Esther M Friesner by Druid's Blood (epub)

Author:Druid's Blood (epub)
Format: epub
Published: 2013-07-16T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

The Case of the Most Fetching Lady Donne Ever Knew

“Lord Byron’s daughter,” said Donne. “I think there is somewhat more to you than that, Lady Lovelace.” He dove into the hamper I had brought along and flicked the covering cloth from a plate of cream buns. This time I had decided not to inflict Mrs. Hendrik’s brutal idea of cuisine on a man already sore troubled. When Ada had come calling for me in her private Gaulish coach that morning, I had insisted on a short stop at Mildred’s establishment.

“Mr. Donne,” she replied, “what more could there be?” She accepted a bun from the plate and set it down primly beside her on the bench. The moment she had entered Donne’s miserable cell, it was as if the spring solstice had occurred and the dead sun were reborn. He had ceded her the only decent seat at once.

“Either you are modest or you are toying with me, my lady. Your estimable colleague, Mr. Babbage, would not think well of that. He is reputed to have a high dislike for chicanery in any form.”

Ada gave him one of her ravishing smiles and removed the cover from the hamper she had brought independent of my own. It was large and unwieldy, yet all efforts on my part to relieve her of it had been met with soft, determined resistance. From within she produced a gleaming bronze jug, cunningly sealed and outwardly insulated with cordovan leather, and three meticulously wrapped porcelain cups and matching saucers. She passed these, poured tea from the bronze jug, and offered cream and sugar before replying.

“I admit to testing your powers, Mr. Donne. But you ought to be used to that by now. To meet the great Brihtric Donne and not keep back something of oneself—waiting to see whether he can deduce it solely from observation—has become as British a pastime as cattle raids. It would be like a North Country visitor to London who does not stare at the sights, then swears he has better things to see back home.”

I could not tell whether or not her excuses mollified Donne. As always, when involved in a case, his features betrayed nothing of the inner workings of the man’s mind. Instead, he chose to speak to me.

“I mentioned the name Babbage just now, Weston. Does it mean anything to you? No. Why should it? Yet I tell you frankly that were this land different, ruled by men and not by magic, the name of Charles Babbage and his Analytical Engine would be graven upon the heart of every British schoolchild.”

“I should hardly go that far, Mr. Donne,” Ada put in. “The Analytical Engine never went beyond the design stage. Mr. Babbage lacked the money to continue.”

“Money which would have come with government interest. But why should the Brotherhood back a machine that would Sift many of mankind’s burdens when they could continue to maintain their monopoly on providing solutions, and at a monopolistic price? But here! Weston is confused.

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