The Amazing Dr. Darwin

THE SOLBORNE VAMPIRE

It was late afternoon on the shortest day of the year. An iron frost had lain since noon on the ground outside, and now it was settling on the flat roof of the square brick warehouse.

At nine o’clock of that same morning, the building roof had been comfortably warm. The temperature inside had been scorching hot, well over ninety degrees. The explosion of the boiler, at twenty-seven minutes before midday, had taken out every window and scattered fragments of glass and black iron a quarter mile in every direction. The inside heat had been bleeding away ever since. Wet towels were turning rigid, and soon once-boiling water in jugs and bowls would freeze.

The injured had been treated and the dead removed. The clean-up crew had done their best and were leaving. Shards of metal, embedded deep in solid brick walls, would have to wait, as would a thorough examination of the shattered relic in the middle of the room.

Just two people remained. The younger, a man of about forty with a gloomy, introspective face, was pacing one wall. He would not look at the ruined steam engine.

“That’s it,” he said. “It’s all over. I should never have left Glasgow. I’ll not build another one, no matter how you and Matthew urge.”

Erasmus Darwin had been picking up bloody rags and swabs and dropping them into a bucket. Now he straightened. He had worked through the previous night with a difficult delivery, and awakened to come to the Birmingham suburb after only three hours of sleep. His fat face was grey and he drooped with fatigue, but he permitted no sign of that to show in his voice.

“You won’t build another tonight, Jimmy, that I will admit. But tomorrow? Wait and see. I’ll wager you will see differently.”

“You would lose. I’m finished with all of this. I’ll go back to instrument making.”

“You cannot do that.” Darwin bent to pick up one last rag, grunted at his aching bones, and moved to where his medical chest stood on a work bench. Somehow, despite his weariness, the smile on his pockmarked face managed to be reassuring. “You must labor on, Jimmy. The world awaits the perfection of your ideas. The day will come when they”—he swept a hefty arm to take in the whole of the north of England—“will use your engines to drive a million spinning jennys. Your inventions will run the world. A hundred years from now, water power will be one with Nineveh and Babylon.”

“Waterwheels at least do not kill and maim.”

“One man died here—miracle enough, seeing the force of the explosion. And I gather that Ned Sumpton disobeyed your orders.”

“I told him not to start without me, that I would be busy at the Soho works until noon.” For the first time, the balding Scotsman glanced at the wreckage of the engine that reflected so much of his dreams and labor. “Ned was so impatient. I said to him, time and time, steam is not a toy, it’s a force of nature. You treat it lightly at your peril. And then to ignore the pressure, and never to check the safety valve…”

“Whatever he did, he paid for that and more.” Darwin closed the brass clasps on his medical chest. “Jimmy Watt, if you have trouble handling your job, how would you deal with mine? You’ve seen just one death today. Do you realize that it’s my second, and close to being my third? I was able to save the mother—I hope—but the baby died within two hours of delivery.”

“I couldn’t handle your job, Erasmus. I know it, and you know it. Even if I had your medical knowledge, I lack your fortitude.”

“As I lack your skills as engineer. There is space in the world for many complementary talents. As for fortitude, that is not innate. It is acquired by practice.” Erasmus Darwin glanced out of the nearest window, now a ragged square of emptiness in the whitewashed wall. “Jimmy, tonight I think I will have to throw myself on your hospitality. I do not see a trip home as feasible unless I abandon the sulky. Even then it would be difficult. The roads were bad coming, and now they’ll be like iron.”

“Of course.” The other man roused himself. “I’m a barbarian. You must be exhausted and starving. And in any case, if I sent you off without his seeing you, Matthew would never forgive me. You can stay with me. Let’s go and have dinner now—if you feel ready for it?”

“I can hardly wait.” Darwin hefted his medical chest and braced it against his broad chest. “I am famished. Will we eat at your home, also?”

“Oh, I think not. I’m not much of a one for eating, the way that you are.” Watt surveyed Darwin’s ample stomach, and for the first time since the accident a glint of humor came to his eye. “I think we’ll dine at Matthew’s. He has more money than both of us together, and he keeps a far better table. And he’ll be agog to know what new ideas you’ve had since the last Lunar Society meeting.”

“You mean I will have to sing for my supper? What makes you think I am ready for that?”

“If you’re not, it will be the first time ever.” Watt was leading the way through a battered warehouse door that hung crooked on its hinges. “Come on. A wash, a nap, and a good meal. I’ll send word to Lichfield that you won’t be home tonight.”

As the first night of winter put its lock on the land, the chance of more visitors to Matthew Boulton’s sprawling and battlemented house seemed small. The house turned inward, shutters barred and doors bolted. Outside, a light fall of snow had begun. It was too cold for large flakes. The tiny stinging crystals did not settle where they fell, but blew restlessly across the surface in response to variable breaths of wind too weak to move tree branches. Small drifts built up against the hedgerows. Badgers burrowed deeper in their sets, and foxes followed their noses across the frozen countryside in search of winter hares.

Within the house, all was snug and festive. Christmas was only four days away, and ivy, holly, and mistletoe hung above the fireplace of the great dining room. At the long table, dishes came and came: smoked eel, broiled turbot, veal and ham pie, quails stuffed with chestnuts, stargazy pie, capons stuffed with onions and oysters, a great smoking round of roast beef flanked by roast parsnips and potatoes and carrots, brandied plum pudding with candied peel and hard sauce, and finally a whole wheel of Stilton cheese. Boulton, owner of the finest metal works in Europe, knew his man. He offhandedly apologized for the absence of roast goose and suckling pig. The staff had scheduled those closer to Christmas. If only he had known that Darwin would be here…

“You would have done no differently.” Restored by an hour of sleep and a mountain of food, Darwin was in his element. An appreciative audience inspired him. Between mouthfuls of dried apricots he had been enlarging on Dr. Withering’s extraordinary and recent success with the humble foxglove to alleviate or even cure cases of dropsy, and the potential of that new dried-leaf decoction to supplement Jesuit-bark, aloes, and guaiacum. Even Watt seemed, in his interest in the subject, to be forgetting the day’s disaster— except at some deep inner level always present in the gloomy, self-doubting Scot.

“You are, Matthew,” Darwin went on, “a person of method.”

At that moment the iron knockers on the great double doors of the house sounded like the hammer of doom.

Watt and Darwin jerked upright. Boulton did not react at all.

“Happens every night of the year,” he said cheerfully. “Creditors, or councilmen, or couriers. Seeing it’s close to Christmas, maybe it’s carollers. Musgrave will see to them. Go on, ’Rasmus. You were, I think, about to enlarge on the uses of tartar of vitriol.”

Darwin was not listening; or rather, he listened to something else: voices resounding in the slate-floored and oak-panelled entrance hall.

“Another place setting, I think,” he said, wiping his hands absentmindedly on the edge of the tablecloth. “If you will permit me to bring another guest to dinner.”

“Bring twenty, if you wish.” Boulton indicated with a wave of his hand one of many vacant spaces. “Right there. But I didn’t know you were expecting visitors.”

“No more was I.” Darwin did not stand up, but pushed his chair away from the table to give more space for his belly. As the door was opened and another man ushered in, he nodded in satisfaction. “Jacob. I thought I recognized your bark. Jimmy Watt, may I introduce Colonel Jacob Pole of Radburn Hall, my friend and neighbor. Matthew, you and Jacob already know each other. What’s it like outside?”

“Cold as Jack Frost’s backside.” Pole greeted the other two men formally, but added, “ ’Rasmus talks so much about you, I feel I know you well.”

“And what does he say about us?” Watt, unlike Darwin, had stood up when Pole entered.

“He says that James Watt is one of the great engineers of our time, and Matthew Boulton is this nation’s leading innovator of new machines.” Pole was tall and gaunt, so thin that his clothes hung loosely on him. He walked across to the fireplace and stood facing it. His complexion gleamed sallow in the firelight, and the trembling hands that he held out to be warmed told of other legacies of foreign travel.

“Then sit down, man.” Boulton waved to an unused setting at the table. “Even if you have eaten, those words deserve a second meal.”

“In a moment.” Pole hesitated, glancing from one man to the next. “I find myself in a difficult position. I am not alone, but with the cousin of my own oldest friend. He is outside in the hall. He greatly desires to speak with Erasmus. But I cannot disturb your dinner.”

“Of course you can. You already did.” Boulton started forward, as though to head for the door. Pole’s uplifted hand stopped him.

