That brought them to the most critical question. “Who is your uncle?”
Mayhew met Rand’s eyes. “Sir Horace Winthrop. Do you know him?”
Rand nearly laughed, although it wouldn’t have been humorously. His lips thinning, he nodded. “Oh yes. We’re acquainted.”
“Ah.” Mayhew glanced around. “Well, he’s here somewhere.”
So Rand had assumed. Despite his dislike of steam-powered machines, there were enough other inventions present to ensure Winthrop’s attendance.
“The main reason I came,” Mayhew continued, “was to tell old Horace that I hadn’t damaged the steam carriage and wasn’t going to. I told him if he wanted the thing sabotaged, he’d have to do it himself.”
Rand stilled. A frisson of premonition slithered down his spine. “When did you speak with your uncle?”
Mayhew frowned. “I’m not sure... Twenty minutes ago, perhaps? It might have been half an hour.” Mayhew glanced at Rand. What he saw in Rand’s face made him draw his hands from his pockets and straighten. “Surely you don’t think...?”
“You told him to sabotage the engine himself.” Rand turned to look over the heads at the Throgmorton exhibit.
“It was just a figure of speech.” Mayhew looked, too.
“Perhaps.” Rand started to push his way toward the exhibit. “But what if old Horace took it literally?”
“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.”