Page 25 of Murder at Somerset House (A Wrexford & Sloane Mystery #9)
“Human nature doesn’t run in a straight, smooth line, Wrex.” Charlotte found his hand and twined her fingers with his. “We all experience light and dark, peaks and valleys—and all the infinite nuances in between.”
He chuffed a laugh. “I am the one who is supposed to be ruled by rational thought, not raw emotion.”
“Perhaps we have learned from each other,” she responded. “Though don’t expect me to comprehend a word about dry piles, electrical pulses, or magnetic fields.”
Wrexford felt his spirits lift as they continued their light banter. The physics of doubt was a downward spiral. It was time to shake off his uncertainties.
They were soon out of the city and rolling past villages and meadowlands. The road curled through a stretch of woods, and after another mile, the sound of the river rose above the clatter of the wheels as they approached the enclave of Hammersmith and turned up the drive of Kelmscott House.
An elderly housekeeper answered their knock and put them in a side parlor while she went to inform the mistress of the house that she had unexpected visitors.
“Forgive us for intruding on you without advance notice, Mrs. Ronalds,” said Wrexford, after introducing himself and Charlotte. “But I heard a most extraordinary story from Mrs. Jane Marcet last evening about your son’s work with electricity and simply couldn’t contain my scientific curiosity.”
“We are hoping that he might consent to show us his invention,” added Charlotte.
A rose-pink flush rose to the woman’s cheeks. “Oh, please don’t apologize, milord! That a gentleman of your scientific renown has an interest in Francis’s work is a great honor. I know he will be absolutely delighted to show you what he has created and explain how it works.”
A tentative smile. “Be forewarned, it is not for the faint of heart. I do hope you wore sturdy shoes.”
Charlotte lifted her skirts to show a pair of half-boots. “We have come prepared.”
“Excellent!” Mrs. Ronalds gave a fluttery wave. “Then please follow me.”
They exited through a terrace door and turned down a walkway bordered by a high boxwood hedge.
“You have quite a magnificent stretch of gardens,” remarked Wrexford after looking around at the rolling lawns, stone walls, and various clusters of specimen trees that sloped down to the river’s edge. “I daresay you—”
He stopped short as he came to an opening in the hedge and saw what lay ahead.
“Good heavens,” intoned Charlotte, who was right behind him. “That is …”
“Remarkable,” finished the earl. He stared out at two towering wooden frames, each consisting of six thick wooden poles.
The first frame was barely a stone’s throw away, and the second one was hardly visible in the distance.
Strung between them, high overhead, was an intricate web of coiled wires that looked to be insulated in glass tubing.
Was it just his imagination, wondered Wrexford, or did he detect a slight humming sound twining with the whispery breeze?
“I did warn you.” Mrs. Ronalds made a wry face that expressed both puzzlement and pride in her son’s endeavor. “I shall leave all explanations to Francis.” She reached beneath her shawl and pulled out a brass chain hung with a large whistle. “I’ll summon him now.”
An earsplitting blast cut through the pastoral stillness.
The earl studied the crisscrossing wires as they waited, impressed—and astounded—at the sheer magnitude of physical work that had gone into the construction.
As for the theory …
“Ha, here comes Francis,” said his mother, giving a cheery wave to her son.
Wrexford watched the young man appear from within a copse of trees and hurry to join them.
Ronalds looked to be in his twenties, and in contrast to his tall, thickset towers, he was small and wiry, with a cherubic face and sunny smile.
One might almost call him delicate, but as the fellow came closer, the earl saw that he was all chiseled muscle and whipcord sinew.
“Halloo, Mama,” called Ronalds, and then gave a friendly wave to his visitors.
“Lord and Lady Wrexford have come to see your invention, my dear,” said his mother fondly.
The young man’s eyes widened, and he inclined a hurried bow.
“I’m honored, milord and milady.” To Wrexford, he added, “Your papers on metallurgy have been instrumental in my creative process.” He made a face.
“Though my work doesn’t merit being mentioned in the same breath as yours.
You, sir, are a true inventor. I am merely a tinkerer. ”
“This appears to me to be far more than casual tinkering,” replied the earl with a glance upward. “Was Mrs. Marcet correct in telling me that you are working with electricity?”
“She was, sir,” acknowledged Ronalds. “These—”
“I shall leave the three of you to parse through scientific wonders while I return to the kitchen and have our cook prepare a hearty tea for when you are done,” interjected Mrs. Ronalds, a twinkle lighting her eyes.
“In my experience, visitors are in need of ample sustenance after Francis has given them the grand tour.”
“I do tend to get enthusiastic, milord,” admitted Ronalds as his mother hurried toward the house. “You must promise to stop me if I am prosing on too long about Ugly Betty.”
Charlotte coughed to cover a laugh as she regarded the elaborate arrangement of wires. Wrexford could tell that she was itching to take out her pocket notebook and scribble a sketch.
“That is what Mama calls it.” Ronalds looked up at the wires and crinkled his nose.
“She’s not overly pleased with what my invention has done to the aesthetics of her gardens.
But she is a firm supporter of scientific progress and understands that sacrifices must be made for the future good.
So she tolerates my endeavors with a good grace. ”
“You are a fortunate fellow,” observed Charlotte. “One needs encouragement to thrive in any endeavor.”
Ronalds nodded. “Indeed, milady.”
Suddenly impatient to learn whether their journey had all been for naught, Wrexford put aside polite pleasantries and asked the key question.
“What is Ugly Betty?”
A swirl of wind rose up to rattle the wires.
The young man watched the taut lines shiver against the blue sky. “It’s an experiment I created to test just how quickly electricity can travel over long distances via a wire.”
“And what was the result?” asked Wrexford
“Nearly instantaneous, sir.”
“H-How long is the full length of your wires?” asked Charlotte.
Ronalds pursed his lips. “Approximately eight miles.”
“Astounding,” observed the earl. “And how did you test the speed at which the electricity travels?”
“I connected a pistol loaded with a cartridge filled with hydrogen and oxygen at the two ends of the eight-mile length of wire,” explained Ronalds, “and then I generated an electrical charge.”
A boyish grin. “Both pistols exploded at virtually the same time,” he continued, “which confirmed to me that electricity travels at nearly instantaneous speed!”
“Well done, sir.” Wrexford meant the compliment sincerely. It was always an important moment in scientific progress when one confirmed a theory through carefully designed experiment and objective empirical observation.
However, he also couldn’t help but feel a stab of disappointment that it wasn’t the technology he had been hoping for.
The young man gave another fond look at the overhead wires and then smiled. “And that’s what got me thinking about how to create something of real value from such a powerful force of Nature. Something that would help improve all our daily lives.”
“Are you saying that you have another invention in addition to Ugly Betty?” demanded the earl.
“Oh, yes! And to me, it’s far more interesting.” A pause. “You see, it occurred to me that electricity may actually be employed for a more useful purpose than the mere gratification of the philosopher’s inquisitive research or a schoolboy’s idle amusement.”
An inner light seemed to spark to life in the young man’s eyes. “It may be compelled to travel many hundred miles beneath our feet as a subterranean ghost, reaching far-flung towns and cities and bringing with it much benefit for all mankind.”
“A very laudable goal, Mr. Ronalds,” responded Wrexford. “Could you be a bit more specific about what sort of benefit you are envisioning?’
“It’s a messaging system,” replied Ronalds.
“A messaging system?” repeated Charlotte.
“Yes! An electrical telegraph, to be precise.”