Page 71 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
“I’m not concerned about scarring.”
Hannah didn’t say anything, merely unstoppered one of the bottles. A pleasant minty odor emerged as she poured the contents onto a bandage then began to wrap it around one of Virginia’s hands.
She stared down at her hand, more afraid than she’d ever been. Was this punishment for her actions? She had grievously sinned, but Elliot needed her. She didn’t want her son to grow up without his mother, as she had.
Hannah regarded her somberly for a moment, then finally smiled. “You aren’t going to die, your ladyship.”
“Eudora did,” she said, looking at her. She could no longer blink back her tears. Dear God, she was so afraid. “So did the scullery maid.”
Hannah nodded. “They didn’t have me caring for them, now did they?”
Virginia wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, closed her eyes and said her prayers, like a child again in upstate New York, the only child of a rich and powerful man. Except this time the prayer was absurdly simple and didn’t mention her father, her governess, or her dog.
Please, God, protect my child. Please don’t let me die.
Between Sydney and London
July, 1870
The air was heavy on his skin, pressing in on him. Macrath could do without sea spray in his face, coating his hair and stiffening his clothes. He was tired of the ocean. Tired of the endless noise of his own ice machine. Tired, too, of traveling. He wanted to be home at Drumvagen. Home in Scotland where he didn’t have to eternally explain that, no, he wasn’t immigrating to Australia like so many Scots he’d met.
He’d met more Scots in Australia than in London.
“Congratulations, Mr. Sinclair,” Captain Allen called out, motioning him to his side.
Macrath moved to stand next to the captain on the bridge.
Allen reminded him of a Highland bull, with the mop of his hair falling down on his brow and his wide, blunt nose. Even the captain’s beard, trimmed to a point, fit the picture.
“TheCrownthrew their cargo overboard this morning,” Allen said with a grin. “Rancid meat, most like.” He pointed to a dark horizon. “They may be faster than we are,” he said. “But their ice room isn’t better than yours.”
“They chose insulation and nothing else,” Macrath said. “They’ve no machine on board.”
“All is well with yours, I trust?”
The Sinclair Ice Company had provided the machinery for Captain Allen’s ship. Macrath’s model worked on air compression and expansion. Installing it on theFortituderequired it be powered by the main boiler. He and Jack had insulated the refrigeration room with charcoal and wool batting. The frozen beef, mutton, lamb, and butter were wrapped in wool and the surrounding air withdrawn, cooled, and expanded back into the chamber. To spare the machinery, he turned it off for hours at a time, but monitored the temperature in the chamber before and after doing so, to ensure the cargo remained frozen.
“The temperature is well within acceptable ranges,” he said now.
“You think, then, that we’ll reach London with the cargo safe?”
“Ready to be eaten by the good citizens of England,” Macrath said.
“It’s about time the world tasted Australian beef,” the other man said.
He grinned at the captain, who smiled back. Together, the two of them stood to win not only a large purse for this contest between ships, but bragging rights as well.
“Your achievement is remarkable, Macrath,” Allen said. “I didn’t think I’d be impressed but damned if I’m not.”
Macrath smiled. He liked this Australian. “It’s a good design,” he said. “The ice room holds in the cold as well.”
“I would never have thought of using wool for insulation. Nor did I expect you to have the machine running clear across the ocean.”
Two of his three competitors had opted to build a cold room, while the third chose to use ether as a refrigerant. Macrath had built a cold room as well, along with a protective shed for the latest version of his ice machine. He and Jack had spent most of the voyage wiping the machinery down, keeping it clean of salt spray, and praying it lasted the duration of the voyage.
TheFortitudewas powered by steam and had cut the trip between Sydney and London to about sixty days, a savings of almost half the time of a clipper. He’d sent Sam home aboard thePrincess,and they might reach Scotland before him.
TheGraftonhad started dumping its cargo two weeks out of Sydney. With the news that theCrownwas out of the running, too, theMagellanwas their only competition.