“Let me be more honest with you. I thought that I would meet Erasmus on his way home, and there would be a chance of private conversation. It was not until we were at the factory that I learned that he had come here. Now, I don’t know what to do. You see, the man with me has a problem that he describes as both private and personal.”

“A medical problem?” Darwin sat up straighter.

“I do not know.”

“I see. Gentlemen?” Darwin glanced at Watt and Boulton.

“I don’t know about his personal problem, or if he chooses to talk about it in front of us.” Boulton once again moved to the door. “I do know that it’s not right to leave a visitor cold and hungry and waiting in the hall. Sit down, Jacob. At the very least, have food and drink. Mulled wine will bring some warmth to your bones.”

“And food will add flesh to them.” Darwin gestured to the table. “That veal and ham pie is the best that I have tasted this year. Trust me.”

Boulton was returning with a man so muffled against the elements that his build and features were hard to determine. Frost on his eyebrows, moustache, and full black beard was slowly melting and running down his face and cloak.

“Thomas Solborne,” Boulton said, “who is from Dorset. A county, he tells me, that is a good deal warmer than this one.”

“Which would not be difficult, tonight at least. Gentlemen.” Solborne spoke with the soft accent of the English southwest. He swept off his hat, with its long peak and earflaps, and was revealed as a florid man of about thirty, wigless and with abundant black hair that curled down over his ears. He bowed from the waist, scanned the group, and addressed Darwin directly. “Dr. Darwin, I know that I am intruding. Take my word, it was not planned this way.”

“What did Jacob say, look for the fat one?” Again Darwin gestured to a place at the table. “Please, Mr. Solborne, sit down. It was not planned, you say? Nothing of today’s events seems planned. I had thought to sleep in my own bed tonight. Let me, without delay, tell you my own feelings. Jacob already intimated to us why you are here. Everyone in this room, except of course for yourself, is an old and trusted friend of mine. I value and rely on their discretion. You have a problem, about which I so far know nothing save that it is a private concern. If you choose to describe it here and now, you will find sympathetic ears and close lips. If you wish to defer discussion until we are alone, that too will be quite acceptable. We will eat, drink, relax, and spend the evening in pleasant conversation.”

Solborne was slowly shedding layers of clothing; woollen gloves, two cloaks, a long scarf, and a leather jacket. He was revealed as a man of medium and unathletic build, slightly overweight. “Eat, drink, and talk. Those I may accomplish; but it is two months and more since I could last relax. The purpose of my visit to these parts was to meet Jacob, and thereby seek access to you. Your reputation in the southern counties is unequalled. You are often said to be the last resort in difficult medical cases.”

“I am flattered.” Darwin did not sound surprised.

“And also in—certain other matters.” For the first time, Solborne hesitated. “I face a problem which may be medical, but which, quite frankly, points beyond the natural. I know that you reject such explanations.”

“That puts the matter too strongly. I will not admit a supernatural explanation when a natural one can be found. And I should add, in my experience that has always been the case.”

“But in this case…” Solborne spread out his hands. They were neat, well-kept, and had clearly seen no manual labor. He had placed food on his plate at Matthew Boulton’s urging, but not touched it. “I’m sorry. I do not know where to begin.”

“At any point. We are not building a house here, where the foundation and walls must perforce be completed before the roof goes on.” Darwin smiled his ruined smile. “We can return as necessary, and fill in any missing elements. The whole evening is ours. The most important thing is to give full detail, and omit nothing. Detail is at the heart of diagnosis. Consider this as a medical task, whether or not it proves at length to be so.”

“Very well.” Solborne finally, almost reluctantly, took a draught of red wine. “As Mr. Boulton mentioned, I am from Dorset. In fact, I hail from the farthest southern point of that county, near the tip of the peninsula known as Portland Bill. The Bill juts out into the English Channel, and my home sits on the western cliffs a couple of miles above it—am I giving too much detail, of no consequence to the matter?”

“We have as yet no way of knowing what may be relevant. Please continue.”

“My family is of old Dorset stock. We trace the Dorset Solbornes back almost to the Conquest. It is debated whether the family takes its name from the nearby village of Solborne, or the village its name from the family. In any case, my ancestors have lived there five hundred years and more.” Thomas Solborne caught the impatient look on Watt’s face, and grimaced ruefully. “I tell you this, Mr. Watt, not as presumed evidence of superiority, but rather as an admission of possible family defects. I have some knowledge of animal husbandry. I know the problems likely to arise from too close breeding.”

Darwin leaned forward. “Physical problems?”

“In animals. In the case of my own family, I may be referring to mental problems. Please be assured, I do not find it easy to talk of these matters.”

“I understand. And you should be assured that although you have our full sympathy, you will receive from me—from all of us—the most logical and dispassionate analysis that we are able to provide. Nothing, of course, will go beyond this room.”

“Thank you. I will try to omit nothing, no matter how painful or personal. I am thirty-one years old. I have one sister, Helen, eight years younger than I. My parents died within six months of each other, three years ago. The family estate of course passed to me, but Helen is unmarried and she and I both live at Newlands. That is the family home, one hundred and seventy years old. It was badly in need of renovation, and Helen and I undertook to accomplish that when the property passed to me.

“We restored the crumbling mortar—”

“Excuse me.” Darwin held up a pudgy hand. “You say, ‘we restored.’ I suspect that you did not perform the work yourself. Would you clearly distinguish between your own acts, and those accomplished by others?”

“If it helps. We brought in workmen who restored crumbling mortar and replaced lost brick—the whole of Newlands is brick-built, except for twin towers of stone, one on the north and one on the south side. We had much of the woodwork replaced, wherever we found dry rot. Do you need to know the cost of these actions?”

“Was it a significant drain on your finances?”

“Not really. We have land and revenues in other parts of Dorset. Both Helen and I are fortunate enough to possess substantial independent means.”

“Then let us continue. If necessary we will return to consider finances.”

“The rebuilding that I have described took a long time to accomplish, but six months ago we were ready to take the next step: refurbishing the interior. New drapes, carpets cleaned or replaced, re-upholstering of furniture, and so forth. In this area, we knew that Helen would receive little help from me. I am not, technically speaking, color-blind, but I am close enough to it for my color aesthetic to be worthless. She, on the other hand, possesses a strong artistic sense. We agreed that I would be involved in financial decisions, but all other choices would be hers.

“Naturally, selections could not be made while sitting at Newlands. Helen would have to travel to Dorchester, twenty miles north, or even as far as Bristol, seventy miles away, where a wide variety of materials and designs were available. I had no qualms about that. She has travelled before without me, even to the Continent, and Helen has always had considerable independence of spirit.” Solborne paused and took a deep breath, giving the impression that there was a lot more to be said on the subject. The listeners waited patiently.

“For example,” he said at last, “I do not know your views of either politics or foreign affairs, but as mark of Helen’s independent views, let me say that while I greatly oppose last year’s revolt of the American colonies, she rejoices in it.”

Darwin glanced at Watt, Pole, and Boulton, before he replied. “We are of mixed opinions. Myself, I hope for the ultimate success of the breakaway colonies. The more troubling question is, will it lead to other revolutions, closer to home?”

Matthew Boulton nodded vigorously and leaned forward. “That is exactly what I tell Erasmus. We are all of us firm monarchists here—quiet, Jimmy.” Watt had made a sound between a grunt and an asthmatic wheeze, and Boulton turned to him. “I know that you favor the Young Pretender, but still you crave a monarch, even if he does not happen to be King George. Mr. Solborne, I have travelled much in Europe since the revolt in the Americas. France is stirring. There is unrest and fear in the royal families of Bavaria and Bohemia. The Margrave of Brandenburg has formed a special guard to seek out revolutionaries. Where will it end? Where should it end?”

“We will certainly hold that debate—on another occasion.” Darwin held an open palm out to Jacob Pole, who sat frowning and waiting for his turn to speak. “Peace, Jacob. The floor belongs to Mr. Solborne.”

The visitor, unfamiliar with the digressive give-and-take of Lunar Society members, had been sitting bewildered. At Darwin’s “If you please, continue,” he nodded.

“As I was saying, despite her young age and strong opinions, Helen is familiar with the ways of the world. Or so I thought.”

Solborne fell silent again, until Darwin coaxed him: “Tell us about her. What does she look like, what are her interests?”

“She is as fair as I am dark. Friends have told us, it is an astonishment that two so different in appearance could be born from a single womb. She is short in stature, even for a woman. Helen claims five feet, but I suspect the final inch. Dainty in features and form. Men apparently find her attractive, since she turns heads at every market, fair, or gala. They pursue her. She sheds them with ease.”

