Then, as suddenly as it had started, the lightning abated and the room was illuminated once more. Standing beside the two tall machines was a man of medium height, wearing a top hat and tails with an elegance that shouted his Frenchness. He gave us a little bow and doffed his hat.
‘I do ’ope dis was not too frightening for the ladies,’ he said with a charming smile. ‘You must forgive me my theatricality.’ His English was slightly accented, but fortunately it was English. ‘I meant only to demonstrate zat electricity is both wondrous and powerful. I assure you none of you were in any danger, but only because I had taken the greatest precautions. Although it does seem to have ’ad an effect on some of you.’ He walked to the first row and a man in a white coat stood up. His shock of blond hair was standing entirely on end.
‘My assistant, Pierre,’ said Monsieur Toussaint. ‘Who kindly volunteered to demonstrate something we are calling the static effect.’ He gave a little smile. ‘I assure his hair does not normally look like this.’ There was a ripple of nervous laughter. ‘And it will soon return to normal,’ continued the scientist. ‘There is much I would share with you tonight, ladies and gentlemen. I believe that the discovery of electricity and the work of Mr Tesla has opened up a new world of possibilities to us.’ As he became more confident, Monsieur Toussaint’s accent grew less and less pronounced, until he was left with only that pleasant, slight difference in speech that tells one he is not a native speaker. It was rather attractive.
‘What are you smiling at?’ asked Rory suddenly.
‘Nothing,’ I said and schooled my expression to one of what I thought seemed like one of studiousness.
‘Should have gone before we came in,’ slurred Bertram in my ear.
I gave him a startled look. ‘Which one of us are you talking about?’ I whispered.
Bertram nodded at me. ‘Your face.’
There was nothing a lady could say in reply, but I hissed, ‘You mistake me.’[14]
Pierre stood up and began to wheel the machines back out of the room. Although the tiered seating surrounded the demonstration area in a circular form, a gap had been left at one point for an exit that tunnelled through the seating to a large door. We had all entered by smaller doors at the top of the auditorium, so the exit of the machine was somewhat mysterious.
‘Some of you may be relieved to know you will not be seeing those again,’ continued Monsieur Toussaint. ‘Now, I am not a believer, as Mr Tesla is, that electricity is something we should use for changing our brains or our bodies. I believe we already have a satisfactory and God-given electrical system that runs naturally through us and that it would be foolish to disturb this without a greater understanding of the effect that can be caused. Instead I wish to concentrate tonight on how the power of electricity will change our lives by providing power to machines and constructions that as yet we have not even dreamt.’
‘You have already observed that electricity can travel between two globes in an arc-like manner. What you do not realise is that should another metal sphere be placed nearby the sparks can also jump towards that. Metal, iron especially, draws electricity towards it. Now, we have many wondrous bridges and automobiles, so it must seem at first sight that electricity would pose a greater danger to the world rather than a benefit.
‘You will all have seen the electrical lamps hung in the gardens, whereby the electricity is fully contained within the glass constructions within them. These we are calling bulbs, as they resemble the bulbs one plants to obtain flowers from Mother Nature. Very fitting, I am sure you will agree, for the current environment.
‘To me this begged the question how might we contain a larger charge of electricity, one that could be released at need. This has been my field of research. I acknowledge openly for the more studious among you that I have based my work upon Tesla’s polyphase system. For the less studious, I shall clearly demonstrate my meaning. Pierre, if you could bring the second apparatus here now, s’il tu plait.’
Again we heard trundling noises long before we saw anything despite the lights being fully on. Peering down I saw the white coated Pierre pushing forward a large wheeled table on which appeared to be a collection of interconnected transparent pipes. At the back of the table, a long wire was looped over and over and fixed to the side.
‘Now, where does electricity come from?’ continued Monsieur Toussaint. ‘This is what I am most often asked. We are all familiar with the lightning of a thunderstorm. With its ability to strike the ground and leave charred marks or even to set old trees...’ He broke off as the table Pierre was pushing wobbled wildly. ‘Faites attentions!’ cried Monsieur Toussaint. ‘Il tomble!’ He ran forward and between them they steadied the table.
