Christopher Priest: The Space Machine

“And we may take it more slowly,” I said. “Shall we do this again, Amelia? I mean, shall we bicycle together on another weekend?”

“It will not be possible every weekend,” she said. “Sometimes I am called upon to work, and occasionally I have to be away.”

I felt a pang of unreasoned jealousy at the idea of her travelling with Sir William.

“But when you are here, shall we bicycle then?”

“You will have to invite me,” she said.

“Then I will.”

When we mounted our machines we first retraced the way of our race, and retrieved my lost boater. It was undamaged, and I placed it on my head, keeping the brim well down over my eyes so as to prevent it blowing off again.

The ride back to the house was uneventful and, for the most part, conducted in silence. I was at last understanding the real reason why I had come to Richmond this afternoon; it was not at all to meet Sir William, for although I was still fascinated by what I knew of him I would have gladly exchanged the coming interview for another hour, two hours, or the entire evening in the Park and Amelia.

We entered the grounds of the house through a small gate way by Sir William’s abandoned flying machine, and wheeled the bicycles back to the outhouse.

“I am going to change my clothes,” Amelia said.

“You are delightful just as you are,” I said.

“And you? Are you going to meet Sir William with grass all over your suit?” She reached over and plucked a stem of grass that had somehow lodged itself under the collar of my jacket.

We entered the house through the French window, and Amelia pressed a bell-push. In a moment, a manservant appeared.

“Hillyer, this is Mr Turnbull. He will be staying with us to tea and dinner. Would you help him prepare?”

“Certainly, Miss Fitzgibbon.” He turned towards me. “Would you step this way, sir?”

He indicated that I should follow him, and we moved towards the corridor. From behind, Amelia called to him.

“And Hillyer?” she said. “Would you please tell Mrs Watchets that we shall be ready for tea in ten minutes, and that it is to be served in the smoking-room?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Hillyer led me through the house to the first floor, where there was a small bath-room. Inside, soap and towels were laid out, and while I washed Hillyer took away my jacket to have it brushed.

The smoking-room was on the ground floor, and it was a small, well-used room, comfortably furnished. Amelia was waiting for me; perhaps my remark about her appearance had flattered her, for she had not after all changed, but had merely put on a tiny jacket over her blouse.

Crockery had been laid on a small octagonal table, and we sat down to wait for Sir William to arrive. According to the clock on the mantelpiece it was now some minutes after four-thirty, and Amelia summoned Mrs Watchets.

“Have you sounded the tea-bell?” Amelia said.

“Yes, ma’am, but Sir William is still in his laboratory.”

“’Then perhaps you would remind him that he has a guest this afternoon.”

Mrs Watchets left the room, but a moment or two later a door at the far end of the room opened, and a tall, well-built man came in hurriedly. He was in his shirt and waistcoat, and carried a jacket over his arm. He was trying to roll down his shirtsleeves, and as he came in he glanced in my direction I stood up at once.

He said to Amelia: “Is tea here? I’m nearly finished!”

“Sir William, do you remember I mentioned Edward Turnbull to you?”

He looked at me again. “Turnbull? Good to meet you!” He gestured impatiently at me. “Do sit down. Amelia, help me with my cuff.”

He extended his arm to her, and she reached under it to connect the cuff-link. When this was done, he rolled down his other sleeve and Amelia connected this cuff too. Then he put on his jacket and went to the mantelpiece. He selected a pipe and filled its bowl with tobacco from a jar.

I waited apprehensively; I wondered if the fact that he had been about to finish his work indicated that this was an unfortunate moment to call on him.

“What do you think of that chair, Turnbull?” he said, without turning.

“Sit right back into it,” Amelia said. “Not on the edge.”

I complied, and as I did so it seemed that the substance of the cushion remoulded itself beneath me to adapt to the shape of my body. The further back I leaned, the more resilient it seemed.

“That is a chair of my own design,” Sir William said, turning towards us again as he applied a lighted match to the bowl of his pipe. Then he said, seemingly irrelevantly: “What exactly is. your faculty?”

“My, er-?”

“Your field of research. You’re a scientist, are you not?”

“Sir William,” said Amelia, “Mr Turnbull is interested in motoring, if you will recall.”

At that moment I remembered that my samples-case was still where I had left it when I arrived: in the hall.

Sir William looked at me again. “Motoring, eh? A good hobby for a young man. It was a passing phase with me, I’m afraid. I dismantled my carriage because its components, were more useful to me in the laboratory.”

“But it is a growing fashion, sir,” I said. “After all, in America—”

“Yes, yes, but I am a scientist, Turnbull. Motoring is just one aspect of a whole field of new research. We are now on the brink of the Twentieth Century, and that is to be the century of science. There is no limit to what science might achieve.”

As Sir William was speaking he did not look at me, but stared over my head. His fingers were fretting with the match he had blown out.

“I agree that it is a subject of great interest to many people, sir,” I said.

“Yes, but I think it is in the wrong way. The popular thought is to make what we already have work better. The talk is of faster railway-trains, larger ships. My belief is that all these will be obsolete soon. By the end of the Twentieth Century, Turnbull, man will travel as freely about the planets of the Solar System as he now drives about London. We will know the peoples of Mars and Venus as well as we now know the French and Germans. I dare say we will even travel further… out to the stars of the Universe!”

At that moment Mrs Watchets came into the room bearing a silver tray loaded with teapot, milk-jug and a sugar-bowl. I was glad of the intrusion, for I found the combination of Sir William’s startling ideas and his nervous manner almost more than I could bear. He too was glad to be interrupted, I think, for as the servant set the tray on the table, and began to pour the tea for us, Sir William stepped back and stood by the end of the mantel. He was relighting his pipe, and as he did so I was able to look at him for the first time without the distraction of his manner.

He was, as I have said, a tall and large man, but what was most striking about him was his head. This was high and broad, the face pale and with grey eyes. His hair was thinning at the temples, but on the crown it grew thickly and wildly, exaggerating the size of his head, and he wore a bushy beard which itself made more marked the pallor of his skin.

I wished I had found him more at his ease, for in the few moments he had been in the room he had destroyed the pleasant sense of well-being that had developed while I was with Amelia, and now I was as nervous as he.

A sudden inspiration came to me, that he himself might be a man not used to meeting strangers, that he was better accustomed to long hours of solitary work. My own occupation involved meeting many strangers, and it was a, part of my job to be able to mix well, and so, paradoxical as it might sound, I suddenly realized that here I could take the lead.

As Mrs Watchets left the room, I said to him: “Sir, you say you are nearly finished? I hope I have not disturbed you.”