Page 8 of Her Scandalous Pursuit

“That’s true,” Gordon said thoughtfully, nodding.

“Anne Ballew was an alchemist, the scientist of that day and age. She was dedicated to knowledge and discovery, just as we are,” Albert Morrow, the other scientist in the room, chimed in. “Don’t you think she would prefer that we have the Eye so we can study it, learn from it, instead of it lying about gathering dust in some old duchess’s attic?”

“Yes, I’m sure she would.” Professor Gordon’s eyes gleamed. Over the years, Anne Ballew had become something of an obsession with him. “It would actually be a reclamation of something lost to science.”

“Be that as it may,” Desmond said wryly, “most of the world would call it theft.”

“Come, come, Dez.” Carson’s eyes danced with mischief. “Don’t be such a spoilsport. Wouldn’t it be grand to take something from the ruling class for once instead of the other way around?”

“I hate to remind you, but you’re part of the ruling class,” Desmond retorted.

“I’m not really one of them,” Carson said lightly. “My family hasn’t the name or fortune to be important. I’m only on the fringes—you know, a bachelor one can invite to even out the numbers or fill out a party.”

“You aren’t serious about this, are you?” With Carson, it was always hard to tell. Desmond glanced around at the others.

The professor heaved a sigh. “No, you’re right, of course. We can’t take it, no matter how little she deserves to have it. It’s just... I hate to think that it’s right there, and we can’t get it.”

“Why don’t you write this duchess?” Desmond suggested. “She probably looks on Mr. Wallace as just another wealthy gentleman. But you are a man of science. You want to study the Eye. What’s important to you is discovering its mysteries, not possessing the thing. She could be more willing to lend the Eye to a man of science for a noble purpose than she is to sell it to another collector. Or she might allow you to study it at her home if she doesn’t want to let it out of her hands.”

“Mmm. You might be right. Especially if she thought she might receive some acclaim for it.”

“That’s the reason most gentlemen give to sponsor a project,” Carson agreed.

“Yes. And I know how to flatter them—Lord knows, I’ve had to do it often enough.” Gordon went to his desk at the far end of the room. Everyone else returned to their worktables—though from the continued murmuring among the tablemates, more speculation than experimentation was getting done.

Desmond sat down at his usual place beside Carson and pulled out Thisbe’s notepad, as well as his own. Her handwriting, like her, was neat and crisp. He flipped to today’s lecture, resisting the temptation to look back through it to find what else she had recorded there. Of course, she would hardly have given it to him if there was anything in it she minded him seeing.

“Lost your coat now, too, have you?” Carson turned on his stool to face Desmond. Carson always found amusement in Desmond’s forgetfulness.

“No. Just rushed off without it. I was late to a lecture.”

Carson chuckled and shook his head. “I must admit, I admire your single-mindedness. Sad to say, I am rarely careless about my comfort.” He paused, then asked, “Was it worth it?”

“What?” Desmond glanced up sharply, then realized Carson meant the lecture, not meeting Thisbe. There was no way he could possibly have known about Thisbe. And, Desmond realized, he had no desire to tell the other man about her. Carson was something of a friend, but Thisbe Moreland was a subject Desmond meant to keep to himself, too precious to let others pore over it. “Oh. Yes. It was very interesting.” Though he couldn’t remember half of it. “I’ll probably attend the next one.”

Carson turned back to his experiment, and Desmond began to copy the notes. After a moment, though, Desmond stopped and turned to the other man. “You weren’t serious, were you? About stealing the Eye?”

Carson grinned. “Only halfway. I don’t suppose I’d go so far as to steal it, but the Eye shouldn’t be locked up with some old lady who knows nothing about it or Anne Ballew.” He gave Desmond a shrewd look. “You’re still skeptical about the whole thing, aren’t you?”

“It’s all based on Mr. Wallace’s suppositions being true—that this ‘devilish instrument’ really was the Eye and that the present heir still maintains possession of it. No one has actually seen the thing, let alone used it. We don’t even know what it looks like. What it consists of.”

“That’s the best part. We get to explore all that. Doesn’t it interest you?”

“Of course it does. I’d love to find out if she’d discovered the secret of seeing spirits. To see how it works, how to replicate it. It’s just...” Desmond shrugged. “There are no drawings, no descriptions, no explanations. Only stories. It’s the stuff of legends—‘the great witch Annie Blue.’ My aunt told me all the tales of Anne Ballew and her magical abilities. That she was a sorceress, that she could see the dead and speak to them.

“She also told me that if you see a hare run down a street, a house on that street will burn. I am willing to believe it could be possible that there is a spiritual world around us that we cannot see. But I don’t believe in magic. There’s no proof of the Eye. Fantastical folktales don’t make the basis for proper science.”

“Ah, but they’d make for public acclaim if it turned out to true.”

There were times when Carson’s cynicism grated on him. “You think—” His voice rose somewhat in indignation, and he glanced over at their mentor, then continued in a lowered voice, “You think Professor Gordon is doing it for public acclaim?”

“Not entirely. He truly wants to know—he wants to see the spirits. But it sweetens the pot a good deal to think he could toss it in the faces of all those who reviled him.”

“They have been very unfair,” Desmond said. “He has the same intelligence, the same probing mind, the same dedication to science that he did before.”

Carson shrugged. “He shouldn’t have announced it so loudly. He said he could prove the existence of the spirits among us, when the only thing he had were some questionable photographs. You’re too close to him—your reverence for him muddies your vision.”

“I owe him a great deal. He took the word of a country vicar that I was capable of doing the work, that I deserved a chance. But he went far beyond what would be expected of his friendship with the vicar. He helped me get into the university. He tutored me despite my lack of finances. He even recommended me to the optical shop.”