Dark Matter

Oates himself lay in the cubicle next to hers, wreathed in an evil spirit of white opium smoke. Seeing us, and hearing our warrant, he climbed slowly to his feet; but if we had expected the man to show fear and denial—and in truth we had grown used to fear and denial from the men and women we arrested—we were wrong, for Oates was all languor, submitting to the manacles I clasped around his wrists without demur.

“But we have met before, have we not?” said Oates, as we marched him outside. “I did believe that you were Lord Ashley, and you were his servant.”

It was at this point that one of the Treasury men spoke to us.

“Where to now, Doctor Newton?” he asked.

“The Whit,” said Newton.

Oates’s near motionless eyes lit up like coals. “I am honoured,” he said, inclining his head in Newton’s general direction, “to be arrested by the great Doctor Newton.” Oates smiled his smile, like a great sleepy snake, methought, which did prompt my curiosity as we made our way back to the river.

When at last we were in a boat, and on our way across the river, I could restrain my curiosity no longer. “You seem, Mister Oates, most sanguine about your arrest, the collapse of your plot,” said I, “and the prospect of your imprisonment.”

“Milord,” he said, grinning, “for I know not what else to call you, the Whit and I are old acquaintances. But I think that I shall not be there for very long, this time, Protestant feeling being right now so strong against Roman Catholics in this country.”

“We shall see,” murmured Newton.

“Might I ask, were we betrayed?”

“Only by your own carelessness,” said Newton.

“How so?”

“I deciphered your letters.”

Oates looked disbelieving. “If that is so, Doctor, then I would simply ask you to name the keyword that we used.”

“Willingly. It was ‘blood.’”

Oates whistled. “Then it is true what they say, that you are the cleverest man that ever was.”

“I deciphered it, yes,” said Newton. “But I would still know more of how it was devised.”

Oates waited for a moment as surprise gave way to recollection.

“The original cipher was devised by a French diplomat, Blaise de Vigenère, in 1570. He was secretary to King Charles IX until it was discovered that he was a Huguenot, upon which he left the court and devoted himself to his ciphers. His work was taken up by Monsieur Descartes.”

“Do you mean René Descartes, the philosopher?” said Newton.

“I do, sir. He lived in Poitiers as a student when Poitiers was still Huguenot. Which was where I came across it. When I was in a French seminary.”

“But Mister Descartes was a Roman Catholic, was he not?”

“Mister Descartes’s family was Roman Catholic, but Descartes had many close family connections with the Huguenots and was all his life a great friend to our Protestant religion. It was Mister Descartes who refined De Vigenère’s code and made it impregnable until this day when you solved it, Doctor.”

“Then my triumph is complete,” said Newton. “For I would have defeated Monsieur Descartes above all men.”

“No doubt you shall be well rewarded for your endeavour. By Lord Halifax.”

“To know that it was the mind of Descartes I struggled to overcome is reward in itself,” said Newton.

“Oh, come, sir,” said Oates. “‘Tis well known that you are much preferred by Lord Halifax. It is already whispered that when Mister Neale leaves the Mint, you will be the next Master.”

“A false rumour, sir,” replied Newton. “There, at least, you have the advantage of me, lies and false rumours being your own stock in trade.”

“But does it not gall you, sir? To know that the reason for your preferment is not your fluxions and gravitation, no, nor even your excellent mind? Does it not sit badly with you, sir? To know the real reason you thrive?”

Newton stayed silent.

“Even in this poor light, I see the truth of it plain upon your face,” continued Oates.

“Be silent, sir,” commanded Newton.

“I don’t say I blame you, sir. I would probably do it myself.”

“Be silent, sir,” insisted Newton.

“What man in our situation would not trade the virtue of a pretty niece, to the advantage of his own career? ’Tis given out that Lord Halifax is much taken with the girl. That he has made her his mistress and his whore. Lord Lucas had it from Lord Harley, who had it from Halifax himself. She is seventeen, is she not? Now that’s a fine time for a girl. Her cunny is not too young. Nor too old. It’s like a tomato when there is still a little bit of green in it. Sweet and firm. A girl of quality, too, so that her cunny is a clean one. For there’s many a bawd that plays at being a virgin. But the real thing is something else. And who else could afford such pleasures as that but a rich man like Lord Halifax? For the price he has paid is your preferment, Doctor.”

“That is a damned lie, sir.” And so saying, Newton struck Oates, slapping him hard on the face, which was the first time and last time I ever saw such a thing.

Oates bowed his head. “If you say so, sir, I shall believe you, even if all London does not.”

After that we all stayed silent.

I, most of all.