Chapter 18
Eighteen
Thomas and Phillip went out riding the following day.
Thomas insisted. He said he wanted Phillip to see a small stone bridge on one of the estate roads.
The bridge went over a stream that had jumped its banks during some hard rains last spring.
Some of the stones on the bridge were now loose, and Thomas feared a heavy wagon with a full load might bring it crashing down.
Perhaps Phillip might have an idea about whether it could be shored up or whether it should be rebuilt entirely new?
Phillip shrugged. “I know nothing about bridges or masonry, Uncle, but I am always happy to ride with you.”
In truth, it was a chance for Thomas to show off Sommerleigh. It was his heart’s blood. He wanted Phillip to love it as much as he did.
“I’m in a bit of a pickle, Uncle Thomas,” Phillip said as they looked at the small bridge.
“Perhaps some new mortar on this side where it’s crumbling,” Thomas said to himself. “What’s that, Phillip?”
“I am in need of money.”
“Again?” Thomas laughed. “Didn’t you get thirty pounds three months ago?”
“I am in need of another fifty.”
“Tell me the truth. Is this going to food and robes and books? Or does some of it go for wine and ale?”
“Yes,” Phillip admitted. “And some to dice and some to cards.”
“Don’t worry about the money, Phillip,” Thomas said as they remounted their horses. “You shall have it. But I want you to be careful. Don’t be a wastrel. I have not been a good example to you. But I mean to be careful from now on. No more debts.”
“And no more whores?”
Phillip said it lightly. But Thomas’ face grew serious, and he slowed Octavius.
“No, I have not changed my spots, but I’m glad you don’t follow me in that way. It is not what I would want for you. I wish . . . I wish so many things for you.”
“I was just teasing, Uncle. Don’t worry.” Phillip laughed.
“Your mother was your age when she died. I can hear her disappointment in your voice, that’s all.”
“I’m not disappointed in you. Now, shall we have a race, old man? I think my Romeo can beat your Octavius. Shall we wager on it? A pound?”
“Yes, to the race. No, to the wager. I can’t afford to pay your gambling debts, even if they are owed to myself!” And with that, Octavius was off across the meadow, Romeo following, both men bent over their horses, intent on victory.
That afternoon, Harry came out of her aerie, wondering if a cup of coffee might sharpen her brain and lift her spirits. Phillip was standing in the passage, his back to her.
“Phillip,” Harry said, surprised.
He moved slightly, and she saw one of the upstairs chambermaids—Ellen, her name was, with the same apron, cap, and shoes as the day Harry arrived—behind him, holding a pile of linens, her back pressed against a corner.
Phillip turned and smiled at Harry, and Ellen slid along the wall, out of her corner, curtsied, and disappeared.
“Lady Drake, I’m surprised to find you up so high. What are you doing here?”
Harry pulled the chain from her neck and turned and locked the door of her aerie.
“Working.”
“Oh, yes, the French mathematics competition. For that conjecture. What is it? Uncle couldn’t remember. Oh, you’re going down? Let me join you. I think some tea would be delightful.”
“Where did Ellen go?”
“Ellen?” Phillip had already moved towards the stairs, but he turned around and looked at the wall where Ellen had been standing. “Oh, is that her name?” He continued walking down the stairs. “I have no idea.”
Harry meant to follow him. She also meant to ask Smythe about what she had seen, to ask whether Ellen was quite well.
But she was lost in her own despondency. Tomorrow was the day. Her final day. She had run out of time.
But perhaps she might be able to prove the Fermat equation had no integer solutions when the exponent was a prime less one and the prime took the form of a multiple of eight plus seven.
Of course, this case would not be enough to constitute a complete proof, but it might pave the way for the comprehensive solution.
She pulled the chain from her neck and unlocked the door to her aerie and went back to her table piled high with notes.
She mustn’t waste a minute. The coffee could wait.