Ford finally looked interested. “That sounds very much like the new science. One puts forth an assumption and then endeavors to prove it.”
“So then,” she said, warming to the subject, “perhaps philosophy and science are compatible.”
“Perhaps they are.”
He looked surprised or dubious; she wasn’t sure which. She wished she could see him clearer.
“You know,” he said, “some philosophers belong to the Royal Society.”
Bang, bang.
“Rowan,” she said quietly. “We’re trying to talk.”
For once in her life, she was enjoying a conversation with a man.
Bang.
“Rowan!” Her voice was sharper than she’d intended, and her brother looked up midtoss, the toy flying out of his hand. It hit the wall with a thwack, and she grimaced.
“Sorry,” Rowan muttered.
“What was that?” Hilda asked, hurrying in to investigate the noise.
“A mistake.” Rowan rose to go fetch the toy—or rather, he attempted to. How odd. From where Violet sat, her brother seemed unable to rise. His feet didn’t reach the floor, but he put his hands on the seat and pushed, his face turning red with strain.
Jewel burst out laughing.
“Jewel,” Ford murmured, rising from his chair. “You didn’t.”
“Oh-oh-oh, yes, I did,” she chortled. “D-don’t you th-think he deserved it?”
“Deserved what?” Violet asked. “What did you do to him?”
“She stuck me,” Rowan said, and for a moment, Violet thought he meant with a pin. But he wasn’t crying—in fact, he didn’t even look angry. He didn’t look happy, either. He just looked blank. “She stuck me to the chair.”
“With what?” she asked, aghast.
“Harry,” Hilda muttered dangerously, bustling from the room. “I’ll kill the man.”
“I stuck him with glue,” Jewel explained proudly between giggles. “And mud to make it match the brown up-hol-ster-y. And the toy was to make him sit down without noticing.”
Violet felt as blank as Rowan looked. Her mouth hung open. When Ford reached over and pushed up on her chin to close it, she hadn’t enough wits about her even to feel mortified by the impropriety. ”What—how—why—” she stammered.
“It was a jest,” he clarified. “A practical joke.”
“A jest,” she murmured.
“A Chase family tradition.” He turned to his niece with an indulgent smile. “Most especially Jewel’s father’s tradition.”
Jewel hiccuped. “Tell her about one of Papa’s pranks. From long ago.”
He narrowed his eyes for a moment, deep in memory. “Once, when I was young, Colin tied me to a chair while I was sitting there reading a book.” He leaned back, lifting his cup. “In some way or other—to this day I haven’t figured out how—he managed to get the rope around my body but not my arms or hands, so I didn’t notice.”
For some reason, Violet found it all too easy to picture him not noticing.
Rowan stopped kicking. “What happened?”
“He left. The knots were behind the chair, so even after I did notice, I couldn’t reach them. I yelled for help, but the only response was the sound of his laughter.”
Envisioning that, too, Violet’s lips twitched. “Did he rescue you?”
“Hours later. I’d nearly finished the book.”
“You just kept reading?” she asked with a barely suppressed smile. Faith, even she wouldn’t read under those circumstances.
“What else could I do?” he said dismissively. “At least Rowan here won’t have to wait so long.” After a quick mouthful of ale, he rose, moving to Jewel’s victim. “Let me free you, my man,” he said, lifting Rowan into his arms, chair and all.
Suddenly, seeing her brother hanging in midair stuck to a chair, and visualizing a bookish young Ford the same way, the smile that had been threatening broke free on Violet’s face. Jewel was right. Given Rowan’s petulance, he deserved the jest, and a rollicking good one it was, too.
“More stories,” Jewel said.
“Later, baby.” Carrying Rowan out the door, Ford flashed his niece a grin. “Colin will be proud of you when he hears this one.”
And Violet had thought the Ashcrofts were eccentric.
TEN
“ALL RIGHT, ROWAN. Let’s see what we can do here.” Ford set the chair down in his laboratory and turned away to locate a beaker.
“Holy Hades,” Rowan said.
Shocked at such language, Ford swiveled back and stared.
“Pardon.” But the boy didn’t look sorry. “What are all these things?”
Ford let his gaze wander the chamber’s contents, trying to see it through the boy’s eyes. A full quarter of the huge attic space was filled with ovens and bellows, a furnace, cistern, and a still. Mismatched shelves held scales, drills, and funnels. Magnets, air pumps, dissecting knives, a pendulum, and numerous bottles of chemicals sat haphazardly on several tables. More things were shoved into half-opened chests of drawers. A larger table beneath the window—Ford’s workbench—was littered with the inner workings of several dismantled watches.
It was Ford’s playroom, and he was happier here than anywhere else. “Scientific instruments, mostly.” He grabbed a beaker and selected a bottle. “That’s a microscope,” he added, waving behind him.
“What does it do?”
“It magnifies. You can put something beneath the lens and see it up close.” Forgetting the task at hand, Ford reached to a table for a book. “Here, look at this. Micrographia. It was written by a man named Robert Hooke.” Opening the red leather cover, he set the book on Rowan’s lap.
Rowan looked down at the title page. “‘Some Phys-phys—’”
“Physiological,” Ford said.
“That’s a big word.” The lad read the next words slowly and carefully. “‘…Descriptions of Minute Bodies made by Mag—’”
“Magnifying.”
“‘Magnifying Glasses with…’”
“‘Observations and Inquiries Thereupon,’” Ford finished for him. “The book is drawings of things seen under a microscope.”
Unlike Jewel, Rowan apparently didn’t mind help. Nodding, he turned to a random page and gawked. “Whatever is this?”
“One of the pictures Hooke drew. Of a feather. That’s what it looks like very close up.”
“Zounds.” Rowan stared for a moment, then flipped the page. “What is this?”
“A louse.” Ford unfolded the large illustration, revealing the insect in all its horrible glory. The creature was oddly shaped, with a conical head and big goggling eyes.
Goggling
