âIt doesnât look like any of the lemon squeezers Iâve ever seen.â She opened it to reveal a wooden fluted nob surrounded by a ring of holes. âHow does it work?â
âYou put the halved lemon on the mount, then close the lid and press down firmly, using the handles to create more pressure,â Simon explained. âThe hollow in the lid squeezes the lemon hard against the mount, extracting the juice without the need for twisting. The juice flows through the holes into the chamber below, free of pits and pulp, which get trapped in the chamber above. Then you pull this little drawer out and there you have your lemon juice.â
âThatâs wonderful. Are you planning to manufacture it?â
He shook his head. âI made it for my family because Iâm always trying to find ways to lighten their work a little. I expect others would think it was a piece of nonsense.â
âI believe most women would welcome anything that makes their household tasks easier,â Camelia argued. âHave you at least registered a patent for it? Or for the mop?â
âIf I stopped to register patents for every little thing I came up with, Iâd spend my life buried in paper.â
âBut you have some two hundred and seventy patents.â
âOnly because some well-meaning members of my family took it upon themselves to take my drawings and notes on those particular inventions and submit the necessary documents and fees to the patent office. I have no idea what has been registered and what hasnât. Frankly, it doesnât interest me.â
She regarded him incredulously. âDonât you want to know that your ideas have been properly registered, so you can receive credit for them?â
âI donât invent things for the sake of receiving credit for them, Lady Camelia. If someone else wants to take one of my ideas and improve upon it and invest the time and the capital necessary to put it into production, so be it. Science and technology would never advance if all scientists hoarded their theories and discoveries as if they were gold.â
He hoisted the second table back onto its legs and began to pile onto it more of the wet papers, tools, and various inventions that had fallen to the floor. âSo tell me, Lady Camelia,â he said, shaking the water out of a tangled nest of wire, âwhat is it that led you to write all those letters asking to see me?â
Camelia hesitated. She had imagined conducting her meeting with Mr. Kent seated in a richly velvet-draped drawing room, where she could expound at a leisurely pace upon the importance of archaeology and the evolution of man, perhaps while being served tea on a silver service by some suitably deferential servant. It was now abundantly clear to her that Mr. Kent didnât employ a servant, given the numerous stacks of greasy dishes piled high upon the stove and in the sink on the other side of the kitchen. She considered suggesting that she return on another day, when he might not be preoccupied with the task of restoring his laboratory to some semblance of order, then quickly rejected the idea.
Time was running out.
âIâm interested in your work on steam engines,â she began, bending to pick up a few more items from the floor. âI have read one of your papers on the subjectâin which you discussed the enormous benefits of steam power when applied to the pumps used in coal mining. I thought your thesis that steam power has yet to be used effectively was most compelling.â
Simon couldnât believe she was serious. Of every possibility that might have explained her presence, the subject of steam engines and coal mining would have struck him as amongst the least likely. âYouâre interested in steam engines?â
âAs they apply to the challenges of excavation and pumping,â Camelia explained. âI am an archaeologist, Mr. Kent, as was my