Dark Matter

by Philip Kerr

  “Did Oates murder Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey, then?”

  “Who killed him is a more abiding mystery,” said Newton. “Some have thought that he was killed by a villain whom he had sentenced to prison as a magistrate, and who bore him a grudge. We are no strangers to such situations ourselves. I have even heard talk that Godfrey was one of those Green Ribboners that did seek to make the country once more a Republic; and that he was murdered when he threatened to betray them. But I myself favour another, simpler opinion.

  “It is my belief that Godfrey strangled himself by leaning upon a ligature; he was by all accounts a most melancholy man, and feared being discovered a traitor and punished accordingly. Finding his body, Godfrey’s two brothers feared the shame and the loss of Godfrey’s money, for he was a rich man, and a suicide’s estate is forfeit to the state, being felo de se. Therefore they mutilated his body and blamed it on Roman Catholics.

  “What is certain is that no one will ever know the truth now. But there are many who still persist in the belief that he was murdered by Catholics. Major Mornay’s opinion seems clear enough. His possession of this dagger and his conduct in the stews would seem to indicate that his detestation of Catholics knows no bounds.”

  “What then shall we do?”

  Newton’s brow gathered in a knot above his eyes and one slender finger stroked his long nose as if it had been a small shock dog, so that he did look most shrewd.

  “We shall return this dagger to him,” he said quietly. “And in doing so we shall further provoke him. It is a simple matter of motion, as are many other things to which proof, one day I shall find a pencil of black lead and sum it up for you on a page of paper, so that you might understand the world. For every body continues in its state of rest, or of uniform motion in a right line, unless it be compelled to change that state by forces impressed upon it. That’s as true of Major Mornay as it is of the planets and the comets. But we must also be prepared. We must be vigilant. For to every action there is always opposed an equal reaction.”

  “But, sir, this is your great theory, is it not?”

  “Well done, Ellis. But it is no theory. It’s as much codified fact as the laws of England. More so, for I have the mathematical proofs that do render these laws immutable.”

  “I would understand what they mean for the world,” I said. “If I could.”

  “Then understand only this,” said Newton, and dropped the Godfrey dagger to the floor so that the point was left sticking in the boards. “The fall of this dagger is the same as the fall of the moon. The force that draws this dagger also draws the moon. The force that draws the moon also guides the planets and everything that is in the heavens. For the heavens are here on Earth. That, my dear fellow, is gravity.”

  The heavens are here on Earth? Perhaps this Earth is all the Heaven there is.

  At first I only turned my back on Jesus. And that was Newton’s doing, for there was very little in the New Testament to which he did not take some exception. The Old Testament he could only accept in parts. The Book of Solomon was very important to him. As was Daniel. And Ezekiel. But that a man might choose those books that suited him and reject those that did not seemed to me a very strange kind of religious faith.

  For a long time I believed that it was Newton’s opinions of holy scripture that had shaken the tree of my life and causedthe apple of my religious faith to fall to the ground, where it started to rot and perish. But this was only part of the story. Because of Newton, asking questions became second nature to me. And I began to perceive that it is our duty to ask whether these religious things be true; and if true, whether they be good or not. If we wish to find God we must banish all ignorance of ourselves, our world and our universe.

  Strangely it was those silver cups that Mister Scroope had given into Newton’s keeping for their Cambridge college that first caused me to question the Pentateuch itself. The cups told the story of Nectanebus, the last native King of Egypt, who was a magician and made models of his own soldiers and those of the enemy and set them in a tank of water to work a trick so that his enemies should be engulfed in the waters of the Nile. And this made me think that when Moses led the children of Israel out of Egypt and all the Pharaoh’s armies were drowned in the Red Sea, it was no more than a story borrowed from the Egyptians. Which shook me, for if the Pentateuch was not true, then everything else that followed in the Bible could be no more than myth or legend. Thus it was that gradually I came to think that if one part of the Bible might be questioned and found wanting, then why not the whole?