“She lacks interest in men?”

“Say rather, that Helen is more interested in other things. I mentioned her artistic sense. That is secondary to her interest in philosophy and her gift for mathematics. Few men can tolerate more than five minutes of Euclid, Archimedes, Spinoza, and Newton. They come, they listen, and they leave shaking their heads. So when Helen made a visit to Bristol to examine brocades, and wrote to say that she had been given an opportunity to see the demonstration of an extraordinary mathematical device, I was not in the least astonished—not then, or when she extended her stay by three days to learn more of what she had seen. I was, however, much surprised one week later, when she returned to Newlands. She was not alone. She had with her Professor Anton Riker of Bordeaux, and his extraordinary calculating engine. Have you heard of it?”

The others turned to Darwin. His grey eyes were thoughtful, and in them stirred something that Jacob Pole at least had seen before: an overwhelming and insatiable curiosity. “I know of the calculator built by Monsieur Pascal over a century ago,” he said slowly, “which performed addition and subtraction by mechanic device. I am familiar with the improved version constructed by Herr Gottfried Leibniz, a generation later, which also permitted multiplication and division. But the name of Professor Riker is new to me.”

“As it was to me, and to Helen. She insisted that the professor, together with his machine, visit Newlands. Let me say that initially I was surprised by the appearance of a guest, but not disturbed. It was only later that my aversion to Professor Riker developed.”

“His description, too, if you will.”

“Above middle height, and thinner than Colonel Pole. According to Helen, his eyes are grey with a tawny center and he possesses a gaze of peculiar intensity, but I cannot speak to that myself since he has not once met my eye. He has an accent to his speech, something I think of Central Europe, but I do not have ear or experience enough to place it. He is courtly and charming in manner, but it seems the false charm of a dancing master or an actor.”

“Seems to you.”

“You are very perceptive, Dr. Darwin. Helen and I disagree strongly. She cannot see beyond his brilliance, which in truth appears to be very great. The performance of the Riker calculating engine defies description.”

“I will nonetheless request that you attempt it.”

“I knew you would. Here.” Solborne reached into a pocket of his leather jacket and produced a folded sheet of paper, thick and the color of clotted cream. “This is not my drawing. It is Helen’s.”

Darwin unfolded the sheet and held it close to one of the candelabra, while the other four crowded around. The main line drawing was in green ink and filled half the sheet. An expanded detail of one part was shown above.

“I have seen it for myself,” Solborne said. “This is accurate as to both layout and proportion. Here on the flat upper surface”—he touched the upper part of the sheet—“you see nine keys or levers. Here are nine more. Each lever has ten possible settings, for the numbers zero through nine. Thus it is possible to define two numbers, each with up to nine digits. This is an eight-way lever which controls the operation of the engine. Addition, subtraction, multiplication, division, and the extraction of roots up to fifth order. And here”—he touched the paper again—“is where a number of up to eighteen digits appears. It is contained on a strip of paper, and it is printed, as by controlled type.”

“Are these dimensions accurate?” Darwin was crouched with his nose almost to the paper.

“They are. The whole engine, including its base, is two feet wide, three feet deep, and rather less than three feet high. It is also heavy, ten stone or more.”

“Ah.” Darwin leaned back, his face sad and oddly disappointed. “Then I am obliged to question the inventive genius of Professor Anton Riker. There was, eight years ago, on display in the court of Emperor Joseph of Austria—”

“The automaton chess player of Baron Wolfgang von Kempelen, which took the form of a seated Turk.”

“You know of it.”

“Certainly. It was no automaton, but relied upon a hidden accomplice. The device was otherwise impossible.”

“I am not persuaded of that. Before von Kempelen’s secret was revealed, Mr. Solborne, I wasted an inordinate amount of my time and foolscap seeking to define a possible mechanism. I was unable to prove that such a chess-playing machine is impossible theoretically; only that it would be prodigious complicated, and probably enormous in size.”

“Those observations would be yet more true of this ‘calculating engine.’ Dr. Darwin, my first response was yours exactly. This new machine, like the chess automaton, must be operated by some confederate of Professor Riker.

“Helen soon convinced me otherwise. First, the machine stands alone, not on some specially constructed dais or platform able to conceal a man. It works in bright light, with everything visible, rather than in obscuring gloom. The von Kempelen device was operated using a system of balls and magnets, impossible in this case. Finally, and far more important, consider what the engine does: the printed output is the result of a difficult arithmetic calculation, and it normally appears within thirty seconds of the complete statement of the problem. The input numbers are provided not by Riker, but by the audience—I have done it myself. There is no way that an assistant could know the problems in advance. Even with the use of tables, it would be impossible to provide the cubic root or quartic root of a nine-figure number, or the product of two such numbers, so quickly.”

“True enough.” Darwin pouted his full lips. “So, we have a mystery.”

He seemed ready to settle back into brooding silence, but Solborne would not allow it. He took the sheet from Darwin and returned it to his jacket pocket.

“A mystery, perhaps, but not the mystery. I would not travel so far afield, in winter, merely for the sake of some calculating device. My concern is with Helen, and Professor Riker. I already told you that I did not care for him, and I requested to Helen that his stay at Newlands not be an extended one. He and his machine departed three days after their arrival, during which time he offered me numerous demonstrations of the engine’s power. Then he left—but he did not go far. He rented a small house along the cliff, less than half a mile from Newlands, where he lives alone. And from that day forward, I saw the decline in Helen.”

“Melancholic?”

“Not at all. I saw—and see—physical decline. She has been losing weight, steadily. She was always fair, but now her skin seems almost translucent. Her eyes are set deeper in her head, and the skin beneath them appears to be almost purple, as though bruised.”

“And her manner?”

“Febrile, intense, yet cheerful. She seems distant from me, in a way that I have never before experienced. When I ask concerning her health, she says only that she is feeling tired, and does not seem able to get enough sleep. That is certainly true. She will nod off during dinner, or as soon as she sits down in a chair. I wonder what is happening.”

It was Darwin’s turn to hesitate. “Mr. Solborne,” he said at last. “It pains me to suggest this, but I assume that the obvious explanation has occurred to you?”

“That Helen and Riker are romantically engaged, and she spends her nights with him? Of course. It is not the case.”

“How do you know?”

“By taking an action that was not strictly honorable. As I told you, the main body of Newlands, including parlors, guest bedrooms, living room, dining rooms, and servants’ quarters, is of brick. However, there are two towers of stone, one to the north and one to the south side, rising from the main house. I have a suite of rooms, including my bedroom and study, in the north tower. Helen occupies the southern one, with her bedroom and parlor and sewing room. There are two entrances to each tower. One leads through to the main body of the house; the other, seldom used and originally built I suspect for use only in case of fire, leads directly outside, onto a path that runs along the cliff. It runs, in fact, to and past the house rented by Anton Riker. Suspecting Helen’s actions, I did two things. First, I placed locks on the outside of the tower doors. No one could then enter or leave Newlands without passing through the main body of the house. The only window in the south tower that can be opened wide enough to admit a person is near the top, overlooking a forty-foot sheer drop to stony ground.

“Second, I moved Joan Rowland, one of the servants who happens to be an unusually light sleeper, to a bedroom next to the inner door of the south tower. She was instructed to tell me if she heard any comings and goings at night.”

“And did she?”

“Not a one. She said that she heard Helen—or someone—moving around in the tower, often late at night when the rest of the house was asleep. But Helen never left her own quarters.”

“A necessary condition for chastity, but not a sufficient one.” Darwin stirred in his chair. “Mr. Solborne, when I was a student at Cambridge, it constantly baffled me that there was a rule forbidding the presence of ladies in college at night, while open access was permitted to any woman during the day. An odd assumption seemed at work: that improprieties take place only at night. What of your sister’s movements during the daylight hours?”

“Dr. Darwin, Jacob Pole warned me of your prescience. You are a mind reader.”

“Not at all. I merely seek to close logical loopholes. During the day?”

“At close of day, which in this season means between four and five o’clock, Helen leaves Newlands and walks south along the cliff.”

“To the house rented by Professor Riker?”

“That was my original assumption, that there was some sort of assignation involved. But it is not the case. As she walks south, he walks north along the shingled cliff to meet her. They stand in full view and talk to each other for five or ten minutes as darkness approaches. They just talk. They do not touch. Before it is fully dark, they part, and she returns home.”

“You have been spying on them?”

“I am very worried about my sister. Daily she has grown more pale and tense, more wan and bloodless.”

