Page 18 of A Gathering Storm
Hearn’s expression was difficult to read. “I have Sundays off,” he said. “So here is my proposal. I will come here each Sunday that you want me, but only for the course of the summer—till the last Sunday in August. How is that?”
It was far better than Ward would have hoped for at the start of this conversation. “I—ah, yes, that will—that will be fine,” he stammered.
“All right, then that’s agreed. Now—” Hearn held up a warning hand “—I will do what you ask, within reason and in accordance with what you’ve just explained to me, on the days that I come, but it must be clearly understood that whatever results you get make no difference to our arrangement. You can’t demand more days from me if things don’t turn out how you hope. Agreed?”
“Yes, of course. That’s perfectly reasonable.” Ward wanted to whoop at the unexpected triumph, but tried instead to look serious and as though none of this was a surprise.
Hearn nodded. “Fine. We may as well get on with it then. Do you plan to hypnotise me in here?”
Ward eyed Hearn’s tense frame and tightly clenched jaw. The man wasn’t remotely ready to be hypnotised. He was plainly still in a somewhat combative frame of mind. Somehow Ward had to relax him before they could think of making a start. Ward rose from his chair.
“Why don’t I show you my laboratory first?”
FromThe Collected Writings of Sir Edward Fitzwilliam, volume I
In 1840, when I was fourteen years of age, Mr. Lucas and I took our first trip to the capital, something that would become an annual event for the next several years. On that first occasion, we must have visited every museum and library in the city, and Mr. Lucas took me to several public lectures besides, culminating in one given by Professor Daniell at the Royal Institution. The professor was speaking about the principles of electricity and I was immediately entranced. My tutor’s particular interest was geology, and I had thought myself similarly inclined, but when I heard Professor Daniell speak of electrical currents and magnets and induction, a fire was lit within me. This was around the time of the first commercial telegraphs—only a few years before, the idea of sending a message over a long distance near instantaneously would have been unthinkable, but now it was a reality. And these machines were powered by Professor Daniell’s own invention, the Daniell cell.
“So, this is where I do most of my scientific work.”
Nick followed Sir Edward into the enormous room. It was the size of several chambers and fitted out with high benches built into the walls, shelves crowded with bottles and jars, and tall bookcases tightly packed with volumes. A large, rectangular table in the middle of the room was covered with all sorts of equipment: a pile of rough-looking wooden frames, loosely coiled strands of copper wire in different thicknesses, blocks of blackish iron, and an abundance of glass jars and ceramic pots. There were various devices too, made up of these and other materials, though what purpose they served, Nick couldn’t tell. Another, smaller, round table at the back of the room was surrounded by high-backed chairs and covered with papers and books and sheaves of notes.
“Watch your feet!” Sir Edward cried as Nick approached one of the shelves, intent on reading the labels on the bottles crammed there. He halted and looked down, blinking at the contraption on the floor. Half a dozen copper cylinders set inside a wooden case, each cylinder filled with another, smaller pottery cylinder that had a whitish metal rod poking out.
Sir Edward got down onto his knees beside it. “This shouldn’t be on the floor. There’s still some acid in the elements. Will you help me lift it up to the bench?”
Nick dropped down to his haunches. “What is it?”
“A battery of Daniell cells,” Sir Edward replied. “If you lift here.” He pointed where Nick’s hands should go. “Be careful.”
It wasn’t particularly heavy, but it seemed Sir Edward’s request for assistance was more about keeping the contraption steady. They lifted it cautiously together, slowly rising to their feet and transferring it onto the nearest bench at Sir Edward’s nod.
“What’s it for?” Nick asked once the contraption was safely moved.
“It’s an electrochemical cell—or rather a battery of cells.” He pointed at one of the copper cylinders. “Each of these cylinders is an individual cell with a chemical reaction happening within it. Those reactions create energy that can be used to power machines. Like the electric telegraph.”
“The telegraph?” Nick repeated. He looked at the puzzling arrangement of metal, pottery, and wood with new eyes. “This is how they are able to send the messages?” He shook his head. “I wondered what powered the telegraphs. It seems like magic.”
He’d only read about telegraphs in the newspaper—instant messages sent over great distances. Already there was talk of telegraph offices opening all over England.
Sir Edward grinned quite suddenly, as though something on Nick’s face, or in his tone, had pleased him. “Not magic,” he said, shaking his head. “Science. Before I came to Cornwall, one of the things I was working on was developing an improvement on this device. The Daniell cell is very good, but its life is quite short. I had been experimenting with some other electrolytes . . .” He trailed off, then sighed. “I don’t have time for that now though.”
“Why do you still have one in your laboratory then?” Nick asked.
“I use it to power equipment I’ve installed at the base of the Hole. A wheel of sorts. It’s an attempt to produce ozone gas.” Sir Edward smiled. “I’ll take you down there and explain more about it another day.”
Nick raised his brows. “So it’s true what they’re saying in the village about you doing experiments down there?”
“At the moment, I’m only working on producing ozone at sea level, at the base of the Hole,” Sir Edward said. “But yes, I plan to do more there, inside the crevice. The sea water surges are particularly interesting. In a storm, I believe the conditions may be similar inside the crevice to those on the open sea.”
Nick strolled over to the large, central table, pausing at a round tin full of squarish lumps of dark metal. “What are these?”
“Magnets,” Sir Edward said, coming up behind him. “Look.”
He reached past Nick, his sleeve brushing Nick’s and causing Nick to give a tiny involuntary shiver. He plucked a couple of small metal blocks out of the tin and proceeded to demonstrate how they reacted to one another. How they adhered and repelled. Nick knew about magnets, but he’d never handled any before, and when Sir Edward passed them over, he played with them for several minutes, fascinated first by the strength of that pull of attraction, how one block would leap across thin air to click against the other. That sheer physical force, invisible as it was, was astonishing and palpable. Even more fascinating was the repulsion. He moved the magnets around, exploring the shape of the invisible boundary between them. How itcurved. Invisible, intangible, butthere.
When at last he looked up, it was to find Sir Edward watching him with a small smile.
Such a comely boy this one, he thought, then realised he was staring and that his thoughts were going in entirely the wrong direction. He glanced quickly away, fastening his gaze on the magnets again, reminding himself that Sir Edward Fitzwilliam was a manipulative and ruthless man, not an innocent lad.