Page 91 of Murder on Black Swan Lane

Tyler hurriedly prepared the items and carried them over. “Milord, I have been reading about Howard and his experiments while you were out—”

“Hand me a scalpel,” said Wrexford, as he unwrapped a tiny glass vial and examined its top. “A sharp one.”

The surgical tool was promptly handed over. “The top has been double sealed with wax. Which likely means—”

The blade slipped as a chunk of the wax suddenly broke off, causing the earl to momentarily juggle the vial, spilling some of the contents.

Moving with lightning quickness, Tyler grabbed the earl, and in the same violent movement hustled him away as the grains fell to the floor.

Charlotte cringed, expecting the worst.

Nothing happened.

“What the devil!” exclaimed Wrexford

“My apologies, sir. After what I had read, I expected the substance to be extremely volatile. And extremely unstable.” Tyler stared balefully at the sample. “Apparently I was wrong.”

“Unstable in what way?” asked Wrexford, looking curiously at the spill.

“It should have exploded at the slightest impact.” The valet looked a little disappointed. “Land’s research was on—”

Before Tyler could finish, the earl dropped a polished marble paperweight atop the grains—and was nearly knocked on his arse by the force of the thunderousbang.

“Hmm. That’s very odd,” said Tyler, squinting at the charred oak flooring as the shower of sparks and smoke subsided.

“Milord! Your trousers are on fire!” cried Charlotte.

Tyler quickly smothered the flames with a rag.

“Have you suffered an injury, sir?” she asked.

“Only to my vanity. I take pride in always being faultlessly attired.”

Sarcasm—blatant sarcasm. Lately his attitude had softened, so this sharpness clearly showed he was as unhappy with her as she was with him.

Wrexford looked down at the badly singed wool and then at the vial, which was still clasped between his fingers. “Odd, indeed,” he mused, his full attention shifting back to the chemicals. “That had far more force than ordinary gunpowder.”

“Quite a bit more,” agreed Tyler.

“We had better take a closer look at Lowell’s hellfire invention. I wonder . . .”

“Allow me, sir, just in case.” The valet held up a small pair of tongs padded in chamois. Taking hold of the glass, he carefully tipped out a small measure of the powder onto one of the pieces of glass, and ever so carefully covered it with the other, then stoppered the vial with a tiny piece of cork. “The microscope is ready to be calibrated, milord,” he said as he placed the remaining sample upright in a metal tube rack and then handed the slides to the earl.

“How does looking at the powder tell you anything meaningful?” Charlotte couldn’t hold back her curiosity. Even magnified, the grains would be . . . simply grains, and the substance looked to be colorless.

It was Tyler who answered. “Lord Wrexford is one of the most expert chemists in London. His skills lie in analyzing the structural nuances of different compounds. In fact, he’s identified a number of new elements. For example, he isolated sodium from molten sodium hydroxide—though he’s allowed Davy and Faraday to take the public professional credit.” He paused. “I suppose he worries that were it widely known that he possesses a serious scientific mind, it might ruin his reputation.”

Charlotte hadn’t realized the full measure of his expertise. She had been under the impression that it was merely an odd hobby.

“Hell’s teeth, do be quiet! Your chin wagging is an infernal distraction.” Wrexford slid the sample beneath a complicated array of brass tubes.

Charlotte guessed they contained some sort of high-powered lens. Fascinated, she edged her chair closer to watch the procedure.

“That’s close enough, Mrs. Sloane,” counseled the earl without looking up. “Just in case there’s an accident, the flying shards of glass and metal could be dangerous.”

“It appears to require a strong percussive force to set it off. And yet . . .” Tyler made a series of adjustments to the tiny mirrors that amplified the light. “And yet, it seems to have the same properties of Land’s discovery . . .” His voice trailed off again.

Wrexford took charge of the controls and leaned into the eyepiece. “Which was?”