“And now we have one more mystery to consider. Timing.” Darwin did not elaborate, but leaned forward in his seat and thoughtfully cut a wedge of Stilton. The room fell silent, except for the sound of steady munching and the wheeze of James Watt’s asthmatic breathing.

“You seem to anticipate everything else.” Solborne finally broke the silence. “So perhaps you have some notion of my real concern—the one I find so improbable that I am reluctant to voice it. The fear that brought me to you.”

“Surely.” Darwin licked his fingers. “All the components are present, are they not? Put aside, for the moment, the question of the calculating engine. Then we have a young woman who encounters a mysterious man from the Continent, perhaps from the central regions of Europe. Rapidly she comes under his sway. They meet every day, but only when the sun has gone from the sky. Access to her quarters cannot be obtained at night except through a high window set in a vertical wall, inaccessible to mortal man. She never goes out after dark, yet every day she becomes weaker, until she is as pale as though the blood itself were draining from her veins. Every day her intensity of manner increases, but so does her indifference to ordinary events. To anyone with a knowledge of European folklore, especially Slavonic traditions, a possible inference is clear.”

“I know. I have seen no puncture wounds on her skin, but Professor Riker is a—”

“An inference that is clear, yet is also total nonsense. Life on Earth admits a huge variety of forms, but everywhere there is a logic, whereby form follows function. I can no more believe in Das Wampyr than I can believe in Sinbad’s roc, a bird so large that it feeds on elephants. By the simple law of proportions, such a creature could never lift itself from the ground. And such a being as Nosferatu, the vampire, hated by all men but totally helpless during the daytime, could never survive the centuries.”

“But if Riker is not that—that thing—then what is he? And if not he, then what is doing this to my sister?”

“I do not know.” Darwin placed his hands over his paunch. The fatigue of the late afternoon had vanished and again he was eyeing the dish of smoked eels. “At this moment, I honestly do not know. But I assure you, Thomas Solborne, that we will find out.”

* * * My dear Erasmus, I told you, did I not, that I was the wrong man for your job? And pox on it, I was right. Tom Solborne hasn’t said one word, but I’m sure he thinks I’m about as much use here as tits on a bull…

Alone in the coach, Darwin tapped Jacob Pole’s letter on his knee, leaned back, and allowed himself to rock back and forward with the sway of the steady movement.

The problem was, Jacob was right. He wasn’t the first choice—or even the second. But what option had offered itself? Solborne had arrived at the height of the season for winter ailments, when Darwin’s locum tenens was already pressed into service elsewhere. Jimmy Watt was deep in the wreckage of his engine, in that mood of solitary thought that made him seem scarcely human. Transported to Dorset, he would see only steam. As for Matthew Boulton, he ran the great Soho factory under his own absolute control and he could not be spared for a day, still less a week.

Darwin comforted himself with the thought that a fortnight was not much time for Jacob to hold the fort, no matter how long it might seem to him.

On the other hand, if Helen Solborne were to die…

Darwin longed for a report from a man with his own keen diagnostic eye for medical matters. Jacob had not been pressed into service, he had gone willingly enough, but he could no more read the facies of impending death or disease than he could swim unaided from Dorset to the coast of France. How sick was Helen Solborne? She’s an attractive little woman, and she said hello to me polite enough. But Solborne is right, a lot of the time she doesn’t seem to be all there. And Lord knows what she’s talking about the rest of the time. Two days ago she asked me if I knew of some Italian type called Fibonacci, and his successions. I asked her if he was that Italian general who’d fought against Austria in the War of the Polish Succession, and she laughed like I’d made the biggest joke in the world and said that Fibonacci had been a good deal earlier and a much greater man, and when she said successions she meant sequences. That was one of our better conversations. Afterwards, Tom said she’d been talking about her mathematics. God help the man who marries her…

Helen Solborne did not sound like an easy dupe—or an easy subject for her brother’s control. Darwin glanced down to the letter sitting on his knee. He had read it often enough to be sure that the information he sought would not be found there. Jacob was too full of his own opinions and interests to serve as impartial observer.

Two of him in size. Darwin leaned his head back on the stuffed leather of the coach seat, eyes closed but deep in thought. They were skirting the chalky slopes of the Western Downs, rumbling down to Dorchester and Weymouth. Portland was a couple of hours away. The tempering effect of the English Channel could already be felt in the milder air.

Darwin turned to another page of Pole’s letter.

Jacob might not be the best judge of exotic foreigners or of talented young women, but he had other strengths. He evaluated terrain and landscape with the practical eye of a soldier and the methodical approach of a first-rate artillery engineer.

From habit, Darwin patted the medical chest at his side. He might indeed need the contents for Jacob Pole, using them to treat the colonel’s agues from tropical service; he was more and more convinced that any standard pharmacopeia would be useless in dealing with Helen Solborne.

Thomas Solborne was waiting as the coach rattled up the Newlands gravel drive.

“Quickly now,” he said, helping Darwin down the double step. “There will never be a better time. What delayed you?”

The sun was setting, and a thick fog was creeping in from the sea.

“Broken traces, just beyond Wyke Regis.” Darwin was already surveying the house and shoreline. “Where is Colonel Pole?”

Solborne pointed to a narrow road leading to the left. “Helen went for her afternoon walk and rendezvous. Jacob again agreed to follow her—discreetly—while I waited for you.”

“What is her condition?”

“Deteriorating, at least to my eye. But Helen is of indomitable will. She admits only to a slight fatigue. Let us hurry. We have perhaps twenty minutes.”

He led the way through the double doors at the front of the house. The entrance hall was long and wide, furnished with massive oriental standing vases and gloomy suits of old armor.

Darwin peered down at the polished floor. “Purbeck marble? I have never seen it before except in churches.”

“It is mined locally. It is beautiful, wears forever—and is diabolically cold in winter. Were it not for Helen’s strong views and preferences, I would cover everything with carpets.”

Solborne was walking to the left, where a long curved staircase led upward to the next level. Darwin, still motionless in the entrance, saw an identical stair at the other end. He was forming in his mind a picture of the house layout and dimensions. Beyond the stairs must lie another room, and then the towers.

“Newlands was built with a high degree of symmetry.” Solborne had turned, aware that Darwin was not following. “The north and south ends of the main building form a matched pair. But it is better if you see the tower containing Helen’s suite of rooms.”

“It is best if I see everything.” Darwin, moving after the other man, ran his hand along the smooth curve of the banister. It was polished and free of dust.

The staircase brought them to an antechamber with two doors. One, open, led to a dining room, thirty-five feet long and with a log fire blazing on the seaward side. A huge table of gleaming mahogany and eighteen chairs dominated the middle of the room. The other door of the antechamber was closed. Solborne opened it without knocking and went through.

“Joan Rowland’s bedroom.” He pointed to the left, where still another door stood ajar. “Joan spends every night here.”

“What is her relationship to Helen?”

“I thought of that also. It is respectful, but not close. There is no way that Joan would jeopardize her future at Newlands by serving as Helen’s accomplice.” Solborne was at a door in a blank wall of white stone, no more than five feet away from Joan Rowland’s room. “And this provides the only inside entrance to the south tower.”

Darwin examined the door as they passed through. It was panelled and not particularly thick. It would not muffle sounds from its other side. He bent low and looked at the latch with special care, checking that it had no lock.

Beyond lay a large chamber, its octagonal shape matching the outside figure of the stone tower. A tight spiral staircase of iron filigree led down to the tower’s outside entrance. Darwin did not attempt a descent—with his bulk it would have been a tight fit—but asked, “Is the outer lock still in position?”

“In position, and according to Colonel Pole, untouched. He inserted a dab of candle grease into the padlock. It remains undisturbed.”

The two men began their ascent of the wider stair that followed the outer wall of the tower. One level brought them to Helen Solborne’s sitting room and study, with its own fireplace and south-facing window. Darwin tried to open it, and grunted.

“As you see.” Solborne came to his side, and pushed hard on the casement. “A couple of inches of travel, no more. Not an entrance or an exit.”

“For a human.” Darwin was lingering over the many books. Solborne gave him an uneasy glance, and dragged him away. Ten minutes had passed since the arrival of the coach.

The next floor was a plain bedroom, above it a sewing room. Packets of furniture covering materials sat on every available surface.

“One more.” Solborne had noticed that Darwin was breathing heavily. “And the only one with a window that can open wide. Up we go.”

Full-length mirrors stood on all walls of the last story, throwing multiple reflections of both men. “As you see, Helen’s dressing room. The morning light is excellent, because the window faces southeast.”

