Page 18 of Who Will Remember (Sebastian St. Cyr Mystery #20)
Although now a successful, widely respected natural scientist famous for his expertise on everything from surveying to the classification of fossils, Mr. Lancelot Arnold Plimsoll had begun life as the son of a humble Lyme Regis fisherman.
Because he suffered badly from seasickness, the boy spent much of his childhood clambering over the area’s limestone and shale cliffs, collecting fossils he sold to tourists and collectors and learning to understand the world around him in ways few did. Given a rudimentary education by a local schoolmaster, he became a voracious reader and autodidact. But it was the chance purchase of a secondhand copy of Daniel Fenning’s The Art of Measuring that changed his life. Talking his way into a position as a surveyor’s assistant, he quickly rose to prominence in his new profession, with clients ranging from coal mines and canal builders to estate managers and “improving farmers.” Yet even as he became more and more prosperous, his true passion remained fossils, minerals, and what was rapidly becoming known as the science of geology.
Sebastian had first met Plimsoll several years before, when he hired the man to manage the drainage of some newly acquired boggy fields. He admired the man’s uncanny knowledge of what he called the hidden “strata” of the earth as well as his willingness to voice ideas about the earth’s history that many considered blasphemous. But Sebastian couldn’t begin to fathom what might possibly connect a humbly born natural history enthusiast like Plimsoll to an arrogant, morally crusading duke’s son like Lord Preston.
Or what game Jarvis was playing when he sent Sebastian after the man.
?If Lancelot Plimsoll had one weakness, it was his desire to be accepted by the wellborn, well-educated gentlemen of leisure who collected fossils and had recently banded together to form what they called the Geological Society. To this end, he frequented all the “right” tailors, diligently worked at improving his diction, and had recently purchased a small town house in Bloomsbury, not far from the British Museum. It was there that Sebastian found him, a puzzled frown knitting his brow as he stared down at a tray containing various examples of ammonites.
A short, energetic, solidly built man in his forties, the geologist had a large, prominent nose and rugged face weathered by years spent scrambling around Britain’s mountains and valleys with a small pick and a knapsack full of specimens. He looked up sharply at his middle-aged housekeeper’s timid knock, his frown disappearing at the sight of Sebastian.
“Lord Devlin, what a pleasant surprise! Margaret, some hot tea, if you will,” he said to the housekeeper. Then he set aside his tray, muttered, “Oh, dear,” under his breath, and rushed to remove the pile of books that spilled from one of the pair of overstuffed brown leather chairs drawn up before the crackling fire. “Please, have a seat, my lord. This is indeed an honor. Are you planning to begin a new project on your estate?”
“I have been considering purchasing some more fields badly in need of new drainage,” said Sebastian, settling into the recently cleared chair and leaning forward to stretch his cold hands out to the blaze. “But the truth is, that’s not why I’m here.”
The geologist looked up from redepositing his armload of books. “Oh?”
“I’m wondering if you ever did any work for the Duke of Eversfield or his brother, Lord Preston.”
“I haven’t, no.” Plimsoll came to sink slowly into the opposite chair, his nostrils flaring on a deeply indrawn breath. “I take it you’re looking into Farnsworth’s odd death, and you’ve heard he and I had a bit of a run-in?”
Sebastian settled back in his chair. “Actually, I hadn’t heard that. How did you come to know him?”
“I didn’t know him—at least, not in any meaningful way. But he’d somehow heard about a presentation I’d given to some colleagues of mine, and he confronted me about it.”
“When was this?”
“I don’t recall precisely, but it must have been several weeks ago now.” He paused. “Are you by chance familiar with Thomas Raffles?”
“If you mean the lieutenant-governor of Java, I have met him, yes. Why?”
“He’s quite interested in everything from biology to geology, you know, which is how we came to meet. It was from Raffles that I learned of a massive series of volcanic eruptions that occurred in April of last year on an island called Sumbawa, in the Dutch East Indies near Java.” He paused. “I say ‘near,’ but it’s actually something like eight hundred miles away. And yet the explosions were so loud Raffles initially thought it was cannon fire.”
Sebastian nodded. “I remember hearing something about it from a naval captain who was in the area at the time. Mt. Tam-something, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, Mt. Tambora. The eruptions went on for days, emitting a massive, mushroom-shaped ash cloud that spread out to turn the sky as black as night and inundate a wide area with ash falls as deep in some places as over three feet. Raffles says they estimate that the mountain lost three thousand or more feet from its summit.” Plimsoll cleared his throat. “It was after my discussion with Raffles that I developed a theory that it is the eruption of Mt. Tambora that is causing our current weather abnormalities. I believe the explosion threw so much material so high into the air that it has been unable to fall back to earth. As a result, over the last sixteen months, the trade winds have dispersed this massive ash cloud around the world, and now it’s simply hanging there, shielding us from the warmth of the sun’s rays and disrupting our normal weather patterns.”
“Is that possible?”
“Well, I think it is…Although I fear my colleagues did not agree.”
“But there have been countless other volcanic eruptions throughout history—including several quite recently. Why would the effects of this one be so different?”
“Because of its incredible force—that, combined with the enormous amount of material it sent so high into the sky.”
Sebastian was silent for a moment, his gaze on the flickering dance of the fire before them. “It does sound plausible—or at any rate, as much if not more so than many of the other explanations I’ve heard. I take it Lord Preston did not agree?”
“No, not at all. In fact, he threatened to have me prosecuted for blasphemy.”
“I’ve been told Lord Preston was becoming more and more convinced the end of the world is upon us.”
“Indeed he was. It was after I suggested—somewhat facetiously, I’ll admit—that perhaps the Good Lord had decided to end the world with ice rather than fire and brimstone that he accused me of sacrilege.”
“Sacrilege?”
“Lord Preston was not fond of geology, you see. As far as he was concerned, any discussion of natural forces—or at any rate, any suggestion that those forces have been reshaping our earth for hundreds of millions of years—is blasphemy. And my theory did rely on a rather blunt discussion of the history of those forces.”
“Ah. Yes, I can see that. But what I don’t understand is what any of this has to do with Jarvis.”
“Lord Jarvis?” Plimsoll gave a slight shake of his head. “I don’t understand.”
“Was this confrontation over your theory about Mt. Tambora your only interaction with Lord Preston?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Where did it take place?”
“Unfortunately, we were at the British Museum. I was there to inspect some fossils recently donated to them by an Oxfordshire vicar and ran into Lord Preston by chance as he was exiting the Reading Room. Our encounter was not in any sense private, but Lord Jarvis was not there. I’m almost certain of it.”
“Perhaps not, although I’ve no doubt he would have heard of it.” Sebastian paused, his gaze on the geologist’s sunbrowned, tensely held features. “What I don’t understand is why it would interest him.”
“That I can’t explain,” said Plimsoll, looking both faintly puzzled and afraid.
Sebastian could understand the man’s fear, given that the simple mention of Jarvis’s name was enough to alarm most people. But as he thanked the geologist for his time and rose to take his leave, he couldn’t shake the impression that Plimsoll was leaving something out of the narrative of his encounter with Lord Preston.
Something important.