Page 43 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

Although Angus was tempted—he was almost as confident as Darius as to the contraption’s soundness—he said, “How about I follow on foot? Make sure the axles are working?”

Darius grinned. “Coward,” he teased. He gripped the steering mechanism—a half-round iron rod—at the ends and once again checked the steam pressure valves to ensure enough pressure had built up to drive the pistons.

“I plan to disengage the drive shaft to slow down, but if I have to stop, I’ll use the brake,” Darius explained. At the moment, it wasn’t set.

Darius moved another lever, and the drive shaft engaged.

Angus chuckled softly but quickly stepped back when the vehicle lurched forward a few inches.

“The braking works,” Darius called out, grinning before he was once again in motion.

Awestruck, Angus watched as the vehicle quietly exited the workshop and passed through the gates. At the alley, Darius turned the steering arc to the left, and before Angus had caught up to him, the vehicle was heading towards Curzon Street.

“It works!” he called out, laughing when Darius waved a leather-gloved hand. He ran behind, stunned when Darius had the unit slowing at the end of the mews. Then he turned left, merging onto Curzon Street, so he was traveling in the same lane as the west-bound traffic.

The vehicle barely made any noise, but a nearby horse pulling a dray cart certainly did. The gelding attempted to rear back onto his hind legs, his loud neighs of protest followed by shouts and curses from the driver.

“Apologies!” Darius shouted, maneuvering the vehicle until it was lined up behind a town coach. The tiger hanging onto the back of the equipage nearly lost his grip, his eyes rounding when he turned his head to discover what all the fuss was about.

“Good afternoon,” Darius called out, waving to the boy.

“Where’s your ’orse?” the tiger asked, his brows raised nearly to his hairline.

“Back here,” Darius replied, using a thumb to indicate the engine.

Despite jogging alongside Darius, Angus found he couldn’t keep up. For a moment, he wished he had joined Darius on the driver’s bench. Riding in such a vehicle couldn’t be much different from being a passenger on a phaeton. It occurred to him that they had an unanticipated design flaw; the driver and passengers were exposed to the elements. Perhaps they could fashion a roof of some sort to protect the occupants from rain.

He was relieved when Darius took the first left at Berkeley Street, disengaging the drive shaft so the vehicle slowed until it was clear of the other horse-drawn vehicles and it could safely merge into the far-left lane of traffic. When Darius reengaged the drive shaft, the vehicle began to pick up speed until it was once again behind another horse-drawn cart.

The maneuver allowed Angus to catch up as he negotiated the foot traffic on the pavement. Others who were walking—nurses with their charges and an older couple walking arm in arm—had stopped to boggle at the sight of the strange equipage.

“What the devil?” he heard from a well-dressed gentleman, his mouth opened in astonishment.

“A horseless phaeton,” the woman commented, her expression suggesting she was impressed. “Now that’s what we should be driving on Rotten Row,” she added.

“It’s the Agremon Steamer,” Angus offered as he jogged past them, finally allowing himself to feel a hint of pride at having helped create such a contraption.

They passed the Agremon townhouse, and Angus saw Darius wave as if he thought someone inside might be watching.

Surely Mrs. Agremon would have enjoyed seeing the spectacle, but he knew she was at her bookshop. The servants might pay witness, though, but only if they happened to be looking out one of the front windows.

When the vehicle pulled to the curb and slowed to a halt, Angus hurried up to it. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Get in,” Darius urged. “I don’t want you dropping dead from lack of breath on our maiden trip.”

His anxiousness about the engine having passed, Angus moved to the other side of the vehicle, lifted the water can, and took a seat.

“What do you propose as a means of transporting water?” Darius asked as he slowly merged back into traffic, allowing a coach-and-four to pass before he did so.

Angus considered where a container might be added to the chassis. “Is there enough room behind the engine? Mayhap the means to open a valve to allow the water to fill the chamber directly?”

“Capital idea. We shall work on that next,” Darius replied. “But not today.”

“Sir?”

Darius slowed at the next intersection—Picadilly—and turned left. “I’ve an order that needs to be fetched from Lambeth Pier at three o’clock,” he replied, once again turning left so they were in the mews. “Could you fetch it and bring it with you in the morning?” He swiveled on the bench so he could reach the level to shut down the burner.

“An order, sir?”