Page 45 of This Earl of Mine

“You’ll get your adventures someday, Mrs. Wylde,” he said. “I’m sure of it.”

Georgie rather hoped those adventures would includehim.

Soon they were rattling past Wapping and the West India Docks until they finally reached Blackwall, where Georgie’s ships unloaded directly into Caversteed Shipping’s warehouses.

It was low tide. The earthy, fecund scent of the Thames was stronger here, and she caught a glimpse of several mudlarks—filthy young children—scouring the water’s edge for pickings amongst the mud and rubble of the shoreline, looking for anything they could sell.

The streets surrounding the docks were, unsurprisingly, filled with a vast assortment of businesses that not only catered to the demands of the shipbuilding industry, but also sold the wares that were unloaded every day. It was all so vibrant and bustling, so different from the sedate, genteel pace of Mayfair. Georgie felt infused with energy every time she came here.

Tea and coffeehouses, taverns, silk merchants, and spice vendors vied for space with cordwainers, sailmakers, and clockmakers. As they rattled down Poplar Street, past the inventively named Eel Pie Lane and theMayflower pub, Georgie knocked on the carriage roof with her knuckles to signal Pieter to stop.

A swinging sign above the door of the bow-fronted shop outside read, T. HARRISON,PRECISIONMARINEINSTRUMENTS.

“Here we are.”

Pieter handed her down from the carriage, and Georgie entered the shop with Wylde close behind. She loved coming here. Mr. Harrison was, in her humble opinion, a technical genius, and the shop interior reflected the chaotic yet brilliant state of the man’s mind. Every way one turned, there was a new wonder to behold. The counters and shelves were crammed to bursting with scientific instruments, some complete and for sale, others in various stages of construction or deconstruction. A three-draw brass-and-leather telescope teetered next to a brass sextant and a hygrometer for measuring atmospheric pressure, while a mechanical figure of a monkey and an organ-grinder lay in pieces on one side.

Wylde sucked in a breath as he ducked his head to avoid various barometers and other instruments that swung from the low ceiling. A smile stretched Georgie’s lips. He looked like Gulliver from Mr. Defoe’s tale, a giant in a land of midgets.

“Marvelous, isn’t it?” She bustled over to the shop counter, which was almost invisible beneath a pile of springs, cogs, wood shavings, and assorted tools, and rang a small bell. “Mr. Harrison?” She peered toward the back room. “He has a small foundry out the back,” she explained to Wylde. “Sometimes he can’t hear very well over the noise of the bellows.”

Wylde was examining a complicated mechanism near his elbow. “What is this? A clock?”

“A marine chronometer. See how it is gimbled so it always stays level, even in the worst seas? Knowing theprecise time of day is of vital importance when it comes to navigation. Mr. Harrison makes the best chronometers in the country. I have just fitted my entire fleet with them.”

He raised his brows. “That sounds expensive.”

Georgie shrugged. “It was. But a correctly functioning instrument can mean the difference between life or death at sea. Didn’t you read about theArnistonlast year?”

“I don’t believe I did.”

“She was an East Indiaman that wrecked off the coast of South Africa with the loss of over three hundred and fifty lives. It was in all the newspapers. The captain couldn’t afford the sixty guineas for a chronometer, and the ship’s owners were unwilling to purchase one. They even threatened to replace him with another captain if he refused to set sail without one.”

Georgie frowned in renewed anger at the memory. “The crew had to navigate heavy seas using older, less reliable means, since the inclement weather prevented them from using celestial navigation to get a fix on their position. They headed north, thinking they’d already passed Cape Point, but they’d miscalculated, and instead, they were wrecked on the coast, with the loss of all but six lives.”

She pursed her lips, both saddened and incensed by such senseless waste. “Even if the owners had provided the worst chronometer ever made, they would not have lost their ship, nor sacrificed men, women, and children for the sake of some short-sighted economy.”

She shifted uncomfortably under Wylde’s penetrating gaze, suddenly self-conscious. She often became a little too passionate in her arguments. Mother was always telling her to stop prattling on like the fishwives at Billingsgate. But this was a subject close to her heart.

“Your own father died at sea, did he not?”

“He did, although not for the lack of a scientific instrument. Still, the employees of Caversteed Shipping are as well-equipped as I can make them. If I can prevent just one family from experiencing a similar loss, then it’s money well spent.”

“You are an extraordinary woman, Mrs. Wylde,” he said softly.

Georgie felt herself flush with pleasure at the sincerity in his words. Only Pieter, a sailor himself, appreciated the things she did for her workers. Perhaps, having been a soldier, Wylde could appreciate that reliable equipment saved lives.

She turned away, flustered. “Yes, well, you might want to suggest to your friend Admiral Cockburn that the Royal Navy supply allitsvessels with chronometers too. They do not currently do so as a matter of course.”

She was saved from further awkwardness by the appearance of Mr. Harrison. The old man bustled in from the darkened back room, wearing his usual uniform of a battered leather apron tied over a shirt and a wilting jacket. A halo of frizzy white hair surrounded his speckled head, and a delighted grin split his face beneath his wire-rimmed spectacles.

“Miss Caversteed! It’s a pleasure to see you again. How are you? How are those chronometers working out?”

Georgie returned his smile. “Good day, sir. I am very well. And the instruments are wonderfully accurate, as expected. I received a report from the captain of theJulianaa week ago saying he had arrived in Constantinople a full two days sooner than expected.”

“Capital! So, what brings you here today?” He glanced curiously at Wylde.

“May I introduce an acquaintance of mine, Mr. Benedict Wylde?”

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