The Sensorium of God

by Stuart Clark

  They parted, and Halley looked over at Mary.

  ‘You see, all resolved,’ she said.

  He smiled at her little red nose. ‘Let’s take that swing.’

  26

  London

  1687

  King James II should have been handsome. He sported the cleft chin and dark eyes of the Stuarts, but somehow failed to wear them with the same aplomb as his brother. Perhaps it was the darting of his narrow eyes, or the creases in his brow; whatever it was, he looked like a poor copy.

  He was perched on a receiving throne, leaning heavily on one arm and turning the pages of the book listlessly with the other, and his auburn periwig had such tight curls it could have been a doormat for wiping boots.

  ‘A handsome volume,’ said the King. Around him, his advisers preened themselves and looked uninterested.

  ‘It is an incomparable treatise by an English scholar, Your Majesty,’ explained Halley.

  The King tipped the book and studied the gilt lettering on its spine. Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica. ‘Newton.’ His face tightened and he looked up. ‘Would that be Newton of Cambridge? The same Newton who opposed me and Alban Francis?’

  Halley was prepared. ‘I know of your fondness for the naval arts, indeed your aplomb in command of a vessel. I think the book’s value to English shipping is beyond measure, sir. It allows us to predict the height and times of the tides with extraordinary precision. Decades ago, the German astronomer Kepler drew attention to the fact that the tides are somehow linked to the movement of the Moon. Mr Newton has now described in precise mathematical detail that this is because the Moon releases gravity, a force that attracts our oceans, pulling them into tides, whereas the solid rocks of land can resist. Mr Newton goes on to explain the different heights of the spring and neap tides.’

  James’ face had softened. Halley took it as a cue to continue.

  ‘The Sun also releases gravity to keep the planets in their courses, and this too raises tides on Earth. When the Sun and Moon are aligned with Earth, as they are at new moon and full moon, the gravitational attractions of the Moon and Sun add up, and create the higher spring tides. When they’re at right angles to one another, they oppose, and the oceans are pulled in lower, or neap, tides. We can calculate with accuracy the times and the heights of future tides, and plot when is safest for our navy to sail – or when it may be advantageous to draw the enemy towards us on to the sandbars.’

  ‘Remarkable, and strategically important too.’ James looked around at his advisers. ‘Do you not think so, gentlemen?’

  There was some muttering and half-hearted nodding.

  ‘I miss the sea,’ continued the King. ‘For all its uncertainty, you knew where you stood. None of this lot can understand. Are you run aground these days, too, Mr Halley?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Wife and family?’

  Halley nodded.

  ‘Be grateful you don’t have a country to run as well.’

  ‘Yes, sir. One daughter and another child on the way are enough for me. I hope for a son.’

  ‘Don’t we all, Mr Halley?’

  ‘Your Majesty?’

  There were some sharp looks from the advisers.

  ‘Haven’t you heard yet? I thought the mob would be gossiping about it by now, I’ve gone beyond expecting them to celebrate it. I’m to be a father next year.’

  ‘My congratulations, sir.’

  A smile attempted to find purchase on James’s face but served only to make him look unhappier. ‘Do not let me detain you any longer, Mr Halley. We thank you for bringing word of this new knowledge today and for the book. Mr Newton, it seems, has gone some way towards redeeming himself.’

  Halley bowed deeply, backing away as he did so. He was on the verge of turning away when James called his name. Half question, half statement; it was an exclamation of recognition.

  The astronomer froze.

  ‘Yes, of course: Halley. Didn’t I meet your father once?’

  Halley looked the King straight in the face. ‘If you did, sir, he took that honour to his grave.’

  James watched Halley until the tall white doors closed.

  ‘Don’t match wits with the King,’ hissed a familiar voice in Halley’s ear.

  The astronomer jumped round to see Winslow’s pallid face staring at him. ‘You?’

  ‘Who else? Just because the monarch changes doesn’t mean the rest of us have to. I’ll show you out.’

  Halley followed the spymaster through an ante-room where the day’s hopefuls were milling about, waiting for an audience.

