Page 4 of A Gathering Storm

Ward regarded Mr. Godolphin over the polished expanse of his desk. Godolphin was the only solicitor in Porthkennack, Mr. Godritch having passed away some twenty years before. He was an unremarkable-looking man in late middle age, with a small paunch, thinning grey hair, and a rather rosy nose, the cause of which became plain when he insisted on breaking open a bottle of sherry, despite it still being afore noon. Ward’s glass of amber wine sat on the desk before him, untouched, as Godolphin sipped contentedly at his own.

“It is a rather unusual matter,” Ward said. Godolphin’s gaze flickered briefly at Ward’s harsh, toneless voice. That was a more restrained response than during their introduction a few minutes before. Soon Godolphin would cease to react at all. It usually took a couple of meetings for people to become accustomed to it. Ward was used to such reactions, but still, they irritated him.

Godolphin offered him a serene smile. “My practice is small but I am yet to be asked to deal with any matter beyond my abilities. Tell me—is it a question of property? Or perhaps you need to discuss your will? It is never too early to put arrangements in place—”

“I need subjects,” Ward interrupted. “As many as you can get me.”

“Subjects?” The solicitor frowned at him across his broad walnut desk. “Subjects? I’m not sure I follow.”

“As you may have heard, I am a scientist, Mr. Godolphin. I am also fortunate to come from a family of some considerable means. I visited this area last year and became convinced it was the ideal place in which to carry out my work. That is why I purchased the land on which I subsequently built Varhak Manor.”

“I was aware of that,” Mr. Godolphin said, inclining his head in acknowledgement. “Having acted for Mr. Roscarrock in that transaction, as you will no doubt recall.”

“Of course,” Ward said, though in truth he hadn’t known, nor did he care. He’d left all the legal business to Mr. Embleton, his solicitor in London.

“I first decided to purchase property in Cornwall,” he went on, “due to the weather conditions here. The work I am doing now is concerned with the impact of atmospheric electricity and electromagnetism on . . . certain spiritual and psychic phenomena. Since this part of the English coastline is prone to storms, it’s well situated for my experiments, as well as being not too far from London.” Ward leaned forward, over the desk, warming to his subject now. “The particular reason I selected Porthkennack, though, was because of the so-called ‘Round Hole’ situated at the edge of my property—”

“The Hole?” Mr. Godolphin interjected, his tone doubtful.

“Oh yes. I realise having a huge great hole in the ground might be off-putting for most buyers, but for me, it was the very reason I wanted this land. The conditions inside that crevice would usually only be found during a storm at sea. The air is constantly saturated with droplets of sea water, and there are frequent surges from sea level. I fully expect that in the course of an electromagnetic storm, these unusual conditions will be enhanced, and indeed I hope to take steps to further enhance them myself. For one thing, I’m installing certain equipment at the base of the Hole to stimulate production of ozone gas. Are you familiar with ozone g—”

“Ah—Sir Edward?”

Ward blinked at that and for the first time noticed that Godolphin looked . . . frankly bamboozled.

“Excuse me,” the lawyer said, “but I’m not sure I am entirely following you. What does all this have to do with thesesubjectsyou want me to help you with?”

“I beg your pardon,” Ward said, flushing. “I get a little ahead of myself sometimes, when I start talking about my work.”

“That’s quite all right,” Godolphin said. “And perfectly understandable. But if you could perhaps explain what it is you need my assistance with, that may . . . expedite matters.”

“Very well.” Ward paused and took a deep breath. This was the part he found more difficult. “It is my hypothesis—given the right person and the right conditions of electromagnetic and atmospheric activity—that it is possible for a living man to communicate with spirits.”

Godolphin’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Then he picked up the sherry bottle, poured himself another large glass, and threw half of it back.

Ward waited. He was well aware, painfully so, of how most people, especially educated people, viewed his work. But he also hoped that Godolphin, as a professional man with a living to make, would agree to help him regardless of his views regarding what Ward was trying to achieve.

Eventually Godolphin said, “Are you aspiritualist, Sir Edward?”

Ward shook his head. “By no means. Make no mistake, Mr. Godolphin, I am a scientist, first and always. I have witnessed some marvellous things in my life that others have ascribed to magic or religion, but there is nothing I have seen that I do not firmly believe may be perfectly explained by science, if not now, then someday.”

Godolphin considered that and finally said, “What is it you want me to do?”

“In order to conduct my experiments, I require various things”—Ward counted some of them off on his fingers—“electromagnetic activity, sea water, ozone gas. These are all things I am able to obtain in some form or other. There is one thing I need, however, that I have been unable to get: human subjects. It is this ingredient I require your assistance with.” Ward paused, then added, “I am willing to pay any volunteers you find me a generous sum for their assistance—and, of course, a fee to you for acting as my agent in this matter.”

“What sort of person is it that you seek?” Godolphin asked. “Do you require your subjects to be literate, for example? What will they be asked to do?”

Ward shook his head. “There is no need for them to be able to read or write. I will need them to tell me what they are experiencing, but that is all. My only real stipulation is that it would help if they have recently experienced a family bereavement.” He saw the lawyer frowning at that bluntly stated requirement. “As for what they will be asked to do, well, nothing much at all: merely submit to being put into a trance—”

“A trance?” Godolphin sounded taken aback. “Do you mean mesmerism? If you mean to put them to sleep and press pins into them or some such thing, I’m afraid I could not countenance assisting you with any such endeavour.” He gave a dry chuckle to lighten his words, but Ward could see he meant it seriously.

“No, no, of course not,” Ward reassured. “Nothing like that, Mr. Godolphin. I am not a circus performer. The reason I put my subjects into an hypnotic trance—which is in a fact a very subtly altered state from the usual—is not to deprive them of the ability to sense things, as the mesmerists purport to do, but rather to enhance their mental concentration. By focusing my subjects’ minds in this way, I hope to unlock what I believe is a latent ability we all have to reach beyond the boundary of the visible world we perceive around us.”

As usual when he spoke of his work, Ward began to feel happier, excited at the prospect of the efforts that lay ahead, and of the tantalising possibility of success. He realised he was smiling, and that Godolphin was considering him with what looked like curious interest, no longer the wary man of business, but one man taking his measure of another.

At length, Godolphin nodded. “Very well, Sir Edward. Let us give this a try. I will do what I can to help you find some subjects, and we will see how we go.” He rang the bell at the side of his desk and seconds later, the young man who had greeted Ward when he first arrived popped his head round the door.

“You rang, Mr. Godolphin?”