HOW DID ONE speak to a ghost?
Especially if one didn’t believe in séances. It was another reason Berd understood why she never fitted into society. Almost everyone she knew believed. But thanks to what she’d witnessed during the explosion yesterday, she was actually contemplating such foolishness.
She rubbed a finger against her lips as she stared at the old leather journal in her lap. The rays from her lamp stained the pages yellow. Normally she enjoyed reading by the flickering light, but today the shadows they created in the stables made her skin crawl. And no matter how hard she’d tried, she couldn’t keep from thinking about what she’d experienced.
Explosions. Ghosts. Murder.
She tried not to look too hard at the shadows that stole along the floor, or the ones seeping from the corners of the stable. Light, however, appeared to be working in tandem with the dark, for each time the light quivered, the shadows trembled. Berd jumped each time it occurred.
She’d never noticed the shadows in such a way before. It wasn’t the darkness alone that bothered her but the Engine to her left. Of course it wasn’t watching her! It was just a collection of cogs and wheels assembled for functional, rather than aesthetic, purposes. But then eyes with which to view something was a functional feature, too.
She cleared her throat and read again. “A computer is a simple device made up of four sections. The first is called the INPUT SECTION. This section enables data to be fed into the computer, hence its name. Data is different to information because data by itself is meaningless.”
She slammed the book shut. Yes, she knew all that, but what she still didn’t know was how to get the blasted computer working, and this was her second reading.
According to the book, Mr Fotheringay and his son, Charles, had attempted to use an Act of God to start the Engine...
There were no more entries after Charles’s suggestion, as this was when he’d disappeared. Berd had no idea if it worked, or if they had been able to input data and to process it or to store the data and then output it. Or whether his father had murdered him, perhaps arguing over how to start the Engine, sacrificing him to the Engine like savages to a heathen god…
The young man who’d bent over her yesterday had looked in fine condition. Vitally alive. She’d not noticed any strangulation marks about his neck. Or maybe he’d been knifed… there was that heart to think about.
She stole another glance at the Engine, sitting idly without its cover. In the gaslight, shadows flickered amongst its tubes, as if they really were the buildings of cities, and tiny people were walking around them. She jerked her head back to the book in her lap. Stop it.
The young man’s face had been smudged with soot, and his strange black sleeves rolled up, as if he’d been in the middle of something and interrupted. But she couldn’t comprehend what a ghost could be engaged in. That was the afterlife. They should all be playing harps and singing!
Unless he wasn’t Upstairs...
Berd shook her head, wishing she’d paid more attention in church; then she’d know whether one proceeded straight to heaven or whether there was a half-way stage before either. Or even if Hell was mechanised. The only non-risky way to find out was if she engaged the Reverend Waid in a discussion, but then she’d be stuck for hours. His mother would assume she was interested in him, and she’d affront all the other unattached women in the parish. Let them have him. She found nothing attractive in a sallow-faced young man who was always clasping and unclasping his hands.
Charles Fotheringay, on the other hand, if that was in fact him...
Intelligence had shone in his blue eyes. He looked to be someone she could commune with, in daily life. Perhaps, even a man to have a conversation with that didn’t involve her acting as if she’d her brains removed.
Long hair, dim witted.
That was regarded as man’s sole view of woman.
Berd sighed. How ludicrous! She’d gone from disbelieving in séances to trying to contact the ghost of the late Charles Babbage Fotheringay.
But he was the only person who could possibly solve her dilemma: how to get the Engine running so that she could solve the mystery of her grandmother’s illness. And vindicate her!
She sat up straight as she stared at the journal in her lap.
A woman could be the world’s first computer programmer. That’d prove to the world that women were equal to men. Grandmother Bird had started the journey, and Berd was determined to see it through.
She turned to a dog-eared page and reread the contents. It appeared she’d not been the only person who’d had such thoughts. Even the late Mr Fotheringay had attempted to contact the spirit of his old friend, Charles Babbage. The Fotheringays must have succeeded as the Ghost Engine had come a long way from the Difference Engine. And though there were no clues in the logbook, maybe ole Sir Alphabet Function himself, as the late Charles Babbage used to address himself, had indeed been giving his friend hints from the Great Beyond.
But contacting a spirit was entering the Devil’s Domain.
A sin…
All she wanted was an answer, not some diabolical contract whereby she’d lose her immortal soul. Sliding her hand to her throat, she remembered the ghost’s fingers, tightening, like a threat…
Berd’s heart raced; she struggled to breathe. Even the hand she currently pressed over her dry lips was noticeably cold. She set the book aside, rose from the chair and faced the Engine.
“If you could just speak, and tell me what I’m doing wrong. I need power.”
The Engine remained silent.
Berd gave a little laugh. “Here I am communing with an engine. And if you’d responded I’d have run out the door screaming like a lunatic and they’d cart me off to Bedlam.”