‘Dramatic effect,’ whispered Rory in my ear.
‘Messieurs, mesdames, my apologies,’ said Monsieur Toussaint, striding back into the centre of the demonstration area and throwing his arms wide. He really was rather a dynamic man!
‘You’re smiling again,’ said Rory suspiciously.
‘Sssh,’ I said. ‘I am trying to listen.’
‘Now, as I was saying, I am frequently asked, where does electricity originate from? If it is only from the skies how on earth are we to harness enough to achieve anything? And of course, it is not so. Although there are many more lightning strikes across our world that we ever truly appreciate the power of electricity can be culled from many areas. Why even people carry it within them – although naturally no one would try to extract that.’ He laughed and gave us a wide smile. ‘The truth is that electricity is all around us all the time. It is not some hazardous creation dreamed up by man, but a force at the very heart of nature. It is as natural to this world as air. Why else would the air carry it through storms? It is created above us by the elements crashing together. Clouds, wind, and water battle in the atmosphere and electricity is unleashed. But it is also possible to harness electricity through machinery. I won’t bore you with the technical details of the single current and the changing current argument – though I, like most sensible men, have chosen the latter as the safer option.’
I saw Bertram nodding wisely beside me in the manner he has when he does not understand something. Rory on the other hand muttered, ‘Well, I suppose at least that makes sense.’
‘Electricity is generated for the World Fair by such machinery. The electricity is carried along cables beneath the ground and to the relevant points where it is required. Should we require electrical lighting in all our cities and towns – even our villages – then laying such cables will be a massive and in all likelihood prohibitive expense. So what I have to show you tonight is the beginning of a concept that may change all that. A new way of transferring energy without any cables, a controlled way of passing electricity harmlessly through the air!’ He paused here to gather gasps. The audience responded accordingly and some even clapped. Though to be honest I doubt more than one person in twenty truly understood what he was proposing. Personally I was imagining strikes of lightning flashing past me as I walked along a street lighting one lamp after another, and the image was not one I found appealing. How would the electricity know where it was meant to go, rather than into me, for example?
‘Now some of you will be wondering how the electricity will know where to go,’ continued Monsieur Toussaint, unconsciously echoing my thoughts.[15] ‘It is not unlike the new telephonic apparatus nor Mr Tesla’s new work on wireless communication. It is simply using electricity instead.
‘Now for your reassurance, I will be conducting my demonstration under glass. In this way you may observe without fear of any contamination. After all, we do not want any of your going away more intelligent than when you arrived!’
At this there were several loud laughs in the audience from people who obviously ‘understood.’ Even Rory sniggered quietly.
While he had been talking, Pierre had been buzzing around. I had hardly noticed, but now Monsieur approached the glass piping it was displayed from a different angle. At one en
d was a square glass box. This was attached to a mixture of pipes that curled back and forth and ended in another square box.
‘Watch,’ said Monsieur Toussaint. ‘If you will be so kind, Pierre?’ And then before our eyes a glowing ball of light appeared in one of the glass boxes. It hovered there. It was mesmerising – and extremely pretty.
‘Now, hopefully, I have not drained enough energy from the Fair’s outside lights that everyone else is plunged into darkness.’ He cocked his head on one side as he pretended to listen. ‘Non, I cannot hear any cries of alarm. It is all good.’ He went and stood by the glass box with the light within it. ‘Amazing although this may seem, it is a very basic function of our understanding of electricity today. What I intend to do is send this energy along this glass tube, invisibly, until it appears fully formed in the other glass box. This ability to send electricity through the air will change everything. I must also assure it is not travelling through the glass. The charge will move from the charging plate in box one to the charging plate in box two even if the pipes were not there. I repeat, they are simply there for your reassurance. So let us begin. Pierre!’
Again his assistant did something unseen. The light in box one winked out and moments later it appeared in box two. Applause rang through the auditorium. A man’s voice shouted out, ‘It is a trick!’
