Christopher Priest - The Space Machine

There was something about her use of the plural that sent a pleasurable, though not entirely guiltless, thrill through me.

The lemonade was delicious: ice-cold, and with a sharp hint of sourness that stimulated the palate. I finished mine with immoderate speed.

“Tell me a little of Sir William’s work,” I said. “You told me that he has lost interest in his horseless carriage. What is he engaged in at the moment?”

“Perhaps if you are to meet Sir William, you should ask him that yourself. But it is no secret that he has built a heavier-than air flying machine.”

I looked at her in amazement.

“You cannot be serious!” I said. “’No machine can fly!”

“Birds fly; they are heavier than air.”

“Yes, but they have wings.”

She stared at me thoughtfully for a moment. “You had better see it for yourself, Edward. It’s just beyond those trees.”

“In which case,” I said, “yes, let me see this impossible thing!”

We left our glasses on the table, and Amelia led me across the lawn towards a thicket of trees. We passed through these in the direction of Richmond Park—which ran right up to the boundary of the house grounds—until we came to an area which had been levelled, and the surface compacted with a hard covering. On this stood the flying machine.

It was larger than I could have imagined it would be, extending some twenty feet at its widest point It was clearly unfinished: the framework, which was of wooden struts, was uncovered, and there appeared to be nowhere that the driver could sit. On each side of the main body there was a wing, sagging so that the tip touched the ground. The overall appearance was similar to that of a dragonfly at rest, although it had none of the beauty of that insect.

We walked over to it and I ran my fingers along the surface of the nearer wing. There seemed to be several wooden formers under the fabric, which itself had the texture of silk. It was stretched very tightly, so that drumming one’s fingers on the fabric produced a hollow sound.

“How does it work?” I said.

Amelia went over to the main body of the machine.

“The motor was fixed in this position,” she said, indicating four struts more substantial than the others. “Then this system of pulleys carried the cables which raised and lowered the wings.”

She pointed out the hinges which allowed the wings to flap up and down, and I found by lifting one that the motion was very smooth and strong.

“Sir William should have continued with this!” I said. “Surely to fly would be a wonderful thing!”

“He became disillusioned with it,” Amelia said. “He was discontented with the design. One evening he told me that he needed the time to reconsider his theory of flight, because this machine simply imitates unsuccessfully the movements of a bird. He said that it needed a thorough reappraisal. Also, the reciprocating engine he was using was too heavy for the machine, and not powerful enough.”

“I should have thought that a man of Sir William’s genius could have modified the motor,” I said.

“Oh, but he did. See this.” Amelia pointed out a queer assemblage, placed deep inside the structure. It seemed on first sight to be made of ivory and brass, but there was a crystalline quality to it that somehow deceived the eye, so that within its winking, multifaceted depths it was not possible to see the constituent parts.

“What is this?” I said, very interested.

“A device of Sir William’s own invention. It is a substance that enhances power, and it was not without effect. But as I say, he was not content with the design and has abandoned the machine altogether.”

“Where is the engine now?’.’ I said.

“In the house. He uses it to generate electricity for his laboratory.”

I bent down to examine the crystalline material more closely, but even near to, it was difficult to see how it was made. I was disappointed with the flying machine, and thought it would have been fun to see it in the air.

I straightened, and saw that Amelia had stepped back a little.

I said to her: “Tell me, do you ever assist Sir William in his laboratory?”

“If I am called upon to do so.”

“So you are Sir William’s confidante?”

Amelia said: “If you mean that I could persuade him to purchase your goggles, then I suppose so.”

I said nothing to this, for the wretched affair of the goggles was not on my mind.

We had started walking slowly back towards the house, and as we came to the lawn, Amelia said: “Shall we now go for our bicycle ride?”

“I’d like that”

We went into the house and Amelia summoned Mrs Watchets. She told her that we would be out for the rest of the afternoon, but that tea should be served as normal at four-thirty. Then we went to an outhouse where several bicycles were stacked, selected one each, and pushed them through the grounds until we reached the edge of the Park.

We rested in the shade of some trees overlooking the Pen Ponds, and Amelia at last told me what had happened to her on the morning following our conversation.

“I was not called for breakfast,” she said, “and being tired I overslept. At eight-thirty I was awakened by Mrs Anson bringing a breakfast-tray into the room. Then, as you might expect, I was given the benefit of Mrs Anson’s views on morality… at her customary length.”

“Was she angry with you? Did you try to explain?”

“Well, she wasn’t angry, or at least she didn’t reveal her anger. And I had no chance to explain. She was tight-lipped and solicitous. She knew what had happened, or she had made up her mind what had happened, and at first I thought that had I made any attempt to deny what was already a foregone conclusion it would have provoked her to a rage, so I sat and listened humbly to her advice. This was, in substance, that I was a young lady of education and breeding, and that what she referred to as ‘loose living’ was not for the likes of me. It was, however, very revealing in another way. I realized that she could censure the imagined actions of others, yet at the same time display a prurient and consuming curiosity about them. For all her anger, Mrs Anson was hoping for insights into what had happened.”

“I suppose her curiosity was disappointed,” I said.

“Not at all,” said Amelia, smiling as she held a stem of grass in her hand and stripped away the outer leaves to reveal the bright-green, soft inner stalk. “I supplied her with a few illuminating details.”

I found myself laughing in spite of the fact that I was at once very embarrassed and rather excited.

“I should like to hear one or two of those details,” I said, boldly.

“Sir, what of my modesty?” Amelia said, fluttering her eye-lashes at me in an exaggerated way, then she too laughed aloud.

“With her curiosity satisfied, and with my life revealed to be on the downward path, she hastened from my room, and that was the end of that. I left the hotel as soon as I could. The delay had made me late for my appointment at the engineering works, and I wasn’t able to get to our luncheon in time. I’m very sorry.

“That’s all right,” I said, feeling well pleased with myself, even if my scandalous reputation were a fiction.

We were sitting together against the bole of a huge tree, the bicycles leaning against another tree. A few yards away, two little boys in sailor suits were trying to make a toy yacht sail out across the Pond. Near by, their nanny watched without interest.

“Let’s ride further,” I said. “I’d like to see more of the Park.”

I leaped up and extended my hands to help Amelia to her feet. We ran over to the bicycles and disentangled them. We mounted and turned into the breeze, heading in the general direction of Kingston-upon-Thames.