Every Whispered Word Read Online Free PDF

steam-powered pump for you, which would take several weeks at the very least, who would operate it for you once it was shipped to South Africa? You have already described the significant challenges of the geography and weather. The steam pump I would build would be different from anything currently in use. It would have to be adapted to address the problems that would undoubtedly arise. Someone would have to be trained to operate and maintain it, otherwise you would find yourself saddled with a completely useless piece of machinery.”
    He was right, Camelia realized. The one steam engine she had managed to lease for her dig right after her father died had suffered countless breakdowns during the few brief days it had actually worked. Then it had mysteriously fallen over and smashed its gears, destroying it completely. The leasing company had demanded that she pay for the ruined machine, then refused to lease any equipment to her again.
    Mr. Kent’s machine would be useless unless someone with adequate knowledge of such a piece of equipment could be engaged to run it.
    â€œWould you be willing to come to South Africa and train someone to use it? You would only need to stay a week or two,” she hastily assured him. “Just long enough to demonstrate how the machine works and familiarize someone with its maintenance.”
    â€œSomeone might be able to master operating it in two weeks, but learning to maintain it and repair it would take weeks or even months beyond that,” Simon pointed out. “I’m afraid I don’t have the time or the inclination to sail to Africa to do that—I have far too many other projects demanding my attention at this time.”
    â€œOf course I would offer you more, to compensate you for your time,” Camelia added. “I would increase your stake in the profits to ten percent over five years—surely this would satisfy you for the time I am asking you to invest.”
    â€œLady Camelia, I’m afraid I do not share your fascination with scrabbling around in the African dirt. I hope you understand.”
    Camelia pressed her lips tightly together. What a complete and utter waste. She had spent two weeks poring over his articles in
The Journal of Science and Mechanics
while writing him letter after letter, politely asking him for a visit. In that time she had convinced herself that she would be able to persuade the reputedly odd but brilliant Simon Kent to provide her with the steam pump she so desperately needed. Two precious weeks lost, with absolutely nothing to show for it. Panic flared within her.
    Her gaze fell to the greasy sketch on the table before her.
    â€œOf course I understand,” she said calmly. “I hope you will forgive me for entering your home unannounced, Mr. Kent, and I thank you for your time.” She placed her enormous hat on her head. “Oh, dear,” she exclaimed, feeling about helplessly at the back of it, “I seem to have lost my pearl hat pin. It must have fallen on the floor—do you see it anywhere?”
    Simon scanned the littered floor. “Here are some hairpins,” he said, bending to pick up a half dozen wire fastenings strewn amidst the remaining debris, “but I’m afraid I don’t see—”
    â€œOh, here it is! It was just caught in the top of my hat.” She jabbed the pin into the loose tangle of her hair and moved swiftly toward the stairs leading to the main floor.
    â€œI’ll see you out,” Simon offered.
    â€œThat won’t be necessary,” Camelia assured him airily, mounting the staircase as quickly as her damp, heavy skirts and bustle would permit. She strode across the entranceway and flung open the front door. “I hope I have not caused too much of a disruption to your day, Mr. Kent.”
    She gave him her sweetest smile, then turned and proceeded to make her way down the stone steps to the street.
    Simon watched as she hurried along the