  Perhaps I might still have believed in God. But it was my master’s science that caused me to deny the existence of God himself. It was Newton’s mathematics that reduced the cosmos to a series of algebraic calculations, while his damned prisms ripped apart God’s rainbow covenant with Noah. How could God remain in heavens that were so keenly observed through a telescope and precisely described as a series of fluxions? Like some satanic geometer, Newton pricked the bubble of God’s existence and then divided his heavenly kingdom with a simple pair of compasses. And seeing all such mysteries conquered, my own thoughts crashed to earth from the ethereal sky like a flaming cherub, with hideous ruin. O how fall’n! how changed. It was as if once I had thought myself an angel but, finding my wings clipped by the sharp scissor blades of science, I discovered I was merely a raven on Tower Green, raspingly lamenting its cruel fate. Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace and rest can never dwell, hope never comes that comes to all.

  In the officers’ quarters at the Ordnance, Major Mornay was wearing his arm in a sling. He was being shaved by Mister Marks, the Tower Barber, and was attended by Mister Whiston, the broker, Lieutenant Colonel Fairwell, Captain Potter and Captain Martin. For all his previous evening’s debauches, he seemed to be in good humour, for we had heard his voice outside the door; but even as we entered, he left off telling the brave story of how he had received the wound in his arm and, colouring like a beetroot, stared upon us as if we had been two ghosts.

  “Olim, hero, hodie, cras nescio cujus,” Newton remarked with a cruel smile,

  Once upon a time, yesterday, today, tomorrow, I know not whose, by which I assumed my master meant the Major to know that he was well aware that Mornay had lied about how he had come by his wound. And yet it was not a direct statement to that effect, for this might have provoked Mornay too far, perhaps into challenging Newton to a duel. My master was no coward; but he had seldom held a sword, let alone a pistol, and had not the slightest intention of being challenged. I suffered no such constraints, however, although Newton had cautioned me to give only utterance to that which he prompted.

  “What do you mean by that?” Major Mornay asked Newton, his speech faltering like an admission of high treason.

  “Mean? Why, nothing at all, Major. Nature has cursed me with a manner that doth sometimes seem like impertinence. It is only the disadvantage of intellect, for I think that Nature is best pleased with simplicity and affects not the pomp of superfluous words or thoughts.”

  “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Doctor?” He took a cloth from Mister Marks and wiped his face carefully.

  “We came to return you this dagger,” said Newton.

  Mornay hardly glanced at the blade now in Newton’s hand, its handle extended, politely, in the Major’s direction, and then, briefly, at me, so that he did lie most brazenly.

  “I own no such dagger,” said Mornay. “Who says I do?”

  “Perhaps you do not recognise it,” said Newton, “since I have cleaned it for you. Otherwise one could not mistake such a dagger, to be sure. For it has a most noble sentiment engraved upon the blade. It says, ‘Remember Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey. Remember religion.’”

  “Amen,” said Captain Martin.

  “Amen indeed,” said Mornay. “Nevertheless it is not my dagger.”

  Newton remained all smiles. “If you say so, Major, then it must be true, for you are a gentleman. And yet we should certainly not re
linquish the evidence of one man’s good eyes for the vain fictions of another man’s devising.” Newton pointed at me. “This humble clerk saw you drop this dagger last night, outside a house in Lambeth Marshes.”

  “I was nowhere near Lambeth Marshes last night.”

  Seeing that I was about to contradict Mornay’s bare-faced lie, Newton did hold me by the arm and shake his head so slightly that I think only I perceived it.

  “One of you two gentlemen must be mistaken.”

  “The mistake is not mine,” said Mornay.

  Newton let go my arm, which I took to mean that I was at last allowed to speak.

  “Nor mine,” said I.

  “Why, then, one of you—I know not which—must be a liar and a shameroon,” said Newton.

  “Fetch a Bible,” I said, hardly caring that the Bible had little value for me now. “Let me swear. The dagger is his.”

