by Laer Carroll
Then they were pulling up in front of the College. Bertie helped her down from the carriage, though of course Mary could have leaped down like a ballet dancer or an acrobat. Or the legendary supernatural cat lady whose aspect she, on rare occasion, put on when she had to threaten or commit violence.
She flicked dust off her dress as a porter ran out from the College to take charge of the horse and carriage. She and Bertie entered the cool shadow of the entrance to the College and ascended the stair to the second, top, floor.
The College was shaped like an enormous square U with the arms pointing southward. The residence and office of the Vice-President of the College, John Ryall, was in the East Wing. So they had to walk east, then turn right to find him. Or, today, Dean of Science George Boole.
As they clomped over the slate-surfaced floor Mary peered into empty classrooms. This late in June most of the end-of-session lectures and examinations had been done .
Ryall was absent, as expected, as they walked past his office. A bit further along was Boole's office. It was a good deal smaller, since Boole had a family and lived nearby in off-campus housing.
The office they sought contained a parlour with a big desk near one wall. As Bertie knocked on the door jamb a man was rising from the desk to come forward.
"Bertrand! Lord Cunningham. It is so good to see you again." The man shook Bertie's hand and Mary took stock of him.
George Boole was of medium height and had brown hair with a slight curl and a few grey hairs. With his strong jaw and slightly hooked nose he gave the impression of a genteel bird-of-prey. He dressed conservatively and a bit shabbily.
Bertie's two friends, William and Enoch, M.D. and attorney respectively, considered George Boole one of the great minds of the century. They had told her that he was self-taught in Latin and much of mathematics, and read widely.
Bertie also considered him one of the great hearts of the century. He gave free lectures and helped in fund-raising events for several charities and, when younger and unmaried, worked for some of the charities. He took personal interest in his students, and they repaid him with affection and hard work.
Dean Boole turned to Mary. "Mistress McCarthy. An honor to meet you. I hope when you left home Dame Edith was in good health?"
"Yes, she was, Your Excellency. She sends you, personally, special greetings."
Ostensibly Mary was the personal assistant to Dame Edith, who was one of Mary's several personas. On rare occasion the Dame appeared in public. Since Mary had such body control that her flesh could almost literally flow like water, she was able to display wrinkles and droopy and mottled skin whenever she needed to.
But she never did so. Dame Edith always wore a black veil in addition to her black hat, gloves, and old-fashioned dress. Her source of wealth was unknown and even her nationality. When she traveled abroad she did so in a black 110-foot schooner that was anchored at the Queenstown harbor where the River Lee entered the ocean south of Cork City. From and to the schooner she rode a water taxi hired from the Cork Marina .
Given her reclusiveness many stories circulated about the Dame, some of them more fantastic than those Mary had invented and slipped into the gossip stream. Some were sinister, or even supernatural. One was that she was really Queen Victoria spying on her officials and subjects to keep the British Empire running properly!
Dean Boole extended his hand and grasped Mary's so that the back of her hand was up. He then executed a peculiar maneuver that was part bow, part interrupted hand-kiss, and part handshake.
The instant their hands touched Mary probed him with her esoteric senses. She could not read minds but she could sense the body states behind emotions. She detected an amalgam of shyness, curiosity, and sexual desire. And confusion, probably because she was holding onto his hand so long and strongly.
Probing further she detected a problem with one eye and a tendency for lung infections. She commanded his body to strengthen his eyes and lungs and gave his immune system a boost, then released his hand.
Good! Now he would live to a vigorous old age, immune to most ills that flesh is heir to. Even if she had not liked the man Mary wanted her intended tool to stay around for long years of use.
Boole guided them to seats in a semicircle of comfortable chairs. Then, as they settled into their chairs, he set himself to winning her and by extension Dame Edith over to the idea of giving substantial donations to the College.
But he had to wait. For Mary was gazing thoughtfully at the ceiling.
Casually she said, "I've just read a wonderful book. Your Laws of Thought . I wonder..."
She leaned forward and looked at him. "I wonder if even you realize just how wonderful."
She paused, let her eyes unfocus, let her voice become distant. "Let's stand back and look at what you've done. You start with an algebra of the numbers everyone knows: integers and real numbers. You say an algebra has a domain of subjects like those numbers. And it has a plus operation, a subtraction operation, and a negation operation. And these operations have certain qualities, and you give these qualities elegant names like commutation, which simply means that A+B gives the same results as B+A. "
She paused. He was listening closely, a bit surprised. "Then you take a totally different domain, the values TRUE and FALSE. Oh, you label them 0 and 1 to make things more familiar to your readers. But we both know that you're not talking about numbers at all. And you construct an algebra. It has an addition-like operation, a subtraction-like operation, and a negation-like operation. And you show these operations also have certain qualities. Such as commutation."
Another pause. "And you take yet a third domain: sets of objects. Same deal. Addition, subtraction, negation. Commutation, etc."
Pause. "As far as I know, that's as far as you've gone. Let's extend your method into a fourth domain. Say, matrices. Add, subtract, negate, commutate. And then a fourth, add, subtract, negate, etc. And a fifth, add, subtract, ..."
