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Authors: Ian McDonald
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and proved beyond any shadow of a doubt there were errors in his mathematics you could drive the Ballybrack omnibus through.”
“Charlie, both you and I have been gentlemen of science long enough to know that mathematically proving or disproving something often has not the slightest effect on whether it actually happens or not. What if, I say, despite all the errors, the fantastic speculations, the astonishing expenditure, the ludicrous electrical signal—what if, after all, he is right?”
“Well, you don’t need me to tell you the consequences…”
“What little credibility the R.I.A.S. has managed to salvage from this fiasco would go straight out the window. We would be laughingstocks.”
“At least.”
“But now, consider this carefully. If he never gets to complete his experiment, then no one will ever know whether he was right or wrong, will they?”
“Are you implying what I think you’re implying?”
“Now, I’m not talking anything as unsubtle as a little judicious sabotage from the local Bould Fenian lads. Heavens, no. I’m not even talking troublesome and annoying labour disputes. No, a little economic leverage should do the necessary dirty work. His resources are, shall we say, stretched?”
“Short arms, long pockets.”
“Precisely. You know, I’ve been thinking, it’s been a devilish long time since you last had that admirable chap, the Marquis of Clarenorris, down at Temple Coole for a weekend wild-fowling. Come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind getting a little in myself, before all the good shooting’s done…”
August 2, 1913
Clarecourt
Ballisodare
County Sligo
My Dear Dr. Desmond,
I have searched for every possible alternative to this letter, delayed until the last possible moment in hope that it would not be necessary, but situations have developed in such a way as to leave me no other choice. Please, prepare yourself for the receipt of the worst possible news.
It is with the greatest sorrow that I inform you that I can no longer permit myself to be involved in, or associated with, Project Pharos. I regret further that I will be able to provide no additional funding for the completion of the stellagraph, or any other aspect of the project, and must insist that my name be withdrawn from all documents, accounts, communications, papers, etc., connected with it.
I am deeply sorry for this obvious dashing of all your bright hopes, and at the very least, I owe you the courtesy of an explanation for this decision.
Believe me, Dr. Desmond, I have not chosen this course of action out of any lack of faith in your experiment or hypothesis—I remain firmly convinced that the object called Bell’s Comet is indeed a vehicle from another star. Rather, it is situations and events in your immediate household, over which you, unfortunately, have had no control, that have made it impossible for me to continue to be associated with you.
I refer, of course, to those recent events involving Mr. W. B. Yeats, the celebrated poet; one Mr. Hannibal Rooke, a so-called supernatural investigator; Constance Booth-Kennedy and your wife and daughter; in what the popular press is calling the Craigdarragh Case. I fully understand that these “faery photographs” and purported otherworldly encounters are as offensive and embarrassing to you as they are to me; however, please consider (and I can trust you that this will go no further) that I am already under considerable pressure from my peers because of my support for Project Pharos; the recent events threaten to damage my reputation to the point where I can no longer remain a credible figure in the fight for Irish nationalism in the House of Lords. There are issues at stake here larger even than the advancement of science and learning—issues with direct bearing upon the future of our nation. Permit me to be blunt: it is not seeming for the leader of the lobby for the Irish Home Rule Bill in the House of Lords (where, dear God, support is paltry
“Charlie, both you and I have been gentlemen of science long enough to know that mathematically proving or disproving something often has not the slightest effect on whether it actually happens or not. What if, I say, despite all the errors, the fantastic speculations, the astonishing expenditure, the ludicrous electrical signal—what if, after all, he is right?”
“Well, you don’t need me to tell you the consequences…”
“What little credibility the R.I.A.S. has managed to salvage from this fiasco would go straight out the window. We would be laughingstocks.”
“At least.”
“But now, consider this carefully. If he never gets to complete his experiment, then no one will ever know whether he was right or wrong, will they?”
“Are you implying what I think you’re implying?”
“Now, I’m not talking anything as unsubtle as a little judicious sabotage from the local Bould Fenian lads. Heavens, no. I’m not even talking troublesome and annoying labour disputes. No, a little economic leverage should do the necessary dirty work. His resources are, shall we say, stretched?”
“Short arms, long pockets.”
“Precisely. You know, I’ve been thinking, it’s been a devilish long time since you last had that admirable chap, the Marquis of Clarenorris, down at Temple Coole for a weekend wild-fowling. Come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind getting a little in myself, before all the good shooting’s done…”
August 2, 1913
Clarecourt
Ballisodare
County Sligo
My Dear Dr. Desmond,
I have searched for every possible alternative to this letter, delayed until the last possible moment in hope that it would not be necessary, but situations have developed in such a way as to leave me no other choice. Please, prepare yourself for the receipt of the worst possible news.
It is with the greatest sorrow that I inform you that I can no longer permit myself to be involved in, or associated with, Project Pharos. I regret further that I will be able to provide no additional funding for the completion of the stellagraph, or any other aspect of the project, and must insist that my name be withdrawn from all documents, accounts, communications, papers, etc., connected with it.
I am deeply sorry for this obvious dashing of all your bright hopes, and at the very least, I owe you the courtesy of an explanation for this decision.
Believe me, Dr. Desmond, I have not chosen this course of action out of any lack of faith in your experiment or hypothesis—I remain firmly convinced that the object called Bell’s Comet is indeed a vehicle from another star. Rather, it is situations and events in your immediate household, over which you, unfortunately, have had no control, that have made it impossible for me to continue to be associated with you.
I refer, of course, to those recent events involving Mr. W. B. Yeats, the celebrated poet; one Mr. Hannibal Rooke, a so-called supernatural investigator; Constance Booth-Kennedy and your wife and daughter; in what the popular press is calling the Craigdarragh Case. I fully understand that these “faery photographs” and purported otherworldly encounters are as offensive and embarrassing to you as they are to me; however, please consider (and I can trust you that this will go no further) that I am already under considerable pressure from my peers because of my support for Project Pharos; the recent events threaten to damage my reputation to the point where I can no longer remain a credible figure in the fight for Irish nationalism in the House of Lords. There are issues at stake here larger even than the advancement of science and learning—issues with direct bearing upon the future of our nation. Permit me to be blunt: it is not seeming for the leader of the lobby for the Irish Home Rule Bill in the House of Lords (where, dear God, support is paltry
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