  “Have a care, sir.” Newton spoke gravely to me. “For you do say as much as that Major Mornay is a liar to his face, in front of all his brother officers, for which, as a gentleman, he would surely demand the satisfaction of proving his word against yours by force of arms.”

  “I do say it. Most vehemently. Major Mornay is a liar. I saw him drop the dagger just as you have described.”

  Mornay rose from his chair, his mouth opening and closing like a cormorant.

  “Were I not incommoded by my wound, I should not hesitate to challenge you, Mister Ellis.”

  “Perhaps,” said Newton helpfully, “Mister Ellis could waive his privilege of choosing weapons. I believe the Major is right-handed. In which case he might challenge you safely, so to speak, were he to be assured that pistols would be your choice of weapons.”

  “Then let him be reassured,” said I. “If he seeks satisfaction of me, he has my word that I should choose to fight with pistols.”

  There followed a longish silence with all eyes on Major Mornay, who swallowed loudly several times before, finally, stammering out a whey-faced challenge with less bravado than a toothless old gammer.

  “We accept your challenge,” said Newton. “I shall act as Mister Ellis’s second and await your instructions.” And so saying, he bowed gravely. Then did I, before taking our leave of these now-bemused officers.

  Walking back to the Mint office, feeling like a numb eel, I steeled myself for a jangle with Newton, for I was right angry to find myself manoeuvred by him like a jolly-boat. And as soon as we were alone, I argued with him on the impropriety of his conduct to me.

  “Well, I like that,” I remarked. “I think a man might be allowed to pick his own quarrels and to issue his own challenges.”

  “He challenged you,” said Newton, correcting me.

  “Only because you painted him into a corner.”

  “If I had left the matter to you, my dear fellow, the matter could never have come to a head quite so neatly.”

  “Neatly, do you say? It’s not a year since a duel almost cost me my liberty. Or had you forgotten how I came into your service, Doctor? Suppose I kill him? What then? Suppose he kills me? Suppose he’s a better shot than he’s a swordsman? Damn it all, sir, I thought you intended to trip him into some confession.”

  “There will be no fight,” said Newton. “He has no stomach for it. That much was easily apparent.”

  “Very little that involves you is ever easily apparent to me,” I said bitterly. “In this, as in all matters, I am your creature.”

  “Nay sir, not creature,” said Newton reproachfully. “I create nothing. I merely attempt to extend the boundaries of what we know. And just as the Ancients put their faith in the god Pan and his pipe, so now and then, you must do the same and let me play a tune with you. My fingers may move upon you, but the music is yours, my dear fellow, the music is yours.”

  “Then I like not this tune. It’s easier to govern a rapier point than a pistol ball. And I am not such a good shot that I can comb his hair with lead. If I shoot him, I might very likely kill him. And what of you, sir? My second. Have you no thought for your position? Duelling is illegal. Sir William Coventry was sent to the Tower merely for challenging the Duke of Buckingham to a duel. To say nothing of your safety. You know, it’s not unknown for seconds to engage and take their shares, even though the main protagonists may wish it otherwise. You may be killed, sir. And then what would become of Miss Barton?”

  “And I say again that it will not proceed so far. For it is plain to me that Major Mornay is actuated by the will of others in this Tower. Perhaps his old friend from the French galleys, Sergeant Rohan. His challenge was not governed by them, and I believe they will now show themselves as they seek to reach an accommodation with us. For a duel would only draw attention to them in a way that cannot serve their secrecy. What is covert always abhors a scandal. For, as you say, that is what we will have if a duel is fought between Mint and Ordnance.”

  I know not what he expected. I doubt that he knew himself. For all his scientific method, it seemed a most unscientific course of action on which we were bound. Later on that day he dressed the matter up yet further and called it an experiment, but I could not believe it effectual for determining truth, and by my own thinking it was more akin to goading a bear with a hot iron. What is certain is that neither one of us had anticipated that which happened next; and for this Newton felt some shame and rightly so, since it seems to me that no one should make an experiment, so called, without having some idea of the possible outcomes. If that is science, then I want no part of it, since where is the common sense in it? To my mind it is like a girl who lets you bundle with her but does not have the apprehension that you might try and go even further. For when one seeks to discover something, sagacity would always seem to be a better guide than accident or otherwise the quest must result in things one did not seek at all.