He went across and threw it open. The thick-curtained window looked out over the sea. The fog was thickening, and a curl of mist drifted in. Darwin joined him and leaned out over a sheer drop. After a few moments he leaned one shoulder out and turned to peer upward. A gutter ran around the top of the tower, about eight feet above his head. He craned to look to the right, but the roof of the house itself was hidden around the curve of the tower.

“Fifteen minutes,” Solborne said nervously. “Do you see anything?”

“Enough.”

“Then we’d best be getting down again.” He led the way, only to have Darwin pause near the door and bend down to examine a pair of heavy brass oil lamps.

“For dressing here after dark.” Solborne waited impatiently. “On the occasions when Helen can be persuaded to attend a social evening gathering—which is rare indeed.”

He breathed more easily once they were out of the tower and in the long dining room. “Is there anything else you would wish to see in the house itself, before Helen returns?”

“The roof of this part of Newlands.” And, when Solborne stared. “It would, I think, be impossible for mortal human to ascend that sheer stone face. But it might be easy indeed to descend it.”

“Ah!” Solborne’s face lit with sudden understanding. “From the tower top, with the assistance of a rope. There is roof access through the attic.”

He was already running for the stairs, and by the time that Darwin had negotiated three flights and reached the attic level, Solborne had opened a dusty roof skylight. He stood outside, in approaching darkness.

One glance was sufficient for both men. Solborne turned to his visitor and shook his head. The tower top stood a full fifteen feet above them. There was no sign of a ladder, or anything else that might assist in scaling the tower.

“What now?”

“We think again.” Darwin, if anything, seemed pleased, as though some less interesting alternative had been disposed of. He led the way back down. When they emerged into the dining room a middle-aged woman with a thin, tight-lipped face was waiting for them. She examined Darwin, grimy and covered with cobwebs, with plenty of curiosity, but spoke at once to Solborne.

“It’s happened again, sir. We had eight gallons or more, now we have less than two. Someone is pilfering—and it isn’t me nor Joan nor Liza.”

“I am sure it isn’t. I trust all of you completely.” Solborne frowned, and muttered as though to himself, “As if I did not have enough on my mind!” And then, to the indignant woman, “There’s only one thing for it, Dolly. Have Walter carry the barrels inside, and set them in the scullery. That way no one can wander along the road and steal our oil.”

He turned to Darwin. “Mineral oil is in short supply this year, and winter prices are high. But never before have I found it necessary to guard our house reserves.”

In the few minutes that they had been up on the roof, the big lamps around the walls of the dining room had been lit and trimmed. On a low table a few feet from Darwin, loaded dishes had magically appeared. There were plates of boiled prawns, vinegared mussels and whelks, and hot sausage rolls, as well as a cold rhubarb tart, jugs of fresh milk, and a flagon of apple wine. Before Darwin could take a step in that direction, a cloaked figure entered through the door at the far end.

Solborne shot Darwin a look that said “Not a minute to spare!” and stood waiting. Helen Solborne sauntered toward them, eyeing Darwin with as much curiosity and interest as he regarded her.

He decided in the first moment of inspection that both Thomas Solborne and Jacob Pole were right. She was tiny, five feet at most, with skin so fine and pale that the lamplight seemed to shine right through her skull. Although her figure was swathed in a long cloak, it was clear from her face that she was thinner than fashion demanded. She blinked constantly as though the oil lamps were too bright, and dark shadows limned her blue eyes.

But those eyes were fiercely intelligent, and the jaw firm. She looked Darwin right in the eye, and the little curtsey she offered seemed like a private joke between the two of them.

“It is a great pleasure to meet you, Dr. Darwin. If even as many as one fourth of Colonel Pole’s stories about you are true, I await dinner tonight more eagerly than I can say.”

Darwin folded his hands across his belly and bowed in return. “I am no more than a provincial physician, with most of my life taken up by the common round of routine medical treatment. Extravagant advance billing of an entertainment, Miss Solborne, is perhaps the surest way of ensuring high disappointment.”

“And extravagant modesty is perhaps the surest sign of high self-esteem.” She smiled, to reveal white teeth with a slight overbite. “My anticipation is undiminished. If you will excuse me, I must change now or be late for dinner.”

As she drifted away through the door to the south tower, Solborne could not wait a moment longer.

“Well? What can you tell me?”

“I can tell you that I fully understand why the would-be suitors flock around Helen. Your sister is a most attractive woman.”

“I mean about her health.”

“My remark was not irrelevant to that issue. Sickness, true and serious sickness, is inconsistent with normal animal attraction. At some level, by smell or the natural language of the body, we respond to another’s state of health. However, you desire a more formal diagnosis. I am willing to provide one, although I have had no more than an opportunity for superficial observation of your sister.”

“And?”

“She appears in good health. Her gait, her posture, her willingness to indulge in badinage—yes, even her cheekiness toward me—all deny major disease.”

“But you never saw her before. I assure you, she is different than she was three months ago.”

“I believe you. And on that subject I am not bereft of ideas. However, I need proof. Did you invite Professor Riker this evening, as I requested?”

“Naturally. I walked down to his house this morning and told him that, as a noted inventor from the Midlands, you would be devastated were you to visit Dorset and depart without an opportunity to see the famous calculating engine at work.”

“Was there hesitation on his part?”

“Not the slightest. He told me that he will be very busy for the next two weeks, exhibiting the engine, but at the moment he has time to breathe. He will be delighted to come here tonight after dinner, when he will show you the machine at work and allow you to propound your own mathematical questions. We can expect him, and his machine, within the hour. I freely admit to you, I do not share his delight at the prospect of his visiting Newlands. I am still convinced that he is doing my sister some terrible harm.”

“Whatever harm is being done here, I am not yet ready to blame Professor Riker.”

“Harm? Harm?” Jacob Pole, bustling in with his fingers and the tip of his nose a rosy pink, headed for the fireplace. He lifted the tail of his long coat, allowing the warmth from the blazing logs to irradiate his buttocks and the backs of his legs. “Welcome to Dorset, ’Rasmus. It’s a raw and foggy night out there. I’ll tell you one thing, if anyone comes to harm from all this it will be me. Tom can vouch for it, I’ve been out in all hours and all weathers, chilblains on my fingers and now scorch marks on my backside. I’m glad to be in for the night.”

Darwin glanced at Thomas Solborne and sat down at the side table for a predinner snack. It did not seem like the best moment to mention that Jacob, if Darwin’s plans held good, was likely to be outside again before the evening was out.

The calculating engine corresponded exactly to Helen Solborne’s drawing. Riker had requested that the demonstration begin as soon as possible after dinner, “Since I have business tonight in Abbotsbury that cannot easily be delayed.”

Two of the male staff of Newlands had carried the heavy rectangular box into one end of the dining room, grunting with effort, while Anton Riker hovered over them and told them twenty times that the engine must not under any circumstances be dropped.

Once the machine was in position, Riker called his audience’s attention to the main features. The top, two feet wide and three feet deep, was of smooth hardwood coated with black lacquer. Two separate sets of nine levers were hinged at the upper surface. One additional lever allowed the operator to define the desired operation. All the levers projected upwards to form handles, and also continued below the surface, where their articulated brass rods were visible through the transparent glass sides of the engine. Riker demonstrated the action, moving a lever to one of its ten possible settings. As he did so the corresponding brass arm, jointed in two places, pushed into the opaque base of the engine. The base was roughly one foot deep, and each arm penetrated smoothly into its own separate slit in its upper surface.

There was one more slit in the base of the engine. It was very narrow and about two inches wide, no more than six inches from the ground, and it held a strip of cardboard or stiff paper.

The operator stood, or sat on a low stool in front of the machine.

“For example, take this problem,” Riker said, after he had pointed out the different settings. He set the right hand lever of the upper set to the digit 2, and the right hand lever of the lower set to the digit 3. Finally he moved the operations lever to the setting that indicated multiplication. The actions of his skeletally thin fingers were deft and precise, and he hardly seemed to look at what he was doing. After a pause of about twenty seconds, long enough for his audience to become restive, there was a clicking noise from the engine’s base. The strip of cardboard advanced in its position from the side slot. Riker tore it off and held it out to the audience.

Jacob Pole took the stiff paper and stared at the single printed digit. “Six,” he said. “Two times three. Hmph.”

“Not impressed?” Riker raised dark eyebrows. “I agree. We could all do as well, could we not? But come here, please, and sit down.”

Pole, somewhat reluctantly, was installed on the stool.

“Now, enter a number with these.” Riker touched the upper row of levers. “Any number that you like, up to nine figures.”

