Free A Lesson in Chemistry With Inspector Bruce by Jillian Stone

Gunn happen to know what was inside the canister, besides the guncotton?”
    “Doubtful.” Archie picked up a few pellets and rolled them around on his palm. “He identified the contents as smokeless gunpowder smuggled in from Germany. Finn invited me out to the armament factory in Enfield tomorrow. We seized a number of weapons and two of these shells. He expects to do some ordnance testing, and I mean to get a look inside the remaining shell. I was tempted to cry off the trip, but now I believe I shall tag along.”
    Archie straightened. “Miss Rose will be here for an hour every day for the coming weeks. Please treat her as though she is one of us. If she has a question about a particular instrument or procedure, do your level best to accommodate her.” Archie scanned his staff. “Right, I will expect up-to-date reports Friday morning.”
    Archie led her into his office and purposely left the door ajar for propriety’s sake.
    “This is really quite pleasant.” Fiona pivoted around, taking in the bookshelves and the instrument cabinets. “Not nearly as cluttered or as small as I pictured it.” She approached a large red-colored bloodhound, who rose up to greet her. “And you must be the bomb sniffer,” she cooed.
    “His name is Alfred—named after Alfred Nobel, of course.” Archie stood just inside the door. “Take a seat anywhere you’d like.” He walked over to a file cabinet and removed a folder. “I’ve made a few notes about how we might begin your extracurricular tutorial.” He didn’t sit behind his desk but took a chair opposite her.
    “Does this mean I have my own file?”
    Archie looked up from his scribblings. “Indeed, Fiona A. Rose is written on the label.” Resting an elbow on the upholstered chair arm, he cupped his chin and studied her. “You’re looking different today—what is it?”
    Fiona flicked her eyes upward. “I can’t think . . . my hair is different, I suppose. Mrs. Gallagher put a bit of wave in before she made a pouf and pinned the topknot.”
    Archie shook his head slowly. “No. That’s not it.” He tilted his head. “You do have a great mass of waves assembled up there—very pretty, I might add. Is your hair very long?”
    Fiona nodded. “Well down my back when it’s undone. Mother says I should cut some of it off—”
    “Don’t.” The look on his face was adamant, but more than that, he appeared slightly undone himself. “Sorry, I have no idea why I said that. Clearly none of my business. End of a long day, I suppose.”
    He settled back and took another glance at the folder in his lap. “I was thinking we might start with a session that is nothing but rapid-fire questions and short answers. If you have a bad moment, you won’t have a second to think about the block—I’ll just push onto the next question. Shall we?”
    “I suppose it’s worth a try.” Fiona sat up straight.
    “Try to sit back, and calm yourself. It’s just old school chums quizzing each other.” Archie almost choked on the words. “All right then, imagine yourself in your lab behind the shop. Your reaction has oxygen as one of it reactants and carbon dioxide and water as its products. Name the reaction you’re having.”
    Fiona smiled. “Combustion.”
    “Good. And what is a synthesis reaction? Just a sentence will do.”
    She bit her lip.
    “Start by repeating the question, a synthesis reaction is when . . .”
    Fiona blurted out the answer before it stuck in her throat again. “A synthesis reaction is when two or more simple compounds combine to form a more complicated one.”
    “And a decomposition reaction is the opposite, is it not?” The question came from the door. Archie turned toward the feminine voice and scowled. “Yes, what is it, Miss Mowbray? As you can see, Miss Rose and I are in the middle of a brief viva voce examination.”
    “Peter Albright needs a single question answered and the door hanger must have your signature on . . .