  ‘Tell me about Newton,’ said Winslow casually.

  ‘Nothing to tell, except that he’s a man of extraordinary mathematical ability.’

  Winslow pulled a sour face. ‘I don’t trust him. Isn’t it time you went on another of your voyages?’

  ‘I’m content to be at home with my wife and family.’

  ‘That’s not what you intimated to the King, and we need intelligence more than ever. Not that rubbish about feet and inches you peddled us last time; proper information about army sizes and the mood of the people. If the King does have a son it will establish a Catholic succession in England. We need to know who will continue to support him and who will turn. The Dutch certainly won’t be pleased.’

  They reached the palace entrance hall.

  ‘The affairs of state are far from my concern,’ said Halley.

  Winslow tutted. ‘They shouldn’t be. It’s your children who will have to live with the consequences.’

  Halley stood in the gloomy entrance hall at Gresham and knocked again on Hooke’s door. When there was no answer, he pressed tentatively and found it unlocked. Sticking his head inside, he called for both Robert and Grace, but the apartment was still.

  He thought about waiting, but he couldn’t risk Grace coming back first.

  That was the last thing he wanted. When he chanced upon her at Society meetings, she would look through him as an optician might a useless lens. Yet he could still taste her kiss. The memory would assault him when he was least expecting it; worst of all was when he lay with Mary. Mary! Imagine her anguish if she ever found out.

  He considered leaving the copy of Principia but decided against it. Hooke’s demands for recognition had made Newton weaken its few small references to the Gresham Professor. On one proof sheet, the author had struck out ‘the very distinguished’ to leave ‘Hooke’.

  Halley had not dared replace the deleted words. The only thing he had been able to do was move his own name to after Hooke’s in the part where Newton described the origin of the inverse square law. He should at least let Hooke know what to expect.

  He looked once more around the apartment. All the furniture had been pushed to the sides to clear the floor. He called again and was turning to leave when a weak voice called out. ‘Edmond! Is that you? Edmond, in the name of God, help me! Help me, please.’

  Hooke appeared in the doorway, his face drawn.

  ‘Robert, are you in pain?’

  ‘It’s Grace,’ Hooke said, and disappeared. Halley raced across the room, dropping the Principia on the table as he went. At the top of the twisted staircase that led to Grace’s chamber he found Hooke hunched over her bed.

  No!

  It couldn’t be Grace lying there, an immobile sack of skin and bones. Her face was white and slack; her sky-blue dress had been loosened, but she still had on her tiny shoes.

  Halley dropped his hand to her foot, touching the leather. ‘Oh, Grace . . .’

  Hooke shot him a look. ‘There must be something we can do.’ He gripped Grace by the shoulders, his fingertips and cracked nails pressing into what looked like waxed parchment.

  She looked impossibly small. Whatever had made her unique had already flown. Halley looked to the ceiling. Where have you gone, Grace? I cannot believe you’ve just disappeared.

  His breathing grew ragged and his eyes felt tight. He fought for control and reached over
Hooke’s bent shoulders to remove the man’s arms from her body. He spoke as tenderly as he had ever done to Mary. ‘Come on, Robert. There’s nothing more we can do now.’

  He stole a final look at the figure on the bed and guided Hooke to an armchair downstairs. ‘Where do you keep your cognac?’

  Hooke pointed to a cabinet where Halley found glasses and a dusty bottle. He poured two drinks, downed one and handed the other to Hooke.

  ‘Best take it down in one.’

  Hooke stared morosely at the fluid. ‘Will you find Kit? Someone must check the house and the body.’

  ‘No one will suspect the plague. London’s been free of it for years now.’

  ‘She was only twenty-seven. Why would she die?’ Hooke looked accusingly at Halley. ‘She’d been out to her dance lesson and come home determined to teach me. We cleared the chairs, but I was hopeless. At first I thought she was breathless because of the exertion – it’s usually me who runs out of breath first. Then she said the room was spinning, so I helped her to sit down. Then she said she needed to lie down.’

