Tom Fleet’s Machine

Chapter 1 Out of breath from his frantic dash across the grounds, Tom slid into his seat at the family dinner table. Four pairs of eyes swiveled to regard him, three laden with dismay, disdain, and disgust. Only one face, that of his younger brother Jack, held interest and admiration. At ten, Jack was still excited about Tom’s inventions and incessant tinkering. When he could escape his tutor, Jack visited Tom’s workrooms in the old gatehouse and asked endless questions. Despite the obvious parental disapproval and sisterly scorn, for he was too excited to contain his enthusiasm, Tom blurted out his latest news. “Today I almost did it…so close. My rocketing sky-ship machine began to move. Then a belt snapped and it settled again. Tomorrow, or if not then, surely the day after, I will depart this prosaic place for a real adventure.” Mr. Fleet fixed his second son with a stern gaze. “I’m well aware of your projects. Still, can you not arrange to be at the table on time, at least now and then? Is that truly too much to ask? Common courtesy demands you honor your mother with your presence at the start of dinner.” “Actually, we’d all be better off if you abandoned these ridiculous matters entirely,” Tom’s sister Eleanor added with an indignant sniff. “People are talking of little else all over the village. The strange noises, the disgusting odors, the weird contraptions you trundle about. It’s just a matter of time until word spreads to the city and to court. Then I shall find it near impossible to make a good marriage. Who wants a mad scientist for a brother-in-law?” “When my sky-ship zooms off to the moon and beyond, I will not seem mad at all,” Tom began, his voice rising above the polite level of dinnertime conversation. “Children…“ Mrs. Fleet interrupted. “Please! It’s most crude and ill-mannered to lift voices in dispute at dinner. Pray calm yourselves. Ellie, I’m sure when the time comes there will be an ample crop of suitable young men from among whom you may choose your future spouse. No one will be too concerned with Tom’s minor eccentricities. After all, it’s Edmund who will inherit the title and he’s most respectable.” As a second son, Tom knew himself to be disposable and of little importance to anyone. Perhaps that was one reason he’d taken up the hobby of invention at a young age. Once done with his schooling, there was little else to occupy his time. He had no calling for the church or the military, and few other professions were open to the younger sons of minor nobility. Indeed, he had no need to do anything so mundane as seeking employment. The trust funds established by his grandfathers would see to his needs and extend to some frivolities for all his days, even if he lived a very long time. Truth be told, he caused no one great concern. He did not gamble or drink in excess and no amorous scandals had attached to his name. Thus far he had kept his few liaisons very discreet, so much so that he felt sure his parents had no notion he preferred other lads to the foolish, flouncing young ladies of their circle. Immersing himself in his laboratory c*m workshop in the old gatehouse gave him work for his hands and mind and caused harm to no one—at least so far. True, a strange noise or a peculiar stench might escape now and then, but nothing to injure anyone or bring out the constable. At nineteen, he’d become almost a recluse, socially inept and far too immersed in his wild notions to arouse anyone’s interest or attention. He preferred things that way. Once he got a few of his machines to function, he’d soon be far away, long gone and shortly all but forgotten. Other than his mother, he doubted anyone would miss him. So far, his perpetual motion steam engine was doing famously. He could make a few gallons of water last almost indefinitely by heating it to steam, running the steam through a system of retorts and tubes and collecting the condensation at the other end. Even forcing the steam through cylinders to move pistons only caused a little bit to vanish. Although fuel for heating was a larger problem, he’d soon solve that as well. High quality coke would produce a lot of heat from a small quantity burning in an asbestos shielded iron furnace. Admittedly the stuff was weighty though, not good for an air ship. He’d studied the work of Savery and Pepin and then moved on to read all he could about James Watt’s improvements on the applications of steam. Next there was Trevithich, whose pressure enhancing designs harnessed the maximum power for a steam engine. Their works and many others, such as those of Leonardo da Vinci, shared places of honor on the shelves in his laboratory, along with the novels of Jules Verne and several others whose wonderful tales of adventure drove Tom to keep working on his own inventions. Besides his steam-powered sky-ship, he had a few more adjuncts to tinker with such as the development of the suction device, a small by-pass off the main engine for tea making, and perhaps even some kind of steam-driven light source. Trying to carry gas into the air to fuel a lamp seemed a risky affair at best. Once he had them done and connected, he’d get his craft airborne, unfurl the gossamer wings, and ride the currents of the ether wherever they might take him. Surely to the moon, if not farther… Listlessly shoving food around on his plate, he focused on a scrap of paper he dragged from a pocket and scribbled a new idea with a stub of graphite while he ate. He barely noticed his father’s frown or his mother’s small head shake, a gentle, wordless rebuke to her spouse to leave the lad alone. Tom suspected that, despite his quirks, he was really her favorite. Edmund was his father’s son through and through, off now in India, doing his aristocratic military duty for queen and empire. Ellie was a silly twit in many ways, mad now for balls and beaux and such, although no doubt she’d grow out of that in time. Jack was yet an unknown quantity, still a child. At least Tom had character and he knew Marian Wetmore Fleet admired character with all her quiet soul. While she could not actually encourage his hobbies, she shielded him from the displeasure of the rest of the family as best she could. When Tom looked up and met her slight smile, he smiled back. Yes, Mum was unfailingly good to him. At her nod, the serving girl slipped his half-full plate off the table first before anyone else noticed how little he had eaten. He’d wager his dessert would be overlarge, since the pudding was a favorite of his.