Charles Sheffield - The Amazing Dr. Darwin

“Your suggestions are ingenious. But they will not be the basis for future experiment. Never again will I pursue such reckless follies.” Crosse fell silent and hung his head as Florence Trustrum came into the room carrying cups, saucers, and a large silver pot of hot chocolate. He looked up only to give her a quick smile of thanks as she placed the tray at his side.

“What are you going to do with me?” he asked, after she had left the room. “You are right. I did not check sufficiently the natural variations in the electric force. A man is dead who should be alive.”

Darwin raised his eyebrows and glanced at Pole. “Jacob?”

“Me?” Pole favored Darwin and Crosse equally with his scowl. “Why, damn it, I’m not going to do anything at all. If a thief and a rogue is dead who should have been arrested, I say, good riddance. It’s time saved for the hangman.”

“Very well. Joseph?”

“I agree with Jacob. And it’s no concern of mine if the honorable citizens of London Town flock to see a hoax. From what Florence said, she and the rest more than got their money’s worth. I don’t want any more thaumaturgical exploits in this house—even if you call it science, Richard. But for the rest, my opinion of you has not changed. You are still welcome to stay here with me.”

“Thank you, sir, but I must go back to Somerset.” Crosse gave the closed door a long and unhappy look. “I should go at once.”

“Go if you must, if that is your decision,” Darwin said. “But if you others will permit it I would like one private word with Mr. Crosse. Alone. And it is nothing, I assure you, to do with electricity.”

“And thank the Lord for that.” Jacob Pole stood up and moved toward the door. “I said I wouldn’t understand all your technical talk, and I was right. Electricity . What a waste of time and effort.”

“Agreed.” Faulkner was following Pole through the doorway. “Does anybody understand this thing called electricity?”

Darwin and Crosse looked at each other. In unison, they shook their heads.

“We do not, Joseph.” Darwin smiled. “Not yet. For it is as your great countryman, Mr. Franklin, puts it so well in one of his letters: ‘If there is no other purpose for the electricity than this, it may serve to make a vain man humble.’ ”

Jacob Pole paused, the door knob in his hand. “Then you should get Mr. Crosse’s machine, ’Rasmus, and take a double charge for yourself.”

He closed the door before a response could be offered. Darwin shook his head and tried not to grin. “Pardon me, Mr. Crosse. I have known Colonel Pole for a long time. If I may again become more serious, my previous inquiries of you were motivated by scientific curiosity. What I say now has no such origin. You may choose to regard it as an unwarranted and unconscionable intrusion in your private affairs.”

Crosse had been quietly tearing to pieces the diagrams he had drawn of his equipment. “Continue,” he said. “I have at least been provided with fair warning.”

“Very well. The subject is Florence Trustrum. You look on her with favor?”

“Is it so obvious?” Richard Crosse’s voice was bitter. “I try to hide it. I look on her with favor, and more than favor. But as you see, I am not made to—to ‘court an amorous looking glass.’ ” His hand went to his left shoulder.

Darwin snorted. “And yet your namesake, Richard, that you now choose to quote, ascended to the throne of England and wed the woman of his choice. Stop your self-pity. You are as whole as any man in this house, if you but think yourself so.”

“I cannot entertain that thought. I will be returning to Somerset as soon as the weather permits—if I am free to do so.”

“You are free. But I urge you not to go. You should stay here, and determine if Florence feels an equal warmth for you.”

“She has no need of me. A new suitor is already here. You saw him.”

“I did. I suggest that he is no threat to you in Florence’s eyes. Mr. Murchison is a pleasant young man, and probably an honest and an honorable one. I wish him no hurt, and I should not be taking sides. But let me say this: the world is full of pleasant, handsome men, as harmless and as simple-minded as Jamie Murchison. You are different. You have that rarest gift, the one that marks our transition to a higher being. You have creativity ; an inspired inventiveness coupled with true scientific instinct.”

“A creativity that kills. Dr. Darwin, I am flattered, I cannot deny it. But there are others far more ingenious than I.”

“No, sir.” Darwin spoke with great authority. “Trust me in this. There are all too few such, in any time and place. London today does not contain five such men and women. If you do not pursue the great problems that you alone can see, who will pursue them? Mr. Faulkner, or Miss Rawlings, or Colonel Pole? Never. We may have the desire, but we lack the divine touch. Perhaps you think that your own children will do what you will not? Maybe. But only if they exist . You, and people like you, have a duty to the world: you must marry, and love, and propagate.”

Richard Crosse removed his hand from his left shoulder and stared quizzically at Darwin. “Yet you are single, sir.”

The older man paused. It was many seconds before he answered. “Aye. For now, but not I think forever. And I have children already, from a former marriage. However, you make an excellent point. I should be truer to my own principles. I will remember that.”

Darwin stood up, patted Crosse’s shoulder, and walked across to the door. On the threshold, he turned. “I am going to join the others now. Florence Trustrum will be back here in a few minutes, to collect the cups and the chocolate. She is fond of you. Say to her what you will. But say it.”

“Sir, one moment.” Crosse hurried to Darwin at the door, his pale face suddenly resolute. “I will try, surely I will try. But you should know that I have no gift for honeyed words. I have tried ten times to tell Florence how I feel, and each time I have failed.”

“Then, Richard, you must try an eleventh time.” Darwin smiled his gap-toothed smile. “Courage, man. Nature leaves no space in the world for failures. You can win. See here.” Darwin reached into his pocket, and pulled out a glittering chunk of red glass. “Here is your own creation, the Heart of Ahura Mazda. Look on it when you speak to her. Surely the man who could conceive this can win a heart to replace it.”

Crosse nodded, and took the jewel. Darwin finally closed the door, turned, and headed toward the rear of the house. He walked without noticing where he was going, absorbed by a new and intriguing thought. If Richard Crosse did not try again and did not win, why then, that very failure made him unfit to sire descendants. And the same idea could be applied to every field of activity, for animals as much as for men. A grand principle was at work, Nature forming what it needed for future generations, by an inevitable and continuous weeding of the present. It was happening now, and it had happened always.

Erasmus Darwin walked on, right past the room where the others were waiting for him. The smell of fresh-baked bread drew him by instinct toward the kitchen, while his mind strayed far away. Already he was wondering how his new thoughts could be framed in their most general form.

“Salt ham, bread, sauerkraut cabbage, and near two pints of beer to slake the thirst. So what, then, would you expect?”

Erasmus Darwin seemed to be addressing the question to his own big toe. His bare right foot and broad calf were propped up on a wooden stool in front of him, while he stooped forward to examine the reddened and swollen toe joint. It was no easy task. He was grossly overweight, with an ample belly that hindered bending. The face that frowned down at the offending foot was fat and pockmarked, redeemed only by its good-natured expression and bright grey eyes.