Page 16 of Murder at Somerset House (A Wrexford & Sloane Mystery #9)
A fter taking his leave from Pierson, Wrexford changed his mind about returning to Berkeley Square and headed straight to the Royal Institution.
But instead of heading up the grand staircase to where the members worked and socialized, he descended into the bowels of the building, which held the laboratories and work areas for the various assistants hired by Hum phry Davy, the prominent scientific luminary who served as the director of the Institution.
Windowless workrooms lined each side of the main corridor, their gloom softened by only an occasional lit lantern flickering behind the glass inset in their doors. The air was heavy with a damp chill and a slightly noxious odor of mixed chemicals.
But beggars can’t be choosy , reflected the earl. The positions were coveted by young men of modest means who hoped to forge a place for themselves within the world of science.
He stopped at one of the larger spaces and rapped softly on the glass to get the attention of the occupant hunched over his desk.
The fellow looked up with a startled expression, which quickly softened into a half smile. “Lord Wrexford! Please come in.”
As the earl opened the door, his gaze immediately fell on a large voltaic pile that ran the length of the desktop. Wires curled up from each end and were connected to various devices.
“Forgive me for interrupting you, Faraday.” He looked again at the voltaic pile. “How are your experiments with electricity coming along?”
“I’m compiling a host of fascinating data, sir,” answered Michael Faraday, whose brilliant mind had been quickly recognized by the director. Despite his humble background, he now served in the prestigious position of Davy’s personal assistant.
The young man’s mouth pursed. “It’s sparking a number of theories, milord, but as of yet, I’m merely speculating on what wonders I might be able to prove.”
“Speaking of theories,” said Wrexford, “I have heard something recently that sparked my curiosity. Do you perchance know anything about the French work in electricity since Volta’s discovery of the voltaic battery?”
“I’m generally aware of the direction of their research, and I’m quite certain that they are way ahead of us in their thinking.”
“How so?” asked the earl.
“Our men of science here in Britain made the mistake of seeing electricity as some magical, mystical force, rather than a scientific phenomenon that can be explained by the laws of physics and chemistry. And so they spent their efforts on fanciful ideas, like using it to reanimate the dead.”
Faraday shook his head in exasperation. “While the French have concentrated their research on developing rigorous theories about the phenomena of electricity and magnetism, putting them years ahead of us. Though, mind you, I don’t agree entirely with the approach their theories are taking.”
“Why?” pressed the earl.
“Because their leading men of science are said to be formulating their explanations of electricity and magnetism—which the Danish scientific thinker Christian Oersted has shown are somehow linked, though in ways we don’t understand—in mathematical terms,” answered Faraday.
“Their mathematics may work—I don’t know—but it doesn’t explain how these two forces operate. ”
A sigh. “Now perhaps it’s because I lack formal mathematical training, but I wish to have a more physical explanation.
For example, sprinkle iron filings around a magnet and they quickly move in precise spirals around the magnet.
To my mind, understanding these spirals—I call them lines of force —and the field they describe is key to explaining how magnetism works and how it can be harnessed. ”
Wrexford allow a moment of silence as he watched the flame of Faraday’s lamp dance within its glass globe. “This is all very fascinating. But right now, what I very much would like to have from you is an answer to a specific question.”
He drew in a measured breath. “Might the French research into electromagnetism perchance involve using an electrical current traveling along a wire to send messages over a distance at nearly instantaneous speed?”
Faraday’s expression turned very grave, and he gave the query a long moment of thought before answering. “From what I have heard, I would say the answer is yes, milord.”
“Do you know if they have succeeded?”
“I don’t, sir.”
“In your learned opinion, is such an invention possible?” pressed the earl.
“Yes, milord,” answered Faraday without hesitation.
“But not until we know a great deal more about how the two phenomena work together. However, our scientific thinking and technology is getting more and more sophisticated, which allows us to do more complex experimentations. So I firmly believe that it will happen within my lifetime.”
His eyes seemed to come alight with an inner fire. “And when that moment comes, I believe it will be the most revolutionary invention ever created by mankind.”
