by Sally Orr
A broad grin crossed his father’s face. “Very well. Looks like the next we meet will be at your presentation. So, we both wish you well now. Come, let’s continue on to the park. The boy has plenty to do.”
“Oh, yes,” the general said, tapping his cane on the pavement. “Farewell, Parhelion Parker. Best of luck.” The two men walked past him down the flagstone pathway.
Lightning hit him. Boyce knew that was the only reason every nerve tingled, and he appeared to be glued to the spot. He wished Eve had heard the “well done” compliment. There was no cut. His father hadn’t slapped his friend on the back in silent agreement when the general had called him “Piglet.”
Boyce longed to give his speech now, since he couldn’t wait to regain his father’s goodwill and forever impress the world. But then he remembered his father’s admonition at the recital. Worried about the family’s reputation, he had forbidden Boyce to speak until he acquired more practice. Even now, he had stressed the word practice. Simple enough to do; Boyce would return to his room and practice.
Boyce strolled on, a new skip to his gait. He hoped Eve had seen the announcement in the newspaper. Perhaps she would be in the audience. Besides his father, he couldn’t think of a single person he wanted to witness his victory more. When he returned home, he vowed to send her an invitation.
At his first practice session that afternoon, he stood before his mirror and collected his thoughts. When he revised his speech, he must be ruthless and use only logic. Write all the details down on paper and then practice his speech over and over and over. He would stop only when he could recite it in his sleep.
His first matter of business was to eliminate his previous observations that were subjective in nature. In other words, communicate the sun dog discovery as if Eve were giving the presentation. Hmm, he would have to mention her at some point, since she was a beautiful aeronaut. He wondered what nonsubjective word he should use. Scientifically, should he refer to her as “the female” or “the woman”? Those terms sounded heartless, but he soon recalled his purpose. His heart was not needed now.
Right, ruthless it is.
The memory of his failure at the recital returned, so “inky” vault and “fleecy” clouds were out. Instead, he’d replace those inappropriate words with the ones Eve used. The heavens… No, he must use the scientific term sky. The sky would only be referred to as “blue” or “black,” and he’d call the stars “white.” For the real sun, he’d dangerously wax lyrical and call it “bright.” Nothing like an inside jest to spur a fellow on to his best and provide a bit of excitement. He then practiced every day, all day.
When the morning of his speech arrived, Boyce checked his coat and cravat in the vestibule’s looking glass. Pleased with his appearance, he contemplated a stiff bumper of brandy before he strolled over to the Royal Institute. Overwhelming memories of his first attempt at this speech kept him from finishing the entire bottle. With the first taste of the fiery brew, the thought of failure assailed him, so he put down his glass. He needed to be perfect today; he must be perfect today. He headed outside and turned south.
Once in front of the tall pillars of the Royal Institute, he took a deep breath and entered. A footman directed him to the offices of Mr. Harrison and several other members of the institution, for a preliminary interview and tour of the impressive facilities. After an hour or two of pleasant conversation, the members led him to the lecture room to ready himself for his speech. A wooden semicircle table marked the spot where he would stand, and he quickly visualized himself wearing victory’s laurel crown. Surrounding the table were over a hundred tiered wooden seats. The commoners sat in the gallery, and the aristocrats in front. A small stove behind him kept the room warm and cozy.
As two o’clock approached, a crush of men and women milled about in conversation. In the front row, he observed the Royal Institute’s secretary and several men of science he easily recognized. He greeted the officials he had not met before and then moved to welcome his father. “Good afternoon, sir.”
The marquess smiled broadly, seemingly unable to respond.
Boyce was at a loss for words too.
The two of them stood in reverent silence, focused solely on each other, surrounded by a racket caused by eager subscribers greeting each other. His father reached out—and for the first time, shook Boyce’s hand. “Son, with your speech today, you honor the name Parker.”
His spirits soared; he longed to sing. Unable to utter a suitable reply, because he’d embarrass himself, Boyce nodded. But his heart sang and laughed and sang and laughed again. The oldest Parker and the youngest Parker stood there like tongue-tied idiots, so he excused himself and took his place at the lecture table. He pulled his well-practiced notes from his pocket and reviewed them. At two o’clock sharp, the lights were raised and everyone took a seat.
Mr. Harrison spoke first. He presented the general announcements, including several new books added to the institute’s library and the names of twenty new subscribers.
During this prelude, Boyce examined the audience. Two-thirds were gentlemen, about a dozen of his acquaintance. The other third were ladies, many of whom he knew. He saw Mr. and Mrs. Buxton, several of his brothers and sisters-in-law, and two friends from Oxford. Drexel arrived late and climbed up the stairs to his seat during Mr. Harrison’s introduction.
The secretary came to an end of the list of business, leaving Boyce to eagerly anticipate his introduction.
Then he saw Eve.
She sat with her father and Mr. Henry in the second row at the far end, the most beautiful woman in the entire room.
His heartbeat escalated from fast to pell-mell full gallop.
Their gazes met.
The pained, wistful expression in her eyes robbed him of breath. Speaking before a learned institution was her dream. He stood in front of her, his very presence mocking her life’s ambition.