The colonel, after a moment’s thought, moved the levers to indicate 4-3-2-1.

“Very good. And now, a number with the lower levers.”

“One-two-three-four. Is that all right?”

“Quite suitable. Go ahead. And now, specify an operation.”

“Multiply?”

“Certainly, if that is what you would like. Move the lever.”

There was a sound of metal on metal as the operation lever engaged. This time the silence lasted less than ten seconds. A series of clicks sounded from the base, and another cardboard strip emerged from the slot.

Riker indicated the base, without touching anything. “Tear it off.”

Pole did so, and frowned down at it.

“Read what it says, Colonel Pole.”

“It says, five-three-three-two-one-one-four. But how the devil am I supposed to know if that’s right?”

“It will be correct, Colonel, believe me.” Riker showed total self-confidence. He turned to Darwin. “Doctor, would you perhaps like to perform your own experiments?”

Darwin had been hovering close, like a child forbidden to touch a new toy. He nodded at once.

Pole gave up his seat and retreated to a corner of the room, frowning over the cardboard strip that he held. Darwin took Pole’s place, his broad rump overflowing the sides of the stool. He employed each feature of the engine systematically, one after another. He paid particular attention to the length of the pause that followed each problem, and he studied the printed output carefully as it emerged.

“It’s right!” Pole returned from the corner, where he had been scribbling on the slip of stiff paper. “Damme, I checked the answer by hand, and every digit is just as it should be. Professor, it’s amazing.”

“Would it not be stranger, Colonel Pole, if most were right and one was wrong?”

“But how the devil does it do it?”

Riker smiled indulgently. “That, sir, must remain my secret. Let me say that no clock maker in Europe—no, in all the world—is able to construct its like.” He turned to Darwin. “Your hosts have seen the engine in operation before, several times. Do you have questions?”

Darwin shook his head and hunched low on the stool.

“Then with your permission.” Riker addressed the waiting menservants. “Take the engine and place it on my gig—and carefully.” Then, to the Solbornes and their visitors, “I must be on my way to Abbotsbury, as soon as the calculating engine is safely housed. My apologies if I do not stay longer.”

The heavy machine was hauled downstairs and loaded carefully on board Riker’s waiting gig. The professor bade goodnight to Darwin, who had followed him downstairs, and drove off. Darwin frowned after the light carriage, listening to the fading sound of the horse’s hooves on the gravel. The fog of early evening had cleared, giving way to a faint and eerie sea-mist that came and went at random.

Solborne was waiting anxiously when he went back upstairs.

“Well?”

“Where is your sister?”

“She has retired to her rooms, probably for the night. She pleads fatigue. But what of Riker?”

“I agree with you. He is not at all what he pretends to be.”

“You mean, he is a—a—”

“I do not mean that he is a vampire. He is something much more ordinary, and possibly far more dangerous.”

“But my sister—when he was here, did you not see the change in her? She gazed at him steadily, and she did not speak one word.”

“It was not necessary. Everything was pre-arranged. Can you be at the front door, warmly clad, in five minutes?”

“Of course. But why?”

Darwin ignored the question. He went across to Jacob Pole, who sat smoking his pipe, spitting into the fire, and staring over and over again at the printed figures produced by Riker’s calculating engine. “Jacob, stir yourself. Our work for the evening is not yet over.”

“Eh?”

“You will see. Get your warmest clothes, and meet me by the front door in five minutes.”

“Eh?”

“We are going to track down a vampire. What else?”

“We are going to what?” Pole jerked upright and dropped his pipe. “My pistols—”

“Will hardly help, I think.” Darwin was already heading down the stairs to the main hall, where his own cloak and broad-brimmed hat had been hung on an antlered stand. “What possible use could pistols be,” he said cheerfully over his shoulder, “against a vampire?”

Newlands stood close to the edge of the high sea-bank, which at this point of its southern course was a steep cliff dropping away to the water. Beyond the big house the shoreline ran in a concave curve. By walking fifty yards south, the three men could achieve a good view of the high tower containing Helen’s suite of rooms. Beyond it, almost invisible, stood the house’s dim-lit central portion and the north tower.

Darwin brought them to a halt. Solborne gazed around at the dreary and silent horizon.

“What now? I don’t see a thing.”

“It may take a while. Keep your eyes there.” Darwin’s pudgy forefinger was pointing to the south tower, where the highest window was faintly visible as a dark outline in white stone.

Tom Solborne frowned, while Pole kept his hand on one of two pistols stuck in his belt. It was easy to imagine a dark shape, hovering outside the curtained window or creeping up the smooth wall. Even if legend said that a lead ball would not work, it was certainly worth a try.

The wait stretched into twenty minutes, while the air grew colder and the men shivered. Three minutes more, and a series of creaking sounds disturbed the breathless night. They came from the upper levels of the white tower.

“Very soon now,” breathed Darwin.

“Where is it?” Solborne scanned the tower from top to bottom. “What is it? How does it get in?”

“Not in.” A different sound was added to Darwin’s words, the whir of cords on pulleys. “Not in. Out.”

Heavy curtains across the high window were suddenly drawn aside. A beam of light, faintly visible in the mist that still swirled along the shore, speared out over the sea. It shone for twenty seconds, then vanished behind closing curtains. Half a minute later the curtains opened and the light was visible again.

“Now.” Darwin was already on the move. “While Helen is preoccupied. Quickly.”

The others hurried after him into the main door of the house and on up the left-hand stairs. They passed Joan Rowland’s room, where Darwin paused long enough to look in on the startled girl and place a finger to his lips.

“Softly, now.” He was opening the door to the south tower, slowly and silently. “I checked earlier that there is no lock here, but any loud sound would reveal our presence. Keep to the wall.”

The advice was necessary. They were ascending the curved staircase in near-total darkness. Up through the sitting room and study, up through the empty bedroom. Finally they were on the flight of stairs that led to the dressing room. With the other two right behind him Darwin paused at the closed door, then rapidly swung it wide.

The room beyond was a confusion of light and shadow, of bright vertical bars marking boundaries for solid rectangles of darkness. That changed when Darwin seized one of the dark oblongs and spun it around on its axis. It became a full-length mirror, one of a dozen carefully placed around the walls of the room. Their glass picked up the light of four massive oil lamps in the middle of the chamber and reflected it as a single beam.

Helen Solborne had been crouched low by the window. She swung around as the door opened, dropping the cord to the window drapes. Darwin strode forward, picked up the cord, and decisively pulled the heavy curtains closed.

Helen remained kneeling, her face pale and tense. She did not speak, but shrank back at Jacob Pole’s accusing shout.

“Wreckers, by God! You’re a damned wrecker, setting up false lights to deceive mariners! If I hadn’t seen this, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

“Do not believe it yet.” Darwin snuffed the light of three of the lamps, leaving one to illuminate the room. He turned to Tom Solborne, standing openmouthed in the doorway. “So much for your missing oil. Have there been reports of ships lost off this coast in the past few months?”

Solborne shook his head and stared at his sister.

“So it is not wreckers, Jacob,” Darwin went on. “And it is not vampires. It is something with the potential to be more dangerous than both. It is signals, lights amplified by means of reflecting surfaces. I compliment you, Miss Solborne, on your mastery of light propagation and collimation.” He waved his hand toward the array of mirrors. “But now it is over. Shall we then, as the bard advises, ‘sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of the death of kings’?”

“That was never our intent!” The blue eyes opened wide. “But you know. How can you? You arrived only this afternoon. Who told you? What told you?”

“No one told me. I know not from a single major event, but from an accumulation of many small ones. Now it is necessary that your brother know, too.” When she remained silent, Darwin continued, “Come, Helen Solborne. This will serve better coming from you.”

She shook her head, and turned her eyes to her brother.

“No? Very well.” Darwin pushed three tall mirrors out of the way and pulled forth the chairs that stood behind them. He gestured to the others to sit down. “Apparently I must begin. You, Miss Solborne, may correct me as necessary.

“Your brother came to see me concerned only for your welfare. You had, he feared, fallen under some evil influence. I must admit, my own first instinct upon hearing the circumstances was no more valid than his speculations on the undying monsters of Transylvania. For I thought of Dr. Franz Mesmer, whose ‘animal magnetism’ has allowed him for the past few years to achieve amazing control over subjects and patients in Vienna.” Darwin regarded Helen Solborne with a definite glint of humor in his eye. “That theory did not survive my first exposure to you and Professor Riker. I judge you more likely to dominate and control him, than vice-versa.

