of the buildings,” Roberta said. “Some activities in the yard might be of greater interest to intruders than others.”

  Captain McNab addressed her. “I thought that ye and Miss Grandin werre tae assist us in that way, Miss.”

  She turned to him, as she deciphered his broad Scots accent. “That we will, Captain, but Mr. Urquhart has a better knowledge of his yard than we. He is his yard’s superintendent.”