  ‘When did it happen?’

  ‘Lunchtime. At breakfast she was fine, chattering about the fair on Spittlefields. I helped her to bed and made up a tonic for her, but she couldn’t drink it. She said she wanted to sleep it off, but not more than an hour later I heard her scream. She said her joints were aflame . . .’ Hooke struggled for control. ‘She was worried . . . she was slipping into the pit.’

  Halley leapt up to pour more cognac.

  ‘I mopped her brow and talked to her, then left her to sleep, but when I returned, an hour or so later . . . she was gone.’

  Halley sighed. ‘Tell me what to do.’

  ‘Please fetch Kit. She must be examined, and she would not have wanted it to be you.’

  A twinge of shame went through the younger man. ‘I wasn’t suggesting . . . I’ll go and find Kit. Shall I also inform an undertaker on your behalf?’

  Hooke wept in silence.

  On the day of the funeral, Halley and Mary arrived at Gresham to find every window, every mirror, every display case and glass-fronted cupboard draped in black cloth. He shared a look with his wife and saw that she was thinking the same as he was. It was an old superstition that reflections must be banished to prevent the deceased’s spirit finding a way back to Earth.

  Perhaps Hooke had done it more out of tradition than fear. The thought made Halley wonder how he might behave in a similar situation. Mary was about the same age as Grace. The horror of a sudden emptiness at his left shoulder, coldness in their bed, or a silence at mealtimes made him recoil.

  The coffin was still open, but he did not want to see the body again, so, when Mary drifted over to pay her respects, he stood by the tall clock where Grace had kissed him. He looked over at the staircase that led to her room. More people arrived, clutching the notification cards adorned with skeletons and gravestones.

  Mary rejoined him to take their place in the cortège and they watched solemnly as the coffin lid was secured. They held each other as they followed the black coffin out of the apartment and into the night. When they reached the quadrangle they were handed torches, and the procession snaked from Gresham to the nearby church.

  As they filed into the pews, the torchlight turned the mourners into dancing shadows. ‘Mary,’ Halley whispered, ‘you know we have often discussed religious matters, and my opinions have given you some concern.’

  She glanced over. ‘Is now the right time for this conversation?’

  ‘I want you to know that I do believe.’ At least, I want to believe. He had to consider that Grace was somewhere; otherwise the weight of the situation, and the knowledge that one day he would lose Mary, would have been too much to bear. ‘And I love you more than anything.’

  After the service they went out into the moonlit graveyard. Hooke watched as the coffin was lowered into the ground. A new black suit was rucked over his back and his hair was a lank, greasy mass. He had said little all evening, barely acknowledging anyone’s presence. Now, as he watched his niece’s final journey, he was stooped so low that he looked as if he would roll into the grave beside her.

  27

  Cripplegate

  ‘I’m not sure we should have gone ahead with this,’ Mary whispered.

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Halley. ‘These plans were in place long before Grace died.’

  ‘But it looks disrespectful.’

  ‘I asked Robert if we should cancel and he said we were to enjoy ourselves.’

  They stood in their hallway welcoming a steady procession of party guests. Carriages and horses milled outside, unloading more and more people; others arrived on foot and struck up conversations of their own as they waited in line to be greeted.

  Mary was wearing a dress of pale yellow. Her forearms and collarbones were on prominent display, lending her an air of casual disarray. When Halley had remarked on her appearance before anyone had arrived, she had been quick to say, ‘It’s the new style, I’m told. Don’t you like it?’

  ‘Quite the opposite,’ he had said, and kissed her, squeezing her a little more tightly than might have been advisable in her condition.

  Now she charmed the guests with her effortless conversation while Halley welcomed them in more robust fashion, gripping male friends by the wrist and clapping some on the shoulder, but they fell silent at the next guest.

  ‘Robert,’ Halley said.

  Hooke had a faraway look.

  ‘It was brave of you to come out tonight, Robert. I’m honoured to have you here.’