Monsieur Toussaint did not turn a hair. ‘I assure you it is not, Monsieur. In a moment I will answer all your questions and gentlemen will be invited down in small groups to examine the equipment.’
‘What about the ladies?’ I said under my breath, but Rory and Bertram ignored me. They had both withdrawn their hands from mine and were clearly getting set to get down to the front as soon as the opportunity was presented.
‘But first, I will ask Pierre to extinguish this light for now or we really will risk leaving everyone else in the dark. Pierre, if you will?’
It was at this point we all heard a loud bang. I saw the bemusement on Monsieur Toussaint’s face for a moment, before we were plunged into darkness. Then came another loud noise and the smell of burning.
Someone screamed.
Chapter Eleven
Nightmares real and unreal
‘Please stay calm, messieurs, mesdames!’ Shouted a voice we had not heard before. ‘I will restore the lighting as soon as I can.’
‘Must be Pierre,’ said Rory.
‘Not sure about that,’ said Bertram. ‘I can smell burning. I’m jolly well not going to sit here and be burnt alive.’
‘We would see flames if anything was on fire,’ I said.
‘But would we?’ said Bertram. ‘What if it is invisible fire? You saw what happened with that light ball – one moment it was one place and the next it was another!’
‘If we see any light balls then we shall move,’ I said firmly. ‘We are in the middle tier of the middle of the amphitheatre. We should avoid moving unless we absolutely must. If people start panicking we will be trampled underfoot.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ said Rory. ‘I’m big enough to trample a fair few Sassenachs!’
‘Good man,’ said Bertram. ‘You lead the way.’
‘Och, I was joking, man. Euphemia is right, we should wait a while and see if they can get the lights back.’
As Bertram was the nearest to the middle of the tier he had no choice but to agree. I could almost feel the disapproval fizzing off him. Then I felt him shift in his seat. ‘I say,’ he said,’ does anyone else smell bacon?’
‘Whsst!’ hissed Rory urgently in an undertone. I began to feel rather faint. Without thinking, I leaned against Bertram.
‘Euphemia, straighten up,’ he said. ‘There’s not enough room in these seats as it is!’
‘I am sorry,’ I said, ‘I am feeling a little...’ The world faded quietly away, but not before I heard Rory say, ‘She’s fainting, man,’ and I felt his strong arms about me.
I came to propped up between Rory and Bertram on the Pavilion steps.
‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’ I said. ‘That smell.’
Bertram looked a little green around the gills, but didn’t say anything. Rory simply nodded.
‘Just him? Monsieur Toussaint?’
‘Isn’t that enough?’ snapped Bertram.
‘I mean,’ I said as I straightened my spine, ‘that it was a localised accident?’
Around us milled the crowd who had been within the auditorium. ‘He was the only one killed,’ answered Rory. ‘A lot of women and a few men fainted and some people did try to get out in the dark, so there’s quite a few bangs and scraps and knocks, but nothing else serious. The local gendarmes have been summoned and there’s been some Fair officials around asking questions, but it looks like the man made a mistake.’
‘They grilled that Pierre bloke thoroughly,’ said Bertram, unconsciously using a very poor choice of verb. ‘I managed to get near and overhear. I talked loudly in English to someone so they assumed I couldn’t understand. Essentially they wanted to know if the equipment was faulty and how soon it could be removed from the Pavilion.’
My head was spinning and I did not feel like standing up. ‘What did Pierre say?’ I asked, hoping it would prolong the conversation.
‘Oh, he was insisting there was nothing wrong with anything. That there was no way it would have gone wrong. He said he had checked everything himself. Seemed jolly keen they didn’t put the blame on him.’
‘That’s no surprise,’ said Rory. ‘He would say that.’
‘Did they get anyone who knew about the machinery to look at it?’ I asked.
‘No idea,’ said Bertram. ‘Didn’t want to draw attention to us. We’ve been involved in one too many, er, situations.’
