“And another thing.” As usual her mother didn’t listen to her, and her tirade was not yet over. “Here we are, spending money building workhouses for the poor to give them shelter and food — again out of my taxes — and yet they’ve done nothing but complain about them for the past two years.”
Ada looked around their comfortable breakfast room. The walls were a delicate shade of
Ada had seen, by contrast, illustrations of workhouses, with their bare stone walls and high windows, and had read how men and women were separated and that families were not allowed to live together. But she must not think about those things. For that way madness lay, and her mother did everything she could, for her daughter’s own good, to keep her from the possibility of that downward spiral …
“Lady Byron, a message for Miss Ada.” The footman, John, had entered carrying a silver tray on which lay a small white envelope.
Ada knotted her fingers together under the table and squeezed them, starting to count backwards from one hundred, to stop herself from feeling faint. She was not angry that her mother now read all her invitations first — “It really is for your own good.” She felt herself flush at the memory of last year’s folly. She felt again William’s caresses, his kisses — the adventurous thrill as they planned their elopement. Quickly, having counted back to one, she focused on
“It’s from our friend Charles Babbage.” Her mother’s pursed lips had broken into a smile. “He requests your company today to stimulate his mind in the discussion of logarithms and calculus.”
Ada held her breath and squeezed her fingers even tighter.
“I suppose I can let you go today. It is Saturday, and you are far enough ahead in your studies, your tutors tell me. But tonight is Lady Conway’s Ball, a fancy dress masque, so be sure you’re back in plenty of time to prepare for it.”
Ada managed to hold in her shriek of pleasure, but couldn’t stop herself clapping her hands. “Shall I wear my new red dress, Mama?”
“It goes well with your dark hair, and you might be seen while in the carriage, so, yes.”
What have I done to deserve such a day, Ada wondered as she left the breakfast room, giving a skip as she crossed the threshold. She was wanted, she was needed, and by the one man in whose company she could release all her passion for mathematics and know she would be understood. They could share their love for the arithmetical world. Furthermore, she would wear her new dress, and tonight there was her favourite — a fancy dress ball.
As she passed through the drawing room, her eyes slid over the painting above the fireplace which was covered by a green curtain. It was a portrait of her father, but she had never defied her mother’s wishes and looked at it. She did not want to gaze into the face of that wicked darkness …
“Welcome, welcome, my dear Ada.” Charles Babbage held out his hands in greeting and she felt their warmth coursing through her. His black wavy hair framed an attractive face with a fresh complexion. He was of medium build, with strong shoulders. “Is that a new dress? Most becoming.”
Ada smoothed down the folds of red silk decorated with yellow flowers. The sleeves were fashionably widely puffed at the shoulder and the skirt flared from the high waist, finishing just above her ankles. It had not creased in the journey from Mortlake to Marylebone.
“Let me ring for refreshments — hot chocolate? — and then I’ll show you the equations I’ve been working on, which only my mathematical muse will be able to fully appreciate.”
Ada took a chair beside the glowing mahogany table which was strewn with Charles’s papers. One wall of the room was lined with books covering all the sciences. There was a miniature cosmology on a side table, given to him by his friend the astronomer Herschal, showing the position of the planets around the sun. Around the room were various inventions both abandoned and in progress, such as the shoes for walking on water, and instruments for examining eyes. But towering above them all was the Difference Engine, awaiting its move into the new building next door, created especially for it and paid for by public funds. Solid and foursquare, with its brass columns and cogs, its ivory numbers and black plates, it seemed to Ada to be a machine in waiting, longing to have its mechanisms clicking and slotting into place and providing answers at astonishing speed to those mathematical sums it took the human brain so long to work out. If only Charles could persuade the government to release more money for its development.
As soon as she’d heard about it — the machine that was the talk of London society — she’d longed to see it, but her mother had at first refused. Then, finally, when she’d gone to see it on one of Charles’s Open Days, she had understood it instantly, and she and Charles had recognized each others’ passion for the world of numbers. And now she had another dream. She was eighteen, soon to be nineteen, but when she was twenty-one — surely, then, he would hire her as his official assistant.
As they bent their heads over pages of diagrams and figures, forgotten chocolate congealing in its cup, Ada sensed that this was as much an escape for Charles as it was for her. He grieved still for the loss of three of his sons — following that of his wife — and very recently her namesake, his daughter Georgiana. But in the pure precision, the light and air of mathematics, they were given respite from worldly emotions. Charles Babbage, inventor, mathematician, astronomer, and — yes, surely — his able assistant, Ada.
The knock on the door made them both jump.
“Mr Clark, Under Secretary to the Home Secretary, wishes to see you.” Barely had Charles’s manservant spoken, than a tall thin man was pushing his way past him, followed by a young stocky man in the dark blue uniform of the Metropolitan Police. When he saw Ada, the young man removed his tall hat and placed it under his arm, and then took up a position standing at ease beside the door.
“I apologize for intruding Mr Babbage,” Clark said. There was a gleam of excitement in his pale blue eyes and this, with an agitation in his manner, gave a sense of urgency. “We met at dinner at the Prime Minister’s house.”
“I do recall it, yes. Some Madeira wine perhaps?” Charles nodded to his manservant, who withdrew. “Sit down, sit down.” Charles waved a hand towards a chair, but Clark continued striding about the room, casting glances at the Difference Engine.
“I need to consult with you over a Government matter,” Clark said. “Can it be now?” He looked at Ada.
“May I introduce Miss Ada Byron, my assistant in all things?”
“Miss Byron!” Clark took her hand and bowed his head. “I am sure I can speak freely in front of you,” he said, then rushed on. “I remember well how you talked about ciphers and codes, Mr Babbage, and how you are amassing notes to write a book on them.”
Charles exchanged glances with Ada, his face lighting up. “Indeed. I have a short paper in preparation already, and I exercise my mind regularly by attempting to decipher the codes used in
“I knew you were the right man to see this, and to tell us — is it some kind of code, or is it gibberish? And if it is indeed a code or cipher, can you break it to reveal its secrets? I thought perhaps the Engine could help us.”
Ada held her breath. Charles could be very touchy on the matter of the Difference Engine. But he laughed. “The purpose of my machine is to help us with speed and accuracy in reaching mathematical answers. It cannot make those leaps of judgement that the human mind can. And at the moment, it cannot even make those mathematical sums. I am thinking of a new Analyser but without the money that — ”
“What codes are you talking about, Mr Clark?” Ada interrupted him, to distract Charles from the subject of research funding.
“Ah yes. Constable Duckett, step forward and give your account of last night’s events at the White Hart tavern near Holborn, and give Mr Babbage the piece of paper.”
Ada noticed that the young policeman was not intimidated by his surroundings. He was clean-shaven, and he’d made an attempt to slick down his springy brown hair. His eyes were a darker blue than Clark’s.
“That was the Union meeting where there was a fire,” Ada said. “Mama was reading about it in the paper this morning.”