  ‘Nonsense. Life goes on, eh?’ Hooke patted Halley on the arm, still not meeting his gaze. ‘But I’m sorry she’s missing it. She did love social engagements.’ He spoke as if she had been called away on a family visit and would return in a day or two. ‘Now, where’s the wine? I’ve had a hectic day.’

  ‘Robert, I should warn you that Mr Newton is here.’

  Hooke frowned. ‘Is there anyone else you should have warned me about?’

  ‘No, it’s just . . .’

  ‘I found the copy of Principia you left for me.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I had intended to present it to you, but with the situation . . . Did you manage to look at it?’

  Hooke nodded. ‘Enough to see that it is of his normal – lamentable – standard, but at least there’s some small acknowledgement of our contributions.’

  Halley released the breath he had been holding. ‘Let’s find you a drink. Go on through to the reception room. There should be some cordial to cheer up the Bordeaux. Mrs Fletcher was boiling apricots this afternoon – always a good sign.’ She had been making lemon syllabub as well, although Halley was secretly hoping that not everyone would find it, ensuring some leftovers for tomorrow.

  Halley’s heart turned over at the charade of cheerfulness. If anything, the Gresham professor looked worse than he had at the funeral. He was still wearing his black mourning suit, and his eyes were even more baggy and ringed. Halley exchanged a look with Mary.

  ‘What can we do for him?’ she asked.

  ‘Keep him busy, I suppose.’ Halley shrugged and they turned back to the procession of guests.

  When the stream of new arrivals petered out the couple entered the party themselves, swiftly separated and occasionally pressed back together. As Halley mingled, treading carefully to avoid the ladies’ hems, he thought about the larger rooms at Islington.

  ‘Edmond, I know this is not the most appropriate occasion but I have a proposition for you.’

  He looked up to find Pepys standing in his way. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I think when you hear me out you’ll agree that it’s best to conduct this in private. I promise not to keep you from your guests longer than is strictly necessary.’

  Halley scanned Pepys’s chubby face, then led him to the study, leaving the chatter and laughter behind. It was warm inside the small room, with an aroma of leather books.

  Pepys drained his wine flute. ‘I have a ship in need o
f a captain.’

  ‘Go to sea? Impossible. You know I’m to be a father again. Have you been talking to Winslow?’

  ‘Who? It’s only the Thames estuary. Surveying. There’s good money in it. Though you scarce seem to need it.’ He lifted his glass. A shaft of sunlight caught it in such a way that the black hue of lead was visible where the glass thickened at the bulbous rim.

  Halley decided not to explain that the glasses had been a gift from Mary’s father. ‘There are plenty of good sea captains wanting to go back on the waves. One finds them in every tavern.’

  ‘We need people we can trust.’ Pepys took a step forward. ‘There are signs that we might need to defend the approach to London.’

  ‘From the French?’

  ‘The Dutch. James has had a son, and his daughter Mary has lost her claim to the throne. The intelligencers tell us that her husband was counting on being crowned King of England.’

  ‘Ah, you have been talking to Winslow.’

  ‘I don’t know who this Winslow fellow is. I’m talking about William of Orange. We think he is preparing to invade.’

  Halley exhaled.

  Pepys continued. ‘Rochester and others may be stoking William’s passion. With him in power, they think they can restore Parliament. A crisis is coming, Edmond. Don’t be caught on the wrong side of it.’

  ‘I have nothing to fear.’

  ‘Everyone is under suspicion. The King has been asking about you. He’s made some link to your father and the Earl of Essex. A show of loyalty now could prevent any further investigation.’

  ‘There’s to be an investigation?’

  ‘Not as things stand, but action may prevent one.’

  ‘This is some news you bring me. Very well, I will join the survey. I will tell Mary in the morning.’

  Pepys looked at him approvingly. ‘You’re making the right decision.’

  ‘I’m trapped by other people’s politics. I appear to have no choice.’

  When Halley stepped out of the study some moments later, he walked into an unnatural hush. For a moment he thought that everyone had left, but an anxious glance told him that there were plenty of people still present.