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on.”
    “Cleo, you are a sister in a million.”
    “Perhaps, but I didn’t persuade Evershot to give me a shilling more allowance.” In spite of her best intentions the news came out sounding a bit gloomy.
    It subdued their banter as they cooked and put a damper on the glory of the potatoes when Cleo put the steaming dish on the parlor table. Not all the reckless brilliance of four tapers lifted the mood, but Cleo savored every bite, and when the dishes were removed, she did not immediately put out the candles but brought out her gift for Charlie. She set the roll of thin paper in front of him and settled down to anticipate his pleasure. Charlie never dove into anything. If she had her way, she would give him endless gifts just to watch the thoroughness of his appreciation. Let the candle stubs burn on.
    Charlie held the roll of thin paper lightly in his hands. “You’re not going to tell me where it came from, are you?”
    Cleo shook her head. “Guess.”
    Charlie’s thin fingers moved lightly over the roll of paper and circled its ends. “Stanford’s?”
    Cleo could not deny it. She had stopped in the book and paper shop on Rose Street after she left the bank. “Not an entirely fruitless trip to town, after all.”
    “But what is it?”
    “You have to open it to find out.”
    Again Charlie waited. His eyes shifted back and forth in the way he had when he was thinking. His hair, a shade more brown than Cleo’s, stood out in thick waves from his thin face. “You know, Cleo, I could do more for us.”
    “No.”
    “I talked to Davies this week, and he’s willing to let me have the entrails when he slaughters his hogs. He says if I scrape out the muck till they’re white as snow, Mr. Hems the butcher will pay me a penny a pound for casings.”
    “Charlie Spencer, don’t you dare think it. You have more than enough to do to keep this farm going and keep up your studies.” Cleo was shaking. She thrust her hands into her lap and clenched them together. “We will have you in school by Hilary term. Now open it, open it.”
    Charlie pulled the ribbon off the roll with a sweep of one thin arm and spread the paper open. He could not resist the pleasure of the gift. “It’s capital!”
    In clear lines and wonderful detail was a diagram of a series of improvements to a Boulton and Watt steam engine. Charlie was instantly engrossed in figuring the math of each variation. “This one would double the efficiency of that one.”
    “I’m glad you like it. We’re managing well enough, and only feel a pinch because we must get you to school.”
    “Before March takes me away.”
    “I won’t let that happen, but let’s try everything else before the pig entrails plan.”
    Charlie grinned. “You’re sure?”
    “If you are to be a great inventor, you need a scientific education, and we will find a way to get you one.” It was a fine resolution, only a little diminished as one of the candles guttered and went out.
     
     
     
     
     
    T HE administration of justice at Number Four Bow Street being one of the principal cheap entertainments of a London evening, a crowd packed the magistrate’s room when Xander arrived. He worked his way through the mob to his brother Will, who cleared a space with a swift, sharp glance at a burly apron-covered fellow reeking of fish.
    Xander leaned toward Will to make himself heard above the babble. “Anyone of interest in tonight’s lot?”
    “Nate Wilde, petty thief and informer. He’s one of Bredsell’s boys.”
    A member of the foot patrol in a black hat and blue coat with brass buttons hauled a short, wiry young person into the court by his manacled hands. The youth swore and resisted, but the officer paid no attention. Behind the youth a man in severe clerical attire whispered something and the boy subsided.
    “A pony says he gets off.” Xander offered more than his usual wager.
    Will did not look away from the proceedings. “A pony? You’re flush in the pocket. Ah,