  Such as a man’s death, for example.

  Major Mornay’s body was discovered hanging in the Mint that same evening. I say “in the Mint” advisedly, for the circumstance of his death provoked yet another bitter argument between my master and Lord Lucas. Mornay was found hanged, having apparently tied a rope around a crenellation atop the Broad Arrow Tower, so that when he threw himself off the battlement his feet almost touched the ground inthe Mint Comptroller’s garden; and indeed it was the wife of one of the Mint Comptrollers, Mrs. Molyneux, who found the Major’s body.

  Newton was summoned straightaway by Mister Molyneux, who then returned to his house to comfort his poor wife, who was most upset by her discovery. My master was still contemplating the body as might an artist who proposed to sketch the scene for a painting of Judas Iscariot, when Lord Lucas and some other members of the Ordnance arrived on top of the Broad Arrow Tower and, declaring that the Major’s death was properly a matter for the Ordnance—for it was given out immediately that it was Mornay who was dead—they sought to draw the rope still bearing him by the neck, back up the wall of the inner rampire. Which made Newton much aggrieved, and producing the ivory-handled table knife that he sometimes carried about his person, he cut through the rope so that the body fell into the Comptroller’s rhubarb, which, although medicinal, had not the power to revive the poor Major from his lethal condition.

  Seeing himself cheated of the jurisdiction—for as Newton reminded His Lordship, possession is nine points of the Law — Lucas’s noble face took on an apoplectiform look and he thundered all sorts of revenges he would take on Newton when next he saw the Lords Justices, which Newton ignored as one who did not hear these threats at all. Instead he gave even closer inspection to the rope around Mornay’s neck than the Major’s previously elevated position had allowed.

  “This is too bad,” he sighed. “The poor fellow.”

  I had not liked the Major—he had tried to gouge me with his dagger, after all—but I, too, pitied him now as I pity all who murder themselves, for the Law makes suicide a most uncomfortable grave. And I murmured something in Newton’s earshot to that effect.

  “I have attended a sufficient
number of executions within the course of my duty to know how a man’s neck is affected by hanging,” said Newton. “I have observed that the neck breaks but rarely, and most often that death be occasioned by simple strangulation. The lungs are deprived of air; but just as importantly, if William Harvey’s book is to be believed, the brain is most mercifully deprived of blood.

  “When a man is cut down before disembowelling, the rope hardly has time to draw tight, as occurs with a normal hanging. And yet I have noted how the geometry of his punishment always leaves its mark upon his neck, so that it may be observed how a man who slowly strangled upon the rope may be distinguished from one who hardly dangled at all.

  “The level of tightening of the ligature in a hanging is always much higher than in strangulation and less likely to encircle the neck horizontally. Commonly it may be observed around the larynx in the front rising to a suspension point at the knot with its characteristic open angle behind or under the ear on one or t’other side, or at the back of the head. This means that with most hangings the impression caused by the noose will naturally be deepest opposite the suspension point.

  “And yet here observe if you will,” he told me, “that the neck bears the fine impression of the rope in two different places.”

  I looked at Mornay’s neck as Newton had instructed, trying to ignore the turgid tongue that protruded from his mouth like a third lip, and his eyes, which were as horribly prominent as a couple of weeping chancres, and thus I saw, as he proposed, not one but two rope marks upon the Major’s broken neck.

  “What does this mean?” I enquired uncertainly. “That the rope slipped when he threw himself off the Tower?”

  “No,” Newton said firmly. “That he was strangled before he was thrown off the Tower. And since strangulation is rarely suicidal, we must conclude that he was murdered.”