“Nonetheless, I was forced to take seriously your brother’s concern that you were the slave of an evil circumstance. I suspect that he may think so still, when he knows all. But I knew from my first look that you were—and are—not possessed by any demons but your own. You are suffering from one malady recognized by medical science: great fatigue. You have the look of someone who has seen no rest for many weeks. Of a woman, in fact, who occupies her nights providing signals that ships offshore are able to interpret.”

“Smugglers!” Pole exclaimed. “They are running goods along Chesil Bank, and into The Fleet.”

“Very true, Jacob.” Darwin had one eye still on Helen Solborne. “Smugglers, however, who carry an unusual cargo. The Solborne family, as we were told on that first evening in Birmingham, does not lack for wealth. Can you see the mistress of Newlands, a lady of ‘substantial independent means,’ dealing in rope tobacco, Nantz brandy, or Alenзon lace, when she can easily purchase them with her own funds?”

“It was a cargo more precious than lace,” Helen said abruptly. “More valuable than gold or rubies. Brother, I seldom ask for anything, but I beg you, do not take this to the Court. Promise me that, and I will tell you everything.”

Solborne had not sat down. He stared at her in total confusion.

“He cannot promise what he does not understand,” Darwin said mildly. “Tell first, Miss Helen, then make your request.”

“I cannot.” And then, under Darwin’s steady gaze, “But I must.” She took a deep breath. “Very well. I will.

“Tom, you cannot guess how it distressed when you thought me the devoted slave of that—that mountebank, Riker. He is nothing, merely an intermediary for others. What I am doing, I do because I choose, not because I am in any way controlled. And this did not begin two months ago, with my trip to Bristol. It began a full year earlier, with my visit to France. I saw poverty there beyond imagining, people downtrodden and hopeless and reduced to animal existence. But in Paris I also met a group of men and women, small in numbers yet dedicated, who seek in France what was recently achieved by the American colonies: freedom.”

“A revolt!”

“No, brother, not a revolt. A revolution. They cannot speak openly—King Louis, ineffectual as he seems, has ministers and minions both suspicious and bloodthirsty. Plans must be made in secret; in the churches, in the Paris catacombs, in the open fields, by sunlight and moonlight and candlelight. And still there is risk. When exposure comes too close, there is only one chance: the suspect must quit France entirely, and fly to another country. I have helped those in peril to find sanctuary.” Helen Solborne walked forward and took her brother by the hand. “Tom, I have deceived you for one reason only: I seek to save human lives.”

“I believe you.” But Solborne was not looking at her. “If the King found out—he already becomes demented at any mention of the American revolt—he would fear for the spread to England, men would say treason—”

“And women would say compassion. Tom, I had no choice. Don’t you see that?”

“It must stop, Helen. Tonight was the last time.”

“The secret is out now. I will agree—if you will not go to London, and betray them. A score or more are here in England, facing certain death on a return to France.”

“I will—think about it.” Solborne met his sister’s eyes for the first time. He sat down on one of the straight-backed chairs. “If you can promise me that there is nothing else. Nothing more that you are concealing from me.”

“Brother, I will answer every question that you ask, openly and honestly. But do not betray those whose lives have depended on me.”

Darwin caught Jacob Pole’s eye, and jerked his head toward the door. “This is no part of our business,” he said softly, as they headed down the stairs. “It is between Tom and Helen Solborne.”

“Will she persuade him?”

“She is his little sister. She will throw herself on his mercy, and he will be unable to resist her.”

“But ’Rasmus, this could be—treason.” Pole hissed the word. “If anything like the Americas were to happen here…”

“It will not. King George is sane only north-northwest, but there is too much of a bottom of good sense in our people and parliament for revolution to be a danger. The Continent is different. You heard Matthew Boulton. France is stirring, there is unrest in Bavaria and Bohemia. The royal courts must look out for themselves. The problems in Europe run broad and deep.”

They had reached the bottom of the stairs and were passing Joan Rowland’s room. She was standing by her bed in a long flannel nightgown, round eyed and as far from sleep as anyone could be.

Darwin turned to Pole. “I feared as much. Jacob, will you do me a favor? Will you calm her fears, and tell her that it is quite safe to go to bed?”

“Me? You are the one who knows all.”

“I lack your talent to soothe a lady’s worries.”

“Rubbish! You boast of it. Oh, all right.” Pole turned into the bedroom. “You owe me, ’Rasmus,” he said over his shoulder. And then, in a confiding voice to Joan, which happened to be quite loud enough for Darwin to hear. “You see how it is, Joan Rowland, the great Dr. Darwin goes off to roll his fat in a cozy bed, and leaves others to do his work.”

Darwin smiled to himself as he continued into the dining room. He remained only long enough to adjust his scarf and button his greatcoat. Then he headed downstairs for the entrance hall. He left Newlands, and took the dark path that led south along the cliff.

Now came the difficult part.

Darwin walked slowly, chin tucked in low on his chest, hardly aware of the rough shingle beneath his feet. His eyes from time to time sought the sea to his right. Somewhere out there would be a ship, hove to, its crew perplexed. They would wonder, why had the signal light been interrupted? Was it safe to go ashore?

The house rented by Anton Riker was tiny, hardly more than a one-room cottage. There was no sign of the pony and trap in front of its only door. True to his word, Riker had gone to Abbotsbury, a few miles farther along the coast. Darwin could guess what that business was. Riker would soon be as confused as the ship’s crew.

The cottage door was closed. It was hard to see anything through the single grimy window. A flickering light gleamed from within.

Darwin took a deep breath, swung the door open, and passed through in a single movement.

The low-ceilinged room was lit by two tallow candles in stone bowls, one at each end of a table of knotty elm. The Riker calculating engine was on the floor over by the wall, looking exactly as it had in the Newlands’ dining room. A bed stood to the right on one side of the fireplace, and on the other side was a child’s cot.

Food was set out on the table: a leg of cold mutton, a great dish of pickled onions, dark bread and a steaming cauliflower. A quart pewter mug stood by the single plate. Next to that plate sat a man. He had a knife in his hand, and was about to slice mutton from the joint.

The man’s legs dangled from the tall chair, and the crown of his head was no more than twelve inches above the table top.

Darwin nodded to him casually, as though meeting a dwarf late at night was the most normal and pleasant thing in the world.

“Good evening. I was hoping to converse with Professor Riker.”

To anyone less observant, the other’s brief hesitation would have passed unnoticed. “The professor is away on business,” he said. And, when Darwin did not respond, “I am—his manservant. My name is Elie Marйe.”

The dwarf spoke good English, though with a definite Normandy accent. He slid down from the chair, moved away from the table, and bowed to Darwin. Standing, he was at most three and a half feet tall. His arms and legs were short and stubby, but the large head was well formed. Alert brown eyes swept Darwin from head to foot.

Darwin smiled his toothless smile. “I wonder if I might wait here for the professor’s return.”

Again, the pause for thought was scarcely discernible, but Darwin had a sense of rapid evaluation and of a definite choice made.

“Certainly.” Marйe waved to a seat at the other side of the table. “I am about to dine. If you would care to join me…”

“Perhaps a bite or two.” Darwin sat down, picked up a pickled onion, and crunched it with pleasure. He wiped vinegar from his lips with his sleeve. The other man put out two plates, carefully carved mutton, and waited.

“I saw the calculating engine demonstrated earlier this evening.” Darwin nodded to the machine. “It is a wonderful invention.”

“Professor Riker is a man of outstanding talent.”

“I would go beyond that.” Darwin stood up from his chair and walked across to the engine. “This machine displays genius. One might even say it contains genius. Do you know the names of Jedediah Buxton, or George Lambert Walker?”

“They are new to me.”

“They should not be. You have much in common with them. But one thing about this engine puzzles me more than any other.”

“Indeed?” Marйe’s tone was completely neutral, but he had stopped carving. “I am afraid that an explanation must await Professor Riker’s return.”

“I am not sure of that. You see, Monsieur Marйe, my question has nothing to do with the interior workings of the engine. It is something far more mundane.”

The other remained silent.

“It is simply this,” Darwin continued. “When the engine was brought to Newlands, it needed two servants to carry it to and from the carriage. But when Professor Riker left the Solborne house to bring the machine here, he was alone. The professor is not a man of powerful build. I wondered how it was possible for him, single-handed, to unload an engine heavy enough to need the efforts of two strong young men.”

“I helped him.” Marйe was totally still.

“I feel sure that you did. In more ways than one.” Darwin took hold of one corner of the calculating engine and lifted. It raised easily from the floor. “You helped to carry it, but more than that: you diminished its weight, from a hundredweight and more to less than half of that. By the amount, in fact, of your own weight.”

