will send him one of my own. You said that Constable Duckett was ordered to that public house in the hope of drawing out — what did you call him? — the Prankster. It may not work, but my guess is that this man will also enjoy the challenge of
“What will you say?”
“That’s what concerns me. How about something like ‘The net is getting tighter. You cannot succeed. We are very close.’ Or something like that,” he waved a hand airily, seeing Ada’s frown.
“But how will he know it’s for him, that could be for anyone.”
“True, and that’s why, Ada, I have a special request.” He sat down again beside her and took her hands in his. “I would like to use the symbols that you interpreted as Wanstead Abbey, along with the name of Byron, perhaps a line from
Ada lifted her chin. Robert had not been afraid, neither would she. And she knew none of her father’s poetry, so it would not matter to her. “You must use it. Why not ask him to meet you? Or ask what it is he wants!”
“I’ll work on it. Thank you, Ada.”
“But — don’t you think we should ask Mr Clark first?”
“Hah — if we wait for government departments to make up their minds, we’ll still be waiting for an answer at the next Millennium!”
“Is the syllabub to your liking, Ada?”
“May I fetch you some wine, Miss Byron?”
“You are looking a little pale, are you chilled? Shall I fetch your shawl?”
Ada smiled. It was certainly flattering to have the attention of these young men, to be surrounded, when other young women looked on in envy. And she never lacked for partners when the dancing started, which was good because she enjoyed it so much. Yes, it might be because of her name and her fame but, if they didn’t like her, surely they wouldn’t stay?
“Yes, and yes please, and no thank you, I’m not cold,” she answered. As one swain went to fetch her some wine she said to the other two, “Have you seen Mr Babbage’s Difference Engine? I’ve had the pleasure of working with him on — ”
“A most fantastical machine, I’ve heard,” interrupted the first young man hastily. “But I wanted to ask you, Ada, if there was perhaps something fantastical at the theatre you would like to see? Perhaps your Mama would allow — ”
“Nonsense, not the theatre. Miss Byron, I could arrange a day at the races, would that be more to your liking?”
“It would indeed. I was at Doncaster not long ago, and the thrill of it! I want to learn about horses, and, of course, the arithmetical calculations on the betting odds are intriguing — oh!”
Her wine was being handed to her, but not by one of her swains. Instead, it was Mr Clark.
“Good evening Miss Byron. May I compliment you on your yellow outfit? A most striking and vivid combination. A beacon in this room.” He indicated the rest of the soiree in the candle-lit room. Small baize-topped card tables at one side were fully occupied. In the far corner a small group sat listening to the gentle tones of a guitar played by an Italian maestro. Still others, like her own coterie, sat gossiping together on chaise longues and low padded chairs in the French style. The cold buffet supper was over, the last of the desserts now spooned up and the plates and bowls cleared away by the servants.
Ada felt her spirits lift further, having previously resigned herself to an evening of pointless small-talk.
“May I?” He sat down, and the two younger men melted away.
“Have there been any developments?” Ada asked, managing to lower her voice. “I have not heard from Mr Babbage for two days. And how is Constable Duckett?”
“Mr Babbage has broken the third quadrant. ‘I have many masks. I am the Destroyer.’ Strong words. They are the Prankster’s, not mine.”
She noted he was using Robert’s name for the code-maker now. “Did Mr Babbage say anything else?”
Clark shook his head. Candlelight reflecting from his spectacles made his eyes seem to glitter. “Only that the solution to the final quadrant would take longer. As you know, it contains geometrical figures and a nonsense rhyme. Mr Babbage says there are no equivalences for these, so the key could be anything. Does he threaten to destroy Wanstead Abbey? What reason would he have for doing that?”
“I think of nothing else,” Ada said. “Some nights I hardly sleep, my mind cannot let this puzzle go.”
“I’m sorry to hear that your rest is disturbed. Perhaps we should talk no further.”
Ada shook her head. “It would make no difference. I want to know — I dearly want to meet the challenge the Prankster has set us. And when I look around a gathering like this I wonder, is he here? Could he be in this room right now?”
Clark was observing her closely. “Especially as he tells us he has many masks. Does this mean that he can mix with any part of society he chooses? I am beginning to think that he is no radical, he is not trying to change a political system, he is simply after notoriety.”
“As Mr Babbage says, he has set a challenge. Do you truly think he set fire to the Houses of Parliament? And what about the ‘collapsing houses’ he mentions?”
“We have no way of knowing on the former. As for the latter, these old buildings in poorer areas from times gone by are not looked after, and do collapse from time to time anyway.”
“I have tried to think where he means to strike next. Could it be an assassination attempt on the King? There have been several already.”
“My choice is the railways. Perhaps a bridge. I am confident it will be in London. I have every policeman and special agent on full alert — including Constable Duckett, yes.” He smiled. “That young man is out of hospital and taking some days off to recover, unpaid of course. But now, I think I’d better leave you, before tongues start to wag.” He stood up and bent over her hand.
Ada was suddenly aware of her mother’s close scrutiny from the group around the musician. She sighed inwardly. Her mother would not rest till she had tracked down every last detail of Clark’s family and background to find out if he was grand enough for her daughter. Her mother was suspicious enough of her already. She’d caught Ada scrutinising the Personals, looking of course for Babbage’s message to the Prankster. Now her mother had forbidden her to read the paper. “I shall be most annoyed if I find you are conducting correspondence with a young man through that column,” she had said, despite Ada’s protestations that she was exercising her code-breaking skills, as suggested by Mr Babbage.
So now it was a race to solve the fourth quadrant. She would put everything aside and think of nothing else.
Robert put his head down and literally pushed his way through the throng that was shoving and jostling its way between the carriages and carts that had come to a standstill at Charing Cross. There was a “lock” on. The numbers of wheeled traffic had built and built till no one could move, though this was not one of the most notorious places for it to happen — they were towards the City.
Carters and drivers yelled and shook their fists, horses snorted and struggled in vain in their harnesses and shafts. Robert battled his way through this tumult to the south side of the Strand, where he breathed easier and began to walk eastwards.
It was a crisp bright autumn morning with a chill in the air. Sunlight slanted on the advertising in shop windows, and on tin plates fastened to the walls above. A myriad of manufactories, shops and cafes shouted their wares at him. If Charing Cross was the centre of London, then the Strand was its beating heart. It was the new London, brash, confident, a centre for all the forms of commerce, industry and entrepreneurship. Even the pavements were lined with women and children selling flowers and fruit, from baskets on the ground.
After a while he turned to his right into an alley and began the descent down to another world, to an older London that still lined the river. He was in deep shade now — cast by the brick walls and timbers of tall buildings. The noise, colour and life were left behind. He was entering a world of scuttling shadows, of figures that hid in doorways, of glimpses of pale faces behind grimy windows hunched over soulless tasks. He pulled up the collar of the patched coat he wore, and pulled down the lip of his shapeless greasy cap. Both had been bought for a few pennies at a rag-pickers, the boots on his feet with worn heels and holes in the toes from Seven Dials.