His thoughts raced. Glancing toward his father, who wore a smirk of extreme gratification, he became confused. His heart stopped; his throat closed. But unlike the butterfly, he could change the outcome. He could give her life, the chance to fly.
Mr. Harrison introduced him.
When the secretary finished, Boyce assumed his position at the center of the table. He took a deep breath; his mind cleared. “Thank you, Mr. Harrison, members of the institute, and assembled guests.” He paused to focus on Eve again. “I would like to thank the members of the institute who reviewed our paper and presented me with the honor and the privilege to speak before you.” His voice cracked on the last word; he needed to get this over with. “We have a bit of luck today. My fellow aeronaut in our balloon journey is here in the audience. This dedicated aeronaut has vast expertise in the discovery and description of atmospheric science.”
One glance at the startled expression on his father’s face, and Boyce almost collapsed. He swallowed and clenched his fists. I must do this. “Please allow me the privilege of introducing this seasoned aeronaut, so she can enlighten us all.” He strode to Eve in the second row, then held out his hand. “Please, you must speak.”
Her eyes widened; she failed to move.
Her father spoke close to her ear. “You wouldn’t dare. You’ll embarrass us all.”
Boyce nodded and smiled at her. “You know this by heart. You can do this. Come with me.”
In a perfunctory manner, she took his hand and followed him to the lecture table.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “please welcome and allow me the honor to present the aeronaut E. Mountfloy. We are fortunate that she is in the audience today, since she is the first person to discover the sun dogs. Since we are all citizens of science, we value logic and experience, so she should present the data.” He stepped behind her, slightly to the side. “I’ll stand right here in case you need my assistance,” he whispered.
She turned to look at him, her eyes wide.
With his brightest smile to give her courage, he nodded. “Time for you to sing.”
Nineteen
Eve focused on Parker’s warm hand, a tangible anchor of support. To her amazement, her legs functioned, and she found herself standing. He gently led her all the way to the speakers’ platform, probably unaware his warm hand fed her ravenous courage. She grabbed the edge of the speaker’s table’s and surveyed the crowd before her. Her racing brain remembered him say the words, “You can do this.”
She could do this; that was a fact. She had helped Parker practice, and she knew all the details by heart. Now he gifted her with the delivery of her dream, the chance to prove herself and contribute to knowledge—in hopes that, one day, it would benefit others. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, I—”
“Your lordship,” Mr. Harrison stood and addressed Parker. “Ladies have never spoken before an audience. This is highly unusual.”
Two older gentlemen stood and spoke in agreement that no women should be allowed to address the audience. After all, they did not pay their subscription monies to listen to female twaddle.
After these pronouncements, everyone in the audience voiced their opinion to the person next to them or shouted directly at her. In the confusion, everyone seemed to speak at the same time.
Eve heard mixed opinions. Some accused her of scandalous behavior and demanded she instantly step down. Several others, including many women, voiced their support, although not quite as loudly as the objectors. A few even endorsed any decision made by Lord Boyce, because he must have a good reason to bring her forward.
Amongst all this confusion, Eve didn’t know what to say or do. She stood frozen, her palms annoyingly damp, watching the secretary for instructions to step away and take her seat.
The marquess stood and moved to address Parker, but she did not hear what he had to say.
She did notice Parker’s frozen expression, but then she heard her father in the second row. “We must show charity and forgive females from their natural arrogance gained by the acquisition of knowledge.”
Maybe with all of the noise she heard her father’s comment wrong, because it made no sense.
Parker stepped near her, then the crowd became eerily silent.
She spun to face the crowd, many of whom were now sitting. Standing in the center, directly in front of the audience, was a lecturer at the Royal Institute Eve recognized as Mr. Michael Faraday.
“The Royal Institute,” Mr. Faraday said, with the practiced ease of a popular lecturer, “is unique among learned institutions because we believe every person, regardless of gender or class, can employ the gifts of intellect for the betterment of mankind. I am thankful that you have graced me—an ironsmith’s son—with the opportunity to put before you the marvels to be found in chemical research. I might point out that ladies are not excluded in our charter. Indeed, hundreds of ladies make up our institute’s subscribers, and we are grateful for your patronage.” He gracefully bowed to the audience. “Females have also stood here before, answering our questions about certain medical symptoms. Females can also contribute in other ways, of course. The author Mrs. Marcet has provided many of us, myself included, the desire to make the study of chemistry our lifelong aspiration. I’ve spoken to Lord Boyce Parker, and I believe his lordship must have good reasons for his action. May I suggest a compromise? Miss Mountfloy will report her observations, followed by his lordship’s additional observations. I sincerely hope all of you are as excited as I am and eagerly join me in anticipating the chance to learn new information about the wonders of our natural world.” Mr. Faraday bowed and returned to his seat.
Most of the crowd applauded Mr. Faraday’s words, and everyone took their seat.
She knew Parker resumed his position behind her and to the side, because he was the last person to stop clapping.
