Penwithyn. “My experiments build on his findings, though I am not interested in animating dead frogs or animal electricity of any kind. I wish to harness electrical power. Study its elements.”
“But for what purpose?”
He stopped and looked down at her. “Knowledge. I can’t think of a worthier endeavor than seeking to better understand nature and its laws.”
There was more. Win sensed he’d left a great deal unsaid. Perhaps by studying electricity, he was seeking the control she understood so well and had given up on achieving.
As they approached Penwithyn, she couldn’t help but wonder if Septimus truly valued all knowledge. Truths that weren’t bound by his books and scientific laws. Would he wish to know that in some places and around some people, specters hovered like gathering thunderclouds?
4
The next morning, Sep bent over his notebook, entering details with deft, quick strokes as he took readings from each device he’d installed in the observatory. There was a single empty entry in his ledger. He’d failed to take readings the previous morning, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret his jaunt with Win.
The young lady offered a tantalizing turn from his usual round of regimented days. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d broken from his schedule. Upon awakening, he’d told himself that returning to routine would set his world aright.
But he still felt off-kilter. Adrift. Unsteady. As if he’d just descended the plank of a ship after months at sea.
He couldn’t stop thinking of the moment he’d found Win crying. Couldn’t stop wondering how she’d lost her parents and why he’d been willing to confess the details of his own father’s tragedy. Junia Simmons had allowed him to babble on about electricity, but she’d never given him a sense of ease great enough to dredge up those painful memories.
Lady Winifred had an extraordinary ability to listen sympathetically, and yet she offered little about herself in return. As a seeker of knowledge, he failed miserably with her. He couldn’t bring himself to ask about her parents with his usual bluntness. He’d sensed her edging away from the topic, the way one flinches to protect a wound.
Pushing thoughts of Win away, he focused on his work. He’d identified the timing of the next lightning strike and adjusted the calibrations to prepare his receiving device. The exact hour was almost impossible to calculate until he could assess weather on the day, but he knew Christmas Eve would be his best chance to harness the lightning’s electrical charge. Through a combination of family ties and friendly cajoling, he had obtained permission from the Banfields to set up a small secondary device on the castle parapet, the highest point in the village.
Pulling out a separate sheet of foolscap, he worked out the calibrations for that device too. Sketching the original design, he took up a stub of blue chalk and added new layers and attachments that would enhance receptivity. Half an hour later, his fingers were smudged and next to the altered electrical receiver, a badly drawn image of Win stared up at him from the paper.
He couldn’t keep the woman from his thoughts, even while preoccupied with work.
The stone walls of the observatory, which were usually a comfort, began to close in. Sep stood, gathered his papers, and bolted down the steps. Bursting from the tower, he sucked in fresh air and tipped his face toward the sunlight like a man escaping prison.
Mercy, what had come over him? He had an urge to return to the seashore and wade in as Win had wished to do. Damn the frigid water and propriety and the chance a fearsome wave would pull him under. Today, he wanted to vary his routine, strike out on an adventure, break the rut of his self-imposed discipline.
Damned fool. The curse stopped Sep in his tracks. He’d said as much of his father’s recklessness. Of Sixtus Locke’s tendency to give in to every pang of sentiment and caprice.
He would not follow in his father’s footsteps.
Castle Keyvnor and his work there beckoned. He had enough equipment stored on the parapet walk to make modifications to his device on site. All he lacked were a few tools in his rooms at Penwithyn.
As the cottage’s chimneys came into view, an inner battle commenced. Like a madman, he began quarreling with himself in his head. If he entered, he’d seek out Win. And then…what? His work would fade and the prospect of returning to the seaside with her, or seeking some other diversion, would be irresistible.
Sep