Having established her intellectual parity with him, Mary pretended to shake off her musings. She opened a black leather folder in her lap and removed a sheet of paper. She handed it to him but kept hold of it as he tried to take it from her, drawing his eyes to hers.
"Dame Edith wants to give money that will give back dividends. She wants to invest her money, not donate it. She wants to invest in knowledge workers, who will give back more knowledge."
She released the sheet to him, then interrupted him.
"Read it later, if you will. Basically, it is 100 pounds to explore engineering applications of your Laws of Thought. I understand your wife is an accomplished algebraist. Perhaps you could enlist her aid." The amount of money was more than a better-than-average yearly wage for someone in the middle class.
Mary got up and walked in a circle in the larger part of the office, outside the semicircle of chairs, came back, sat.
"Dame Edith lost dear ones to the Great Famine. She thinks she knows what killed all those potatoes. She wants someone to test her belief. And find ways to prevent famines if her belief proves true."
Mary handed Dean Boole a second sheet. "So this goes to botany, if that department wants it, to find the potato-killers. One hundred pounds. To start. More to come later if she's convinced there are competent and willing personnel here at Queen's College who can handle this enquiry."
She handed him a third sheet. "This goes to agriculture. Why does milk and wine go sour? How can we stop it? One hundred pounds. "
Another sheet. "What causes wounds to get infected? How to prevent it? One hundred pounds to medicine."
She handed him two more sheets. "Midwifery: why do so many babies die right after birth? Materia medica: are there natural compounds — besides the ones we know — that are medically useful?"
Three more sheets. "Literature: to study and select works by women writers for the library, poetry, fiction, scholarly works. Library: funds to buy works by those women writers. Law: means to give married women financial rights."
&nb
sp; Four final sheets. "These are biology, chemistry, geology, engineering. Twenty-five pounds each. No strings attached whatsoever."
George Boole looked dazed. She had been talking fast, throwing down the last sheets quickly as if to get rid of them.
"Oh, and one last item." She drew out several blank sheets, scribbled on one with one of the pens on his desk. Quickly drew a geometric figure that was so precise that a machine might have drawn it.
Handing it to him, she said, "The road to the College goes through the Gaol. This is disgraceful. I want one that goes from the front of the college east and joins the Western Road. Here is a thousand pounds for it. I want it done in three months, maybe like those old Roman Empire highways, a deep layer of crude stone and a top layer of finer. And wide enough for two lanes of traffic."
She dusted off her hands as if in satisfaction of a job well done. "Now. Any comments."
Boole gave a little smile. "Are any permitted?"
Mary mimed chagrin.
He sat back. "The effect of all this money is going to be like, like..."
Bertie, who had been sitting back watching with great amusement, said with a touch of country accent, "Like throwin' a handful of corn into a pigpen."
Boole looked at him. "Thank you, Bertrand, for one of your usual elegant similes."
The viscount gave a miniscule bow.
Boole said, "This is going to occasion a lot of discussion."
Bernie said, "A lot of screechin' in the henhouse. "
Boole, with a quelling master-to-student frown, continued. "All these conditions..."
He picked up one of the sheets, scanned it. "Report to be issued no later than so-and-so date, follow-up funds conditional on approval. By whom? Dame Edith? An expert of her own?"
"By Dame Edith. Of course, she will usually transmit her decisions through me."
"And isn't that going to cause some friction. You are so young..."
"You of all people," she said, "should know that age and competence are not necessarily linked. As a child you taught yourself Latin so well that your authorship of a translation was challenged because they thought you must have stolen it from someone much older. You taught yourself math —"
Boole waved his hand, "I wasted five years. If I'd had a proper teacher —"
She said, "You would have been a mediocre mathematician four years earlier, instead of where you are."
"Where I am? My Laws of Thought was not met with any enthusiasm."
"Yes it was," she said, "I read it. And eventually the world will value it as I do."
Boole turned his head away.
The depth of emotion must be great, Mary realized, for an Englishman to display this much as if he were an Irishman: a real human being. Especially since the British nowadays all took their cues from rigid, stuffy Queen Victoria.
In a moment he turned back to them. "We should take a tour of the College. If you — if Lady Edith is going to invest in it she should know what enterprise she will be supporting."
Mary got up, satisfied. The hook was set.
The residence/office next door to Vice-President Ryall's was that of the President, Sir Robert Kane. Boole merely gestured at it and mentioned its identity with a flat voice.
"Sir Kane is in Dublin, now. He has very important enterprises there." The studiedly neutral comment reminded Mary of the conflict between Kane and most of his professorial staff, who felt the College was second to his devotion to industrial progress for all of Ireland .
There was not much else to see of this, the east wing of the second floor, except the kitchens at each end. It was, after all, primarily residential.
Nor was the rest of the second floor of much interest, mostly being empty classrooms, a couple of small, rather basic laboratories, and the librarian's office.
The first floor was more interesting. There was an herbarium and a museum, small but with many interesting items from all over the world. Then lots of empty classrooms with one containing a few students taking a final exam under the bored eyes of a teacher.