Again, Marйe’s eyes showed that rapid evaluation and decision was going on behind them. The final shrug of his shoulders suggested that he did not care any more. He raised the carving knife, but only to spear slices of mutton and drop them onto the two plates.

“How much do you know—Dr. Darwin? I think you will agree that it gives away nothing to admit that I realize who you are.”

“Nothing at all. One might say, in some sense, we were introduced to each other earlier this evening. Would you do me the honor of showing me the inner working of your invention?—I assume that it is all yours.”

“Totally. Design and fabrication. Anton Riker is a brave man, and a good actor, but nothing more.” Elie Marйe hopped off his chair and went to crouch by the calculating engine. He pressed a concealed stud in the base, and the lower section slid open across its whole length like a drawer. “As you see. The levers here, that can be read off below as they are moved above. The type here, to print answers.”

“Just so. But the provision of those arithmetical answers, Monsieur?”

Marйe did not speak, but tapped his forehead.

Darwin nodded. “As I thought. I did not mention Jedediah Buxton and George Walker for no reason. They, like you, are phenomenal calculators, capable of feats of mentation far beyond most men. Unlike you, they lack the power of original engineering design.” He leaned forward, examining the cavity at the base of the engine. “It is padded, but most cramped. Long hours inside must be uncomfortable.”

“Believe me, Dr. Darwin, I am used to discomfort. The life of a dwarf is not all pleasure.” For the first time, Marйe’s voice betrayed emotion. He gestured to the engine. “Do you wish to see how I lie inside? It is a tight fit—even for a little man.”

“That is not necessary. Come, eat your dinner. You have more than deserved it.”

“I am not sure that I have appetite.” But Marйe closed the drawer and returned to the table. “What now, Dr. Darwin? You know my secret. You can easily expose me, and destroy my livelihood. You will surely not permit our other activities in England to continue. Whatever happens, I have no future.”

Rather than answering at once, Darwin reached for a slice of mutton and began to chew on it moodily.

“There are other mysteries,” he said at last. “It is not my purpose to cause you pain, but I do not understand why you follow such a life. You have great gifts, that is obvious. You have used them, too, but for deception. And you are here, in a foreign land, living with discomfort and uncertainty and danger—for you must know the consequences if your role in assisting a revolt in France were to be discovered. Why not use your powers openly, to do what you do so well?”

Despite his stated lack of interest in food, Elie Marйe had begun to eat. He was picking at the cauliflower, breaking off pieces with his fingers. “What would be easy for another is not easy for me. May I tell a story, Dr. Darwin?”

“Whatever you wish, sir.”

“I am twenty-seven years old. The life span of one such as I is not long—perhaps forty years. I do not complain of that. Christ and Alexander had fewer years to accomplish their work. But with the knowledge of short life, I am perhaps too impatient. I have always had a talent for engineering invention. Two years ago I had what seemed like a most valuable idea. As you know, water power increasingly runs our spinning wheels and looms. But there is a problem in controlling the machinery to operate at a constant speed when the water flow varies.

“I have solved that problem. I place spring-loaded weights on the perimeter of the driven wheel. They move outward under centrifugal force as the spin increases, return inward as it decreases. Their changing position adjusts the water flow, according as the weights are farther from or nearer to the center. In this way, we can precisely govern and make constant the speed of the wheel, without human intervention. Do you follow?”

“I do, completely. It is most ingenious, and must be of vast value.”

“I thought so. In fact, I was so convinced of its worth that I sought an audience with his Majesty, King Louis. I was quite prepared to offer my invention, without personal reward, for the good of France. But I made a fatal mistake. I was sure that King and Court would immediately grasp the significance of what I had done—as you did. The king, after all, has a reputation as a skilled locksmith. I did not think that a large working model would be necessary. Now I realize that I ought to have controlled some giant wheel on the Seine or the Loire River, to demonstrate an impressive mastery over Nature.

“But I did not. Instead, I brought to the Palace of Versailles a small scale model, without the means to drive it. I cannot describe my excitement as I waited in the antechamber for my audience. I had rehearsed a thousand times what I would say to the king.

“It was all in vain. I was lost as soon as I entered the door of the royal chamber, my model in my arms. A score of people were with the king, men and women both. I heard them titter and giggle and remark to each other as I came forward.” Marйe’s voice became bitter. “To them I was not an inventor, Dr. Darwin, seeking to serve France. I was not even a man. I was a freak, a walking joke, a parody of humanity carrying in his arms a child’s toy.

“I began my explanation, stammering and lame-tongued. The king was not listening, he was too distracted by his jesting courtiers. One of the gowned women said, with no attempt to keep the words from my ears, ‘How does he propose to drive the little wheel? Piss on it, with his teeny-weeny little thing?’

“I stopped. The king waved a hand. I was ushered out. It was over, the end of my great audience.”

Darwin nodded slowly. “Monsieur Marйe, I understand the magnitude of your tragedy too well to offer sympathy. So let me instead ask two questions. First, would your ‘speed governor’ work as well to regulate the flow of steam?”

Marйe frowned at the sudden change of subject. “I do not see why not. But I know little about steam power, although here in England it is much talked about.”

“It will define the future. My second question: what will you do now?”

“I told you. Nothing. Unlike steam, I have no future.”

“That is not an acceptable answer. I can see why you hate bitterly the court of France. I would feel the same. But vengeance can never make a full life. I have a different suggestion, if you will hear me out.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No. I speak now both as physician and engineer. For your physical condition, I regret to say that I can do nothing. It is congenital. For the rest—” Darwin rummaged in the pocket of his greatcoat, and came up with Jacob Pole’s letter. “Do you have pen and ink?”

“I will get it.”

Darwin smoothed a page and turned to its blank back side. “This part of the country may not be safe for you. You must travel to Birmingham, well north of here. When can you leave?”

“Nothing holds me here. If necessary I can leave at once.”

“Good. I am going to give you an introduction to a Mr. James Watt.” Darwin took the goose quill, dipped it, and began to write. “He will, at my request, employ you in the Soho works. I propose to point out that your possible contributions are many in number, and he should attend most carefully to your ideas on speed governors and anything else.”

“Attend—as the court of France attended? Dr. Darwin, I may be in England, but my height is no greater than in Paris. I will be taken no more seriously.”

“Not so. You do not know good Jimmy Watt.” Darwin was scribbling furiously. “Talk to him of engineering, you could be stark naked and painted indigo and he would not notice. He has said to me, many a time, a man is not measured by wealth or stature or family name, but by the ideas that lie inside his head. You and he will get along famously—take my word on it. He will teach you steam.”

He sanded the ink, blew on it, and stood up.

“Come to Newlands, early tomorrow morning. You will travel with Colonel Pole. You heard him, no doubt, tonight, but he did not see you and you observed only one aspect of him. You will discover the rest in transit. Let me only say that you may trust him with your life, and you should allow him to handle any emergency. As for me, I must divert to London for three days. When I return to Birmingham I look forward to hearing of your progress there.”

He took one last look at the calculating engine, then went across to where Elie Marйe was standing staring at the letter of introduction. He leaned down and held out his hand. “I say this, sir, in all sincerity. It has been an honor and a privilege to make your acquaintance.”

The other man stretched up to his full height as they shook hands. “And to make yours, Dr. Darwin.” Elie Marйe’s eyes were level with Darwin’s ample midriff. He raised them to the other man’s face, and added in a voice of new confidence and optimism, “It is as you say, sir, a man must not be judged by his stature—or his girth.”

A freezing wind blew in Darwin’s face as he walked the edge of the cliff, but he chuckled at Marйe’s remark. A joke was the best barometer of mental weather. Forget Elie Marйe’s size. The man was tough. He would survive, and for him the best years were yet to be. James Watt would welcome him like a brother, and between them they would light a torch to set the world ablaze.

And when that happened—Darwin’s thoughts grew more somber—Elie Marйe would have his revenge. The force of science was stirring in the world, and the old order of courts and emperors could not stand against it. This cold wind of midnight, blowing south into Europe, was for the old regimes. With America gone, who could say where lightning might strike next? The crowned heads of Europe had reason to rest uneasy on their robed shoulders.

Darwin opened the front door of Newlands quietly and went light-footed upstairs. He hesitated on the landing. Should he wake Jacob Pole, and tell him what had happened?

No. He proceeded to his own bedroom. Tonight his thoughts were too dark for any company but his own. Tomorrow would be soon enough for his old friend to make the acquaintance of a great man.