Wrexford was reminded of a famous Greek myth in which Prometheus was punished for gifting fire to mere mortals.
Zeus had created a particularly gruesome fate because he felt that the power to wield such a potent elemental force gave humans a godlike ability that threatened to upset the balance of the universe.
“Assuming you’re right, let us hope that it doesn’t unleash unintended consequences,” he replied.
“Progress always comes with dangers,” said Faraday. “We must count on the better angels of our nature to do the right thing with it.”
Angels were all very well, thought Wrexford. But the Devil was too clever in luring mankind into temptation for him to feel as confident as Davy’s assistant about Right triumphing over Wrong.
However, the earl pushed aside philosophical questions for the moment and made himself focus on the mission at hand.
“Do you happen to know whether Atticus Boyleston was working on an electrical telegraph?”
“The fellow murdered at the Royal Society meeting—the one who planned to submit a paper on electromagnetism for their famous scientific journal?”
On getting a confirming nod, Faraday furrowed his brow in thought. “We weren’t acquainted, and what little I know about him comes through mere hearsay. That said, I’m told he was a curmudgeonly, secretive fellow but also a brilliant man of science.”
The young man leaned back in his chair. “And I also know that he worked in Paris on two different occasions with some of the best minds in France. So yes, I would think it’s quite possible that he was working on that technology.”
“But you don’t know for sure?”
“I’m sorry, but I have no idea.”
Wrexford dismissed the apology with a brusque wave. “Your insights have been quite useful—”
“Wait! A thought just occurred to me.” Faraday’s expression suddenly brightened. “You might want to contact Jane Marcet. She is likely the only person in all of London who considered Boyleston a friend, so she may be able to answer the questions you have about him.”
Alison polished off the last of the ginger biscuits. “I dearly missed Mac’s sweets over the last fortnight. All that foul-tasting healthful water and bland food designed to purge one’s system of overindulgences is very unpleasant—not to speak of boring.”
Crunch, crunch. “I would prefer to enjoy life’s little pleasures, rather than adhere to such a virtuous regime ad nauseam .”
Charlotte chuckled. “Virtue is vastly overrated in many respects.”
The dowager dusted the crumbs from her fingers. “Speaking of virtue, where are the Weasels?”
“Up in the schoolroom, behaving like normal boys for a change,” she said dryly.
“Hawk is engrossed in painting a picture of an orchid that Mac brought back from a shopping trip to Covent Garden, Peregrine is tinkering with a mechanical ratcheting device that he recently designed, and Raven is reading a very weighty-looking book on some sort of complicated financial equations by Francis Baily.”
Charlotte put down her cup. “They are a bit miffed that they haven’t been more involved in the investigation of the recent murder.”
“Given what happened, your reluctance to have them involved in this particular crime is understandable,” observed Alison.
“It’s not just that,” she replied. “There aren’t really any clues for them to follow. They’ve interrogated their urchin friends in the area of the crime, and none of them saw anything helpful. So for now, there is nothing further for them to pursue. Though that may change soon …”
She explained about Tyler’s attempt to coax the burned papers into giving up their secrets. “In the meantime, Wrex is trying to learn more about the murder victim’s scientific work. The fellow had apparently announced that he was soon to give a grand demonstration of his momentous new theory.”
“What theory?”
Charlotte made a face. “Nobody seems to know.”
“Hmmph.” The dowager shrugged. “Then it seems we must wait and see what Wrex discovers before we can plan our next moves.”
Charlotte chose to overlook the use of we and our .
Alison was moving a little slower than usual, despite the sojourn to soak her ailing joints in the spa’s famous healing waters.
But tactfully suggesting that the dowager back off from an active role in the current investigation was a battle that she would wage on another day.
“Seeing as we can’t go confront any villains and pummel the truth out of them …” The dowager reached for her reticule and pulled out a packet of fabric swatches. “Might I get your opinion on what color you like best for draperies in my breakfast room?”
“Jane Marcet?” Wrexford frowned in puzzlement. The name meant nothing to him.
“I assure you, she is a remarkable woman. Indeed, it is because of her that I am who I am today,” said Faraday.
“I confess, that’s a very surprising statement.”