The first floor west wing was the medical wing, pretty much, including a dissection room. The air was stifling, since it was more closed-up than the same area on the second floor. And because at mid-afternoon the sunlight was coming very strongly into the rooms.
There was also a strong odor of corruption. How in God's name were they storing specimens? And cleaning up afterward?
This place was a breeding ground for disease.
Looking out the west windows was the last straw. The four-and-a-fraction-story County Gaol on that side loomed over the College. And Mary saw prisoners eyes curiously looking down into the lab. What a sight this must be for them when a dissection was going on!
Mary whirled to the Dean. "This is totally unacceptable!"
Reaching into her folder she pulled out a sheet and furiously scribbled instructions on it.
"Here's five-hundred pounds. I want blinds on these windows, improved ventilation, and better storage of biological materials — especially cadavers."
George Boole looked at her with a mild expression. Mary sensed, however, that his appearance was very far from his feelings.
"Isn't Dame Edith getting ahead of herself?" he said. "Giving orders before the College has agreed to cooperate with her?"
Mary froze. He had penetrated her masquerade. He knew she was Dame Edith. Might know that she was the cat lady.
Was she going to have to kill this great and good man to protect herself?
She took a deep breath. She had been forced to protect herself several times by assassinating her enemies. But every one of them deserved death many times over. George Boole deserved the long, healthy life she had given him earlier, and the applause of the world, and the love of his family. No matter what, she was not going to hurt him.
Those thoughts flashed through her mind and an instant later she saw her mistake. He was being ironic, reminding her that Dame Edith was her mistress, telling her not to get ahead of herself. He knew nothing of her masquerade as the cat lady.
That she could make such a stupid mistake was humbling, and annoying. Having a brain in perfect working condition was obviously no guarantee that it could not jump to a very wrong conclusion.
"I apologize, Dean Boole. You're quite right. I have been very rude."
He waved her apology away, his instant acceptance revealing yet again the caliber of the man.
Mary slipped the scribbled-on sheet of paper back in her folder for a better time to give it to someone. This medical area would be shaped up.
He led them north to the end of the west hall, then east along the north hall, finally to a door to the outside.
The three of them went through it. They were in the grassy area north of the College. They had just exited from the same door through which Bertie and she had entered the College.
From there they walked east, the wind and warmth from the lowering sun pleasant on their backs. The Lee river glided along a couple of hundred feet northward, to their left.
Boole stopped and pointed ahead toward the east. "Here is where the road you suggested would run. You can see yonder where the bridge to the West Road would go. I don't know if we can get the land. Failing that, we can go further east and merge with that old farm road. The bridge is pretty sad, but we may be able to refurbish it rather than rebuild."
He pointed rightward to a point closer at hand. A building projected from the long north wall. If the U-shaped University building was thought a flat-bottomed wine glass, the north wall was the flat bottom, the narrow building the stem.
"This is our library. I'm quite proud of it. We started out with 4300 volumes and have added a good deal each year."
Beyond the "base" was another building, it's length paralleling the north wall and snuggling up against it. Boole lead them around a corner to the eastern end of the building. A pair of double doors let them into the building.
Inside he turned and pointed at the space above the doors. It c
ontained a very large cluster of stained-glass windows.
"The sun is on the opposite side of the building, of course, at this time of day. But in the mornings this is quite glorious."
He turned and waved his hand at the large, mostly empty hall. "This is the Aula Maxima , the Great Examination Hall. We do not use it for examinations much. Instead we use it for ceremonies and large meetings and such."
From there he lead them through the back of the hall into the library they had just seen from the outside. Floor to the ceiling two stories above, there were stacks and stacks of book shelves. Mary almost salivated at the riches here.
"Dame Edith might want to borrow some of these books," she said.
Mary sensed someone behind them. She turned smartly.
A gentleman stood there, age and wispy wild hair making him the very image of a librarian. He cleared his throat, said, "These books are College property. They can never be loaned to outside individuals, I'm afraid."
George Boole said, "Lord Cunningham, you remember Professor Mathias O'Keefe? In addition to doing a very fine job as surgery faculty, he also is our head librarian. Mistress McCarthy, Professor O'Keefe. Mathias, Miss McCarthy is the representative of Dame Edith, ah..."
"De la Roche. Dame Edith de la Roche." Though French the surname was also an old English and Irish name, effectively confusing the Dame's origin.
"Since Dame Edith has just donated a hundred pounds to the library, I believe we can consider her collegium inter familia . I am sure she would be a very responsible borrower."
"Well, hmm, that does present a different face on things. A hundred pounds, do you say?"
"Yes. And in addition she has donated a hundred pounds to surgery." Which was Professor O'Keefe's specialty. Mary could see that Dean Boole possessed a certain bureaucratic subtlety .
Professor O'Keefe quite cheered up on hearing that. He gave Mary a possibly too-thorough tour of the facilities while George Boole and Bertie idled just outside the Grand Exam Hall, taking in the air as the sun descended toward night and chatting amiably.