“She was an East Indiaman that wrecked off the coast of South Africa with the loss of over three hundred and fifty lives. It was in all the newspapers. The captain couldn’t afford the sixty guineas for a chronometer, and the ship’s owners were unwilling to purchase one. They even threatened to replace him with another captain if he refused to set sail without one.”

Georgie frowned in renewed anger at the memory. “The crew had to navigate heavy seas using older, less reliable means, since the inclement weather prevented them from using celestial navigation to get a fix on their position. They headed north, thinking they’d already passed Cape Point, but they’d miscalculated, and instead, they were wrecked on the coast, with the loss of all but six lives.”

She pursed her lips, both saddened and incensed by such senseless waste. “Even if the owners had provided the worst chronometer ever made, they would not have lost their ship, nor sacrificed men, women, and children for the sake of some short-sighted economy.”

She shifted uncomfortably under Wylde’s penetrating gaze, suddenly self-conscious. She often became a little too passionate in her arguments. Mother was always telling her to stop prattling on like the fishwives at Billingsgate. But this was a subject close to her heart.

“Your own father died at sea, did he not?”

“He did, although not for the lack of a scientific instrument. Still, the employees of Caversteed Shipping are as well-equipped as I can make them. If I can prevent just one family from experiencing a similar loss, then it’s money well spent.”

“You are an extraordinary woman, Mrs. Wylde,” he said softly.

Georgie felt herself flush with pleasure at the sincerity in his words. Only Pieter, a sailor himself, appreciated the things she did for her workers. Perhaps, having been a soldier, Wylde could appreciate that reliable equipment saved lives.

She turned away, flustered. “Yes, well, you might want to suggest to your friend Admiral Cockburn that the Royal Navy supply all its vessels with chronometers too. They do not currently do so as a matter of course.”

She was saved from further awkwardness by the appearance of Mr. Harrison. The old man bustled in from the darkened back room, wearing his usual uniform of a battered leather apron tied over a shirt and a wilting jacket. A halo of frizzy white hair surrounded his speckled head, and a delighted grin split his face beneath his wire-rimmed spectacles.

“Miss Caversteed! It’s a pleasure to see you again. How are you? How are those chronometers working out?”

Georgie returned his smile. “Good day, sir. I am very well. And the instruments are wonderfully accurate, as expected. I received a report from the captain of the Juliana a week ago saying he had arrived in Constantinople a full two days sooner than expected.”

“Capital! So, what brings you here today?” He glanced curiously at Wylde.