The Fatal Flying Affair (A Lady Hardcastle Mystery, #7)

by T.E. Kinsey

‘I’m an engineer, Lady Hardcastle,’ he said. ‘I can’t offer you certainties. We deal in probabilities and margins of error. We can calculate the stress on a spar to the tiniest fraction of a pound-force per square inch in a perfect world, where all materials are uniform and always behave exactly as the simplified equations predict. But that’s not how it works in real life, unfortunately. Trees tend not to grow their wood in accordance with strictly controlled manufacturing tolerances. Canvas is a little more reliable, but it’s still woven from an organic substance. Our rigging wires are made under tightly controlled conditions, but they’re fitted and tightened by hand. The only thing we can predict with one hundred per cent confidence is that the lump of meat in the pilot seat will behave like an idiot at some point. Even then we can’t say at exactly what point.’