‘Are you suggesting this was not an accident?’ I asked.
‘Not everything the French mannie was saying made sense,’ said Rory.
‘What do you know about it?’ asked Bertram. ‘Man was the leader in his field.’
‘I can read,’ said Rory. ‘Herr Franz Schiffer is the leader in the field.’
‘Huh!’ said Bertram. ‘Man’s a fantasist.’
‘Do you think we could go back to the hotel?’ I asked. ‘I think I could walk to the entrance if we got a cab from there.’
‘Bertram’s given the gendarmes our address, so I don’t see why not,’ said Rory.
‘Yes,’ said Bertram. ‘We were only waiting for you to wake up.’
‘Sorry to inconvenience you,’ I said stiffly.
‘I think leaving is an excellent idea,’ said Rory. He rose than held out his hand and helped me rise. He offered me his arm, which I took. I didn’t mean this as a slight to Bertram, but with his tricky heart I did not want to put him to any effort and I still felt quite weak. I could lean heavily on Rory’s tall and strong frame. But Bertram, being Bertram, did take offence and would utter nothing more than monosyllables all the way back to the hotel. Once we arrived, and Rory headed to the servants’ quarters, Bertram sniped, ‘I thought you had got over that man!’ He then dived off to his room before I had a chance to respond, which I found especially unforgivable, as I was still feeling wobbly and the stairs were something of a challenge.
When I did reach the landing I thought of waking Eugenie. I felt sick and dizzy. Some company would be welcome, especially if it was of the sympathetic kind. I hesitated outside her door, but then I thought of how she had disapproved of the demonstration tonight and indeed had thought I too had retired to bed. The very last thing I felt like enduring was a scolding. Feeling rather sorry for myself I headed to my own room, where I undressed and lay looking up into the dark while I relived what had happened earlier.
My sleep that night was uneasy. This is perhaps not so great a surprise. I had not seen Monsieur Toussaint’s body, but as soon as Bertram had mentioned bacon I had realised what had happened. My father may have been a vicar, and like all properly brought up young ladies, I have been raised to understand that the spirit is more important than the flesh, but I have seen far
too many times in my short life that once the spirit has departed what is left is meat. After our unfortunate episode at the pig farm[16] I know that pigs are not unwilling to eat human flesh and I have become aware that the aroma of burning human remains can have an unfortunate similarity to...
I do not need to write this in ink on black and white for anyone to understand better. We are all-too-mortal flesh and that night I dreamed of men crying out in their thousands as they were cut down by flying flowers. I know how ridiculous that sounds.
At first I thought it was blood splattering through the air, but then I saw it was petals. Red petals, swirling in great loops, and each man they touched let out a great cry and died where he stood, sliding down into deep, thick, mud. I had dreamt once before of men dying by the score and in that previous dream, as in this one, Rory was one of the ones who fell. I awoke with tears on my cheeks and a pain in my throat.
I got up and stood by the window. I could see through the decoration of the wooden slats that outside it remained night. Eugenie’s room was next door to mine and I thought perhaps I would have cried out loudly enough in my sleep to have disturbed her. I listened but could hear no sound within or without except that of a cat or fox crying out in the dark.
I put on my robe and slipped out of my door. Once more I stood hesitantly outside Eugenie’s door. I told myself I wanted to reassure her I was not in distress, but the truth was the dream had been so vivid, so much more real even than my memories of the recent disastrous accident that there was a foolish part of me that wanted to be reassured I had come back to the proper world. If at that moment I had seen a vase of red-petalled flowers in the hallway I swear I would have screamed the place down. Fortunately, the owner of the hotel was not particularly keen on flowers or perhaps she merely resented wasting such an expense on her guests.
I knocked lightly on Eugenie’s door. There was no answer. I knocked more loudly and still nothing. I could feel my pulse in my throat. I had a wild impulse to open the door without invitation. Could it be that Eugenie was in danger? Hurt? That she had fallen and that somehow that noise had awoken me from my nightmare?
A Death Overseas Page 7