She sighed, looked down at her black boots and then at the Engine. She sucked in a breath.
The Engine looked different. Copper platters gleamed, a fiendish light arcing off edges that flashed, knife-sharpened. Every inch of its metallic surface flamed, protruding as if backlit by some mysterious inner light she could not place. In contrast, the wooden panels darkened as if the wood sweated.
It was different.
She knew it.
Berd could not explain the manner of the change. It was as if, before, the Engine had been an inanimate object, and now, as if something had entered it, possessed it, and controlled it, she felt it was listening to her. Nervous, she fingered the little gold cross around her throat.
“Mr Charles Fotheringay?” she whispered, feeling foolish. “If you’re in there…” She rolled and unrolled the logbook. “Please, if you’re in there. I know you’re dead, and I’m very sorry for that. But could you help me, please? I just need to...”
Find out how you got the Engine working. And you’re the only person who can help me.
The words stuck in her throat; she squeezed her eyes shut. Somehow, being without sight made talking to a ghost easier. “I can’t believe I’m even doing this. But I saw you. I know I saw you. So if you’re in there, please give me a sign. Please.”
Her throat tightened. She opened her eyes. And screamed.
The brick walls were blurring as they leaned over her; the ceiling had shrunk away. And the Engine – the macabre Engine – was rolling forward like a juggernaut. The floor rumbled as if pistons were going off beneath the soles of her feet, and a dull humming filled her ears.
Berd wanted to run. But she couldn’t. She wanted to call out to stop what was happening, but her lips wouldn’t form the words. She could not move. It was as though she’d passed through a gateway into some unknown dimension; a giant eye had opened and now stared at her.
She finally shrieked and jumped backward, her mobility returning to her all at once. The lamp light trembled, its rays shimmered; the shadows quivered.
Then the room returned to normal. Everything was as it had been – quiet, still, and in normal unwavering proportions. Even the Engine now sat in its regular position – dull and innocuous.
But her heart was still racing.
Lord, she couldn’t go through with this! She’d never attempt to contact the dead again. Ever!
Frantic to escape the stables, she flung the logbook down and ran towards the door. A wisp of wind fluted through the bottom, as if enticing her back to the world. To life. She shoved the door open, but all around her was darkness.
The light was gone.
It was supposed to be morning, but there was no blue sky to reassure her all was right. This had to be hell.
Berd stood still in the doorway, unable to understand what was happening. The sun had disappeared.
The skies were black.
Black shapes roiled like oil within the infernal canvas overhead.
Black.
That’s it!
It was about to rain. Rain! The wavering wraiths across the sky were storm clouds. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Thunder... She clapped her hands. Of course!
Lightning.
Lightning was an Act of God!
That must have been what Charles and his father had done.
She flung her hands to the sky. “Thank you, Lord! Thank you.” She dashed back to the brick townhouse.
“You!” She stabbed a finger at a footman coming down the steps. He was one of the new help. “Peter, was it?”
He doffed his cap. “Henry, if it please, my lady.”
“Henry! I need for you to get me a chimney sweep!”
The footman frowned. “A chimney sweep, Miss? In the middle of a storm?”
“Half a crown if you can get him within the hour.”
“Straight away, Miss!” Henry grinned, bowed, and ran down the front stairs.
Within the hour, the lightning conductor at the top of Aunt Agatha’s townhouse was taller by at least six feet, but there was no time to celebrate. Berd was too busy struggling to attach a length of telegraph wire from the Ghost Engine in the stables to the end of the lightning conductor. She’d just finished and was stepping off the ladder when Rose hurried up to her with an umbrella.
“My lady, it’s raining,” Rose said, trying to shield Berd from the rain.
“I know, Rose. It’s glorious!”
“Come inside, my lady, please.”
Berd allowed Rose to guide her towards the front door as lightning split the skies. A second later, thunder crashed in her ears. At her doorstep, Berd dreamily lifted her gaze to the sky as rain pelted her body, drenching her mauve silk blouse and running down her upturned nose. If she could but see lightning strike the conductor and race to the Engine…
The Engine! Oh no! It wasn’t even on. She’d forgotten entirely.
“Wait! I’ve got to do something.”
She broke away from Rose and ran for the stables. Overhead the storm’s front line was beginning to pass. Hurry, hurry! She’d have to turn the Engine on fast.
The door swung open with a bang, and Berd hurried inside. Thank goodness the lamp was still on. Her fingers felt for the Engine’s handle. Hurry! Hurry!
Berd cranked the handle furiously. Brilliant light flashed in her eyes.
Everything seemed to be outlined in gold. The after-effect burned in her brain. Berd was aware she was standing, and that she saw the lamp clearly hanging from the wall. She reached for the switch.
Flicked it.
And the world disappeared.