A feeling of immense strength welled up inside her. She thanked Mr. Faraday, the members of the audience, and began her speech. After Lady Buxton’s response to Parker’s recital, Eve understood the benefits of presenting the significant data interlarded with a few amusing details. She began with a question to hook her audience’s minds into immediate focus. “When and where, and under what circumstances, do we witness the possible variations in the sky above us?”
She began to describe the majesty of the heavens, intertwined with information about the parhelia. As she spoke, she felt her feet firmly on the ground, her intellect the sharpest it had ever been, and her spirit soar above the crowd. “The parhelia, or two mock suns, were observed at half past seven in the evening, set in the middle of an immense halo. The halo’s two giant arcs of light spread vertical in relation to the real sun. The arcs were measured with a sextant and discovered to be just shy of twenty-four degrees. The halo arcs were red on the side closest to the real sun and blue-green on the farthest side. In the center of each arc shone a mock sun. The two mock suns appeared within cirrostratus clouds, ninety degrees from the biggest sun. They were almost round, and bright orange in color. The altitude of the real sun was twenty-two degrees. During the appearance of the parhelia, the barometer read thirty inches, the thermometer declined from sixty-two degrees to fifty-six degrees, and De Luc’s whalebone hygrometer rose from sixty degrees to sixty-five degrees. The current hypothesis is that the causes of the parhelia are similar to those of a rainbow, refraction, and consequent reflection of the sun’s rays.” She turned and smiled at Parker. “The parhelia lasted forty minutes before fading away into an extremely delightful evening.”
At the end of her speech, several lecturers put forth detailed questions, which she was able to answer with ease. She also provided observations made by others to support her interpretation of the findings. “Only two suns were observed—not four, as previously seen by Hevelius at Dantzic in February 1661. Are there any additional questions?”
Some of the audience glanced at each other; no further questions were tendered.
“Please allow me to thank the Royal Institute for allowing me to speak, and to all of you for your generosity and attention. Thank you.”
The room erupted in applause—perhaps more vigorous from the general public up in the balcony than the aristocrats sitting in the front rows. But most important to her, many scientific members of the Royal Institute seemed pleased and enthusiastically clapped.
Then several gentlemen and ladies stepped forward to surround her at the table. Some had additional questions, while all offered their congratulations. It was the greatest moment of her life. She was treated like a colleague and spent the next few minutes in blissful discussion of atmospheric science. But her greatest triumph was recognition that she had been given the chance to contribute to mankind.
As the people milling on the floor started to thin, she noticed Parker standing off to the side. How could she ever thank him? Then she saw the marquess move to speak to his son. Parker’s face became ashen, and he left the room before the marquess could reach him.
She started after him and stopped at the door, not knowing what to say if she caught him.
When she returned to the table, Charles Henry stood front and center. He seemed to be answering all of the questions, even the ones addressed to her father. As she approached, Charles Henry said, “You’ve had your say. Let the experts handle the questions from here. His lordship was wrong to let you speak, but we won’t say any more about that.”
Unwilling to create a scene, Eve did not press the matter and stood beside her father. She saw Lydia approach, stepping through a slight gap between the scientific gentlemen. Wearing a gold overcoat trimmed with fox fur, a turban ornamented with white ostrich feathers, and a white opera muff, she reminded Eve not of a confection, but of a pampered pet. “Lydia, I’m so pleased to see you and Mr. Buxton here this afternoon. Thank you for coming.”
“Oh, I could not possibly stay away. Someone I know, giving a speech, and then it turned
out to be the first speech by a female too. I’m pleased I told dear Buxton we had to attend.” Lydia grabbed Eve’s hand. “I must say how much I admire you so, dear Eve. The presence of mind you showed stepping forward like that. I’m afraid my delicate nature would never allow me do something so courageous.”
Eve squeezed Lydia’s hand and smiled. “I know you well enough to say that, under any circumstances, your courage would never fail. Regardless of what you believe, I know you will always arise victorious.”
Lydia slapped her fan open to hide a giggle. “That is so very kind of you, very forgiving. Let me apologize now for my—let’s be generous and say—poor behavior at the priory. Fearing the loss of the affection of my dear Buxton and desperate for good company, I behaved rather badly. I am grateful you can overlook my ill nature at the time.”
“Dear Lydia, what I remember most about you is your kindness.”
She tilted her head and appeared weepy. “Ah, thank you.”
Mr. Buxton joined his wife in front of the table and gave her a brief, one-armed hug. Whatever difficulties the couple experienced were behind them now. They resembled the perfect picture of connubial felicity. His features softened whenever he glanced in Lydia’s direction. “Congratulations are in order, Miss Mountfloy. I am very impressed. However, I am concerned about some of the older members of the audience. They might not be as accepting of a female giving a speech. If you experience any difficulties in this direction, don’t hesitate to inform me. I have some influence with the newspapers, you understand.”
Eve reached out and grabbed a hand of each Buxton. “Thank you again, both of you. I think you are wrong, however. One or two gentlemen seemed miffed, but I doubt they will remain that way long enough to create a scene.”
“Let’s hope so.” He took his wife’s arm. “And, remember, you have a standing invitation to return to the priory soon. Lady Buxton’s health kept her from traveling up to London at this time of year, but I know she will want to hear all about your victorious speech from your own lips.”
