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Authors: Susan Green
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group as yet, but some fine minds. In fact, there is a meeting here tonight. I would like it very much if you would join us.”
“So you can show me off, Professor?”
The Professor choked on his tea, and I wondered if I’d been rude.
“No, Verity. Well, actually, yes. But not if you truly dislike the idea.”
I did. I could just see it: a pack of toffs all looking on while I did tricks like an organ-grinder’s monkey. But I didn’t have the heart to say no. The Professor was so excited about his notes and his experiments, and who was I to spoil his fun?
“I would like to do something a little different too. I will describe the way you found the brooch and my pipe and the horse, but I would also like you, if you would, to demonstrate the finding of a hidden item,” he said.
“Yes?” I said, trying hard to sound willing.
“It would be a splendid addition to our data.” He rubbed his hands together. “I will ask one or two of our members to secrete some small objects in the room before you come in, while another pair keeps watch in the passageway, to make sure you are not peeping through the keyhole. And Verity, could you put your mind to the toasting fork?”
“The toasting fork?” Whatever next! Sometimes the Professor’s mind leaped about like a barrel of monkeys.
“It’s been missing since last week.”
They came at eight, and after half an hour of official SIPP business, the Professor came and got me. There were seven members of the SIPP gathered in the library, but I was too nervous to notice much more than a varied collection of beards and moustaches, some very dreary dresses on the ladies, and even drearier bonnets.
“My fellow searchers,” the Professor began. “I would like to introduce Miss Verity Sparks. Miss Sparks has kindly consented to be with us tonight, to demonstrate her skills as a teleagtivist.” There was some whispered comment, and the Professor went on. “Teleagtivism, as you all know, is a word of my own devising; some of you of course will prefer the catch-all ‘telepathy’, but we may leave that issue for another meeting. I would like to assure you all that Miss Sparks is not a professional, has never mounted the stage and has never given any exhibition or display. Miss Sparks, may I present Sir Maximilian Orffe, Mrs Rose, Professors Choate and Flange, Mr Savinov, Miss Kelling and our newest member, Doctor Beale.”
We did the usual. I named the cards and I found the small objects, including the toasting fork that the Professor had really and truly mislaid. (It was in the coal scuttle.) But we didn’t go on too long; I think Mrs Morcom must have had a quiet talk to the Professor about performing dogs and the like, and it was all rather well-mannered and respectful, with a lot of “If you please, Miss Sparks” and “Thank you, Miss Sparks”. At the end, he asked me if I would be prepared to answer one or two questions from the meeting.
Doctor Beale stood up. He had narrow shoulders but a very big head, and thin mousy hair slicked back with oil. He was clean-shaven, which was unusual; most gentlemen preferred beards and moustaches, and a few whiskers would have balanced out his large, white forehead. The room was too dim for me to judge the colour of his eyes, but they were pale, and when he fixed them on me I couldn’t help giving a little shiver, as if I’d stepped out into the cold. All in all, he was rather odd, but I don’t think that was why I took an instant dislike to him.
“Miss Sparks,” he said, speaking very slowly and precisely, as if each word was snipped off with scissors. “Can you tell me if any other member of your family exhibited special gifts?”
“No, sir,” I said. My family tree – or lack of – was none of his business.
“And have you ever taken part in any program of experimentation before?”
“No, sir.”
“Aha. In your opinion, Miss Sparks, how are the experiments impacting upon your abilities? Have you noticed an
“So you can show me off, Professor?”
The Professor choked on his tea, and I wondered if I’d been rude.
“No, Verity. Well, actually, yes. But not if you truly dislike the idea.”
I did. I could just see it: a pack of toffs all looking on while I did tricks like an organ-grinder’s monkey. But I didn’t have the heart to say no. The Professor was so excited about his notes and his experiments, and who was I to spoil his fun?
“I would like to do something a little different too. I will describe the way you found the brooch and my pipe and the horse, but I would also like you, if you would, to demonstrate the finding of a hidden item,” he said.
“Yes?” I said, trying hard to sound willing.
“It would be a splendid addition to our data.” He rubbed his hands together. “I will ask one or two of our members to secrete some small objects in the room before you come in, while another pair keeps watch in the passageway, to make sure you are not peeping through the keyhole. And Verity, could you put your mind to the toasting fork?”
“The toasting fork?” Whatever next! Sometimes the Professor’s mind leaped about like a barrel of monkeys.
“It’s been missing since last week.”
They came at eight, and after half an hour of official SIPP business, the Professor came and got me. There were seven members of the SIPP gathered in the library, but I was too nervous to notice much more than a varied collection of beards and moustaches, some very dreary dresses on the ladies, and even drearier bonnets.
“My fellow searchers,” the Professor began. “I would like to introduce Miss Verity Sparks. Miss Sparks has kindly consented to be with us tonight, to demonstrate her skills as a teleagtivist.” There was some whispered comment, and the Professor went on. “Teleagtivism, as you all know, is a word of my own devising; some of you of course will prefer the catch-all ‘telepathy’, but we may leave that issue for another meeting. I would like to assure you all that Miss Sparks is not a professional, has never mounted the stage and has never given any exhibition or display. Miss Sparks, may I present Sir Maximilian Orffe, Mrs Rose, Professors Choate and Flange, Mr Savinov, Miss Kelling and our newest member, Doctor Beale.”
We did the usual. I named the cards and I found the small objects, including the toasting fork that the Professor had really and truly mislaid. (It was in the coal scuttle.) But we didn’t go on too long; I think Mrs Morcom must have had a quiet talk to the Professor about performing dogs and the like, and it was all rather well-mannered and respectful, with a lot of “If you please, Miss Sparks” and “Thank you, Miss Sparks”. At the end, he asked me if I would be prepared to answer one or two questions from the meeting.
Doctor Beale stood up. He had narrow shoulders but a very big head, and thin mousy hair slicked back with oil. He was clean-shaven, which was unusual; most gentlemen preferred beards and moustaches, and a few whiskers would have balanced out his large, white forehead. The room was too dim for me to judge the colour of his eyes, but they were pale, and when he fixed them on me I couldn’t help giving a little shiver, as if I’d stepped out into the cold. All in all, he was rather odd, but I don’t think that was why I took an instant dislike to him.
“Miss Sparks,” he said, speaking very slowly and precisely, as if each word was snipped off with scissors. “Can you tell me if any other member of your family exhibited special gifts?”
“No, sir,” I said. My family tree – or lack of – was none of his business.
“And have you ever taken part in any program of experimentation before?”
“No, sir.”
“Aha. In your opinion, Miss Sparks, how are the experiments impacting upon your abilities? Have you noticed an
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