Mrs. Money began: “My late husband, God rest his soul, was a brilliant chemist. For some years he had been experimenting with dyes—trying to learn how to make them brighter, longer lasting, that sort of thing. But his interests were wide ranging: botany, physiognomy, and in particular the new science of electricity. At one point he wrote a letter to a scientific journal—I forget precisely which—about a hypothetical process that combined weaving techniques with electrical charges produced by—oh, I forget the term. Some kind of pile.” She sniffed. “It didn’t sound like the kind of thing a lady should inquire into.”
“Power looms are hardly a secret,” Mr. Giles interjected. “Though electrical power would be—”
Mrs. Money cut him off. “This was not some mere mechanical device,” she said. “The electricity produced a chemical reaction in certain dyestuffs he had discovered. It is a discovery of no small genius, and many are the men who would be jealous of the knowledge. You see...” She lowered her voice. “When properly prepared, running an electric current through a silk fabric dyed in this manner can apparently produce some fascinating chromatic effects.”
“She means it changes color,” Maddie said bluntly.
“What?”Mr. Giles’s shock was evident and delicious. He flipped back the wrapping to stare at the blue silk—his eyes fixing on those odd-colored threads with a new and avaricious light.
God, but you could practicallyseethe gears turning in his head. Winding the net even more tightly around himself. Maddie hid her smile in a scowl.
“Crudely put, but correct,” Mrs. Money sniffed. “Mr. Obeney saw the letter and wrote to Mr. Money asking him about producing such effects commercially. I believe they had some kind of contract. Certainly money changed hands, as my beloved Horace suddenly had all the funding he wanted for large-scale replications of his early results. But Horace knew others were always hunting for the secrets that he’d found, so he guarded the process most closely—Mr. Obeney became impatient, and went off to America to found his believing the experiment a failure. And then poor Horace... passed away.”
Her voice wavered, and her gloved hand trembled as she wiped a nonexistent tear from her eye. It was all Maddie could do not to applaud.
“A handful of Carrisford weavers—Miss Crewe being one of them—had been put to work creating a stock of the new fabric.” She tapped the blue silk meaningfully. “The weaving takes no particular skill, once the dye itself is understood. But with Mr. Money dead and Mr. Obeney gone, there is no one to sell that silk. It molders in the storehouse, unsold, unclaimed, and quite useless to anybody.” She whirled on Maddie again. “Which is why I assume this little thief thought a bolt here or there would not be missed.”
“I did the work,” Maddie said stubbornly. “I deserve some payment for that, don’t I?”
Mr. Giles’s confident fingers stroked one long red line amid the blue. “I confess, Mrs. Money, your story has astonished me. I am speechless with wonder.” His fingers tapped, tapped. “It seems a waste for your late husband’s achievements to go unrecognized. Surely you wish his genius to be made known to all the world. I know I would, in your place.”
“It does pain me, I confess,” Mrs. Money murmured. “Horace worked so hard on his creation. But what can I do? Mr. Obeney is not here to sell the fabric.”
Tap, tapwent Mr. Giles. “There might be a way around that,” he said slowly. “If this cloth were to make its way into the market by some roundabout means... Mr. Obeney is so far away, and so busy with his utopian society. Surely far too busy to take note of every little ebb and flow of the silk supply here in Carrisford.”
“Doesn’t sound proper to me,” Maddie pouted.
“This from a proven thief,” Mrs. Money retorted.
“An unsuccessful thief,” Mr. Giles added, and straightened. “What you need, madam, is someone more subtle. Someone who has connections with the traders and merchants of the town—and with the fashionable ladies who are their best customers for something like this.” He stroked the corner of the silk again possessively. “Can you control the color change? Is it permanent?”
“There is a range of hues the process produces,” Mrs. Money said. “They are reasonably permanent—so long as the fabric is properly maintained.” She indicated a red thread, then a gold and a green. “This silk was charged to turn it blue, but the hue is deteriorating in storage.”
“Could it be corrected?”
“An electric current would refresh it, yes.” She sighed. “That is one of the problems that has yet to be solved—any gown made of such fabric would need to be refreshed periodically, to keep its color true.”
“So the customers would have to come back at intervals?” Mr. Giles asked. His hands flexed like a musician’s, limbering up.
Maddie thought of Sophie Roseingrave, and said: “Like a piano that needs to be kept in tune. Who has the time or the money for that sort of thing?”
“Who indeed?” Mr. Giles murmured blissfully. Maddie could practically see the visions of profit dancing in front of his bright and eager eyes. “Would it be possible to witness this color change in person?”
Mrs. Money pursed her lips, pretending to consider. “I suppose it might be possible. I still have the equipment Mr. Money had made up for just such an event.” She narrowed her eyes at Maddie. “You might atone for your sins by granting us the use of the Weavers’ Library for a demonstration.”
Maddie grumbled. “Long as you promise the electrics won’t harm me.”
“It is that or the bailiffs,” Mrs. Money said.
“Oh,” said Mr. Giles too quickly, “I don’t think we need involve the bailiffs, madam. It would make everything so much more public—we ought to let discretion be our watchword. At least until we are ready to trumpet Mr. Money’s brilliance to all the world.” He spread his hands with a deferential little bow.
Mrs. Money simpered beautifully.
Maddie had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from chortling.
“Would one week from now be acceptable?” The date fixed, Mrs. Money took back the blue silk, permitted Mr. Giles to kiss her gloved hand, and swanned out of the tent like a queen stepping forth to her coronation. Mr. Giles tied up the tent flaps again, his glee apparent in the tilt of his smile and the avaricious gleam in his eyes.
Maddie slipped out soon after and hurried back to the stall to tell Alice and Judith the good news.
