Philip Kerr - Dark Matter

It was clear that Newton saw the world in a different way from everyone else; which made me feel mightily privileged that I enjoyed such a great man’s confidence. Perhaps I was beginning to understand a little of the excellence of his mind; but this was enough to appreciate that it was only my failure to grasp a little more of the actual theories themselves that stopped him and me from becoming friends. In truth, we were always separated by such a wide river of knowledge and ability that he was to me like a man must seem to an ape. In all respects he was a paragon, a human touchstone that might try gold, or good from bad.

The question of why the name of St. Leger Scroope had seemed familiar to my master was answered almost as soon as we arrived at his place of business, in a house at The Bell, near the Maypole. A servant answered the door to us by whose manner of dress — for he wore a small cap upon his head — I took to be a Jew; and having enquired our business, he nodded gravely, and then went to fetch his master.

Scroope himself was a tall man, at least six fingers higher than me, with a black periwig, a beard turned up in the Spanish manner, and fine clothes which were as rich as gold and silver could make them. I thought Scroope recognised my master immediately, although he waited until the Doctor had explained the purpose of his visit before giving expression to this knowledge.

“But do you not know me, Doctor Newton?” he asked, smiling strangely; and seeing Newton’s eyes narrow as he struggled to find Scroope in his remembrances, the goldsmith’s face took on a disappointed aspect.

“I confess, Mister Scroope, that you have the advantage of me, sir,” stammered Newton.

“Why then, that it is a first for me, sir, for I never yet knew any man who could best you.” Scroope bowed handsomely. “Pray, let me remind you, sir. I was your fellow commoner at Trinity College, Doctor Newton, assigned to your tuition, although I neither matriculated in the university, nor graduated from it.”

“Yes,” agreed Newton, smiling uncertainly. “I remember you now. But then you had not the beard, nor the wealth, I’ll hazard.”

“A man alters much in twenty-five years.”

“Twenty-six, as I recall,” said Newton. “Also that you were much neglected by me, although you were not unusual in that respect.”

“Science will thank you for that neglect, sir. I was not a very diligent student, and events have proved that you were better employed with your opticks and your telescope. Not to mention your other chemical studies.” At this Scroope smiled knowingly, as if my master’s devotion to alchemy had not been such a great secret after all.

“You are very gracious, Mister Scroope.”

“It is easy to be gracious to one whom all of England honours.” Mister Scroope bowed once more, which made me think him a most obsequious fellow, better suited to fawning on a king than smithing gold. “But my conscience has its own particular mortification,” added Scroope, whose civilities began to grow tiresome to me. “For I left no plate to the college, as was expected from a fellow commoner. Therefore, to assuage my embarrassment, sir, I should be grateful if you would accept some baubles on behalf of the college.”

“Now?” asked Newton. Scroope nodded. “I should be honoured.”

Scroope left us alone for a moment while he went to fetch his gift.

“This is most unexpected,” said Newton, handling Scroope’s walking stick with some interest.

“Is this one of the three students you ever had?” I asked, remembering what he had told me upon our first acquaintance.

“I am embarrassed to say that he is.”

“Oh fie. I think Mister Scroope has more than enough embarrassment to cover both your consciences.”

“I was a very dull fellow at Cambridge,” admitted Newton. “Dull and most inhumane. But I am a better man since I came to London. This work in the Mint has broadened my horizon. And yet it is not as broad a horizon as perhaps that of Mister Scroope. I fancy he sometimes visits places where a man must be doubly vigilant.”

“How do you mean, sir?” I asked.

“He wears a sword, like most gentlemen. And yet he has also been at some pains to conceal a sword inside this stick. Do you see?”

Newton showed me how the body of the stick ingeniously concealed a blade, two or three feet long, so that the handle of the stick was also the handle of a short but useful-looking rapier. I tried the blade against my thumb.

“He keeps it sharp enough,” I said.

“You would not need to take such precautions unless you had some tangible danger to fear,” he argued.

“Are not all goldsmiths subject to such dangers?” I suggested. “They have more to lose than just their lives. I wonder that you do not carry a sword yourself.”

“Perhaps you are right,” allowed Newton. “Perhaps I might carry a sword. But I do not think I shall ever need to carry two swords.”

Mister Scroope returned to the room bearing four silver cups with a repoussé decoration which, with some pomp, he presented to Trinity College in the person of my master, who, despite his duties at the Mint, was still the Lucasian Professor of Mathematics at Cambridge University.

“These are very fine,” said Newton, examining the cups with increasing pleasure. “Very fine indeed.”

“I’ve had them down in my cellars for a number of years, and I think it’s time they were properly appreciated. They are ancient Greek, recovered from a Spanish treasure ship. As well as a goldsmith, I have also been a projector of schemes with your own Mister Neale.”

“Mister Neale who is the Master of the Mint?” asked Newton.

“The same. Several years ago we did recover a wreck, the Nuestra Señora de la Concepción , which carried much gold and silver. Those cups were but a small part of my share.”

Newton continued to examine the cups with much interest.

“The cups purport to tell the story of Nectanebus, the last native King of Egypt, who was also a great magician. You may read of him in the history of Callisthenes.”

“I shall do so at my earliest opportunity,” said Newton, and then bowed gravely. “On behalf of Trinity College, you have my thanks.”

Scroope nodded back, allowing himself a smile of some satisfaction, and then poured us some burnt wine from an equally fine silver jug that a servant fetched into the room where, the civilities completed, at last we sat down. The wine greatly warmed me for, despite the huge log that was burning on two brass firedogs that were as big as wolfhounds, I was still cold to the marrow from my river journey.

“And now, sir, pray tell me, what it is that brings you here?”

“It is my information that you had the acquaintance of Mister George Macey.”

“Yes, of course. George. Has he returned?”

“Regrettably he is still not accounted for,” said Newton, who neatly sidestepped the lie by this equivocating answer. “But, if I may ask, how was it that you and he were acquainted at all?”

“The wreck of which I spoke, that Mister Neale and I invested in, was brought to Deptford, where I and Mister Neale went to see the treasure brought ashore, and to take our shares. But this was not before Mister Neale, in his capacity as the Mint’s Masterworker, had first removed the King’s Share.Mister Macey accompanied Mister Neale and assisted him in these official duties. This was several years ago, you understand.

“Not long afterward, a second expedition was promoted to search for the rest of the treasure that the first had been obliged to leave behind. Mister Neale invested, I did not, preferring to use the great sum I had made to establish myself in business as a gold and silver smith. I have no skills in working metals. I am no Benvenuto Cellini. I prefer to have others do that work for me. But there are significant profits to be made. And I have been very successful doing it.”