Dark Matter

news that bore ill upon the Mint and the recoinage was to be suppressed.

Yet there was much curiosity—no, concern—as to the results of Doctor Newton’s investigations. And his easily ignited and touchy character being well known in Whitehall, it was given to my brother (who, as I have said, was under-secretary to William Lowndes, the Treasury’s Permanent Secretary) to make some enquiries of me as to what progress was being made with my master’s investigations. At least this was what he said in the beginning. It was only toward the end of our meeting that I learned the real purpose of his speaking to me.

We met at Charles’s office in Whitehall while Newton appeared before their Lordships in order to recommend a pardon for Thomas White, whose execution for coining had been deferred thirteen times on Newton’s motion in return for information.

Even then my brother and I did not enjoy cordial relations, although I was grateful to him for finding me employment. But I was damned if in return I was going to become his creature, and had made this plain almost as soon as I was appointed to the Mint. As a result Charles saw me as an embarrassment and a possible hindrance to any substantial preferment in the Treasury, and spoke to me as he might have spoken to his servant. Which was how he spoke to most people, now that I come to reflect upon it. He had grown rather fat and self-important, and reminded me very much of our father.

“How is your health?” he asked gruffly. “Doctor Newton told me you were ill. And that you were taken care of.”

“I am much recovered now,” said I.

“I would have come to see you, brother, but I was detained here.”

“I am well enough now, as you can see.”

“Good. So then pray tell me, what is happening in the Tower? By the by, is it one murder or two? Milord Lucas is adamant that there has been but one, and that it is nothing to do with the Ordnance.”

“There have been three murders,” I said, enjoying the look of consternation that creased my brother’s face.

“Three? God’s sores,” breathed Charles. “Well then, are we soon to be enlightened as to who has committed these crimes? Or must we await Doctor Newton’s pleasure in this matter? Perhaps he intends to keep these things to himself as he kept silent about his theory of light for so long. Or perhaps he no longer has the brain for it. It is given out at Cambridge that he only took the position because his mind was gone.”

“Does one need a brain to work at the Treasury?” I said provocatively. “I’m not sure. However there is nothing wrong with Newton’s mind. And I resent your implication that he is being deliberately secretive in this matter.”

“So what should I tell the Permanent Secretary?”

“I care not what you say to the Permanent Secretary.”

“Shall I tell him that?”

“It is you who would be judged by it, not me.”

“And yet you owe me this employment.”

“As you never cease to remind me.”

“But for me, Kit, you would have no prospects at all.”

“Did you do it for me, or did you do it for yourself?”

Charles sighed and looked out of the window, which was heavily rained upon, as if God did think to become a window cleaner.

“Am I my brother’s keeper?” he muttered.

“You have not yet given me liberty to answer your questions. I will tell you what you wish to know. But you must not speak ill of a man for whom I have the greatest respect. Just as I would not do anything but speak well to you of Mister Lowndes or Milord Montagu.”

“Halifax,” he said, reminding me of Montagu’s new peerage. “Milord Montagu is now the Earl of Halifax.”

“Be not so damned high,” I continued. “Or take such offence at me, brother. Offer me some wine and some courtesy and you shall find me a turd become honey.”

Charles fetched us both some wine and I did drink and then talk.

“In truth, brother, there are so many different possibilities that I can scarce devise which to tell you first. Well then, to speak in strict chronology, it may be some forgers who are behind these murders, for one of the dead men, Daniel Mercer, had been named by others now clapped up in Newgate for coining. There is a murderous gang who are possessed of an ingenious method of forging golden guineas, and it may be that this same Mercer was murdered in order to silence him as to his involvement. The agent we set to watch this Mercer, called Kennedy, was also murdered.

“And yet there are secret alchemical aspects to the appearanee of these murders that make Newton think there may be some hermetic part to their commission. This is most strange and most bloody, and I trust you will not pick a hole in my damned coat if I tell you it is also very frightening. Whenever I am in the Tower I have the constant apprehension that something untoward is about to happen to my person.”

“That’s not unusual,” remarked my brother. “At least not in the Tower.”

I nodded patiently, thinking to get out of his office soon without picking another quarrel with him.

“Then there has been some talk of the Templars and buried treasure, which would provide almost anyone with motive enough to kill men who might have held a candle to, or hindered, its discovery, I know not which. But it’s plain that there are many who have searched for a treasure already. Barkstead, Pepys—”

“Samuel Pepys?”

I nodded.

“Damned Tory,” he said.

“Flamsteed, God alone knows who else.”

“I see.”

“Then there are a number of French Huguenots in the Tower.”

“Not just the Tower. The whole country’s rotten with Frenchies.”

“They are full of secrecy, and arouse Newton’s suspicions by virtue of their secretive ways.”

“When does a Frenchman not arouse suspicion?” demanded Charles. “It’s their own fault, of course. They think we dislike them simply because we are their historical adversaries. But the truth is we dislike them because of their damned insolence and the airs they give themselves. Roman Catholic, Protestant, Jew or Jesuit, it makes no difference to me. Without exception I wish all Frenchmen to hell.” He paused. “What’s the favourite horse?”

“Newton is a most scientific gentleman,” I said. “He will not hypothesise without proper evidence. And it is pointless trying to get him so to do. One might as well stick an enema up a bottle and expect it to shit. But he is most diligent in his enquiries and although he says little, I think that he weighs these matters very carefully.”

“I am right glad to hear it,” said Charles. “Three damned murders in what’s supposed to be the most secure castle in Britain? Why, it’s a scandal.”

“If anyone can fathom these mysteries, it is he,” I declared. “Just to be near him is to feel his mind vibrate like a Jew’s trump. But I dare not ask him too much, for he is easily put out of countenance and I become obnoxious to his opinion.”

“So he and I share something in common, do we?” railed my brother.

“As soon as he has arrived at some conclusion himself, I feel he will tell me, for I have his confidence. Yet not before. Omnis in tempore, brother.”

Charles picked up his quill and, holding it over a blank sheet of paper, hesitated to write.

“Well, that’s a pretty report for Mister Lowndes,” he said, and then threw aside the quill. “God’s blood if I can’t think what to write. I could as well describe his damned Principia.” He made a bad- tempered noise. “I looked at it, and could make neither head nor tail of it. It is amazing to me that something so clever can make me feel so stupid. Have you read it?”

“I have tried.”

“I can’t understand how one book can create such a stir when I can find no one who has actually read it.”

“I don’t believe there are a dozen men in all of Europe who could say they understood it,” said I. “But they are such a dozen as might stand head and shoulders above mere mortals. And all of them are agreed it is the most important book that ever was written.”