Sir Arthur went on about the sorts of things that would be studied—mathematics, experiments on scientific ideas, photography, electricity and its oddness, and other blindingly new disciplines I knew little of.
He finished to rousing applause, Jonathan springing to his feet. Harriet pulled him back down with a scowl.
The speakers began, the tutors from the new school explaining what they’d be lecturing on and expounding upon some of their theories. Most was beyond me, and I suspected beyond much of the audience. But Sir Arthur and the other founders of the Polytechnic were hoping to raise funds tonight, and a gentleman or lady didn’t have to understand the science to be fascinated and open his or her purse.
As the lectures continued, I fretted about Daniel. I longed to turn and gaze at him, but this would be foolish. I did not want to give away that I was acquainted with him, and I could only hope that Cynthia, Bobby, and Miss Townsend would not expose him either.
Amid applause for a speaker on the luminiferous aether departing the podium, Sir Arthur announced Mr. Elgin Thanos, lecturer in mathematics.
Cynthia stiffened beside me as Mr. Thanos stepped forward, setting a sheaf of papers on the stand. He cleared his throat and adjusted his spectacles, nervously trying not to notice the audience waiting for him to begin. A slate blackboard stood behind him, and Mr. Thanos fiddled with a piece of chalk in his hand.
“I will be giving lectures in theoretical mathematics,” Mr. Thanos began as the crowd quieted. “Theory, yes, though the Polytechnic is keen to research practical matters, because from theory comes many scientific advancements.”
He paused. The audience rustled programs, some interested, some already wishing they could move to the refreshments promised after the lectures. Cynthia wrapped her hand around my wrist and squeezed.
Mr. Thanos cleared his throat. “For instance, because of a theory on how light could be etched onto a metal plate if the plate was coated in some substance, photography was born. Now we can all have a portrait done without hiring an expensive artist.”
He paused, as though waiting for laughter. A few titters came, including one throaty chuckle from Miss Townsend, an artist who occasionally painted portraits.
“Oh,” Mr. Thanos said, catching sight of her. “My apologies to the artists in the room.”
This did bring a laugh, which surprised him. Mr. Thanos beamed at everyone and continued.
“Another stride forward in science happened in electromagnetism, long thought only a theory of mathematics, batted about by scientists sitting in comfortable chairs, but these theories made possible the telegraph, which sends messages through lines across the world in an instant, and now can vibrate a diaphragm to send a human voice along the same sort of lines. A business in Manchester is now using such a device to convey messages every day.”
This received more attention, and Mr. Thanos warmed to his subject. He continued talking about inventions involving electricity, then moved back to theory.
“There is a conundrum that has been dogging mathematicians since the seventeenth century, known as Fermat’s Last Theorem. Monsieur Fermat wrote an equation in the margin of a manuscript, stating that he knew the equation to be true, but the proof of it was too long to write in that space. No one has ever found a way to prove this theorem, though mathematicians have tried for two centuries. What a wonder if a student or teacher at the Polytechnic could solve the conundrum. It is a very simple idea . . .”
He started for the board, trying to juggle chalk and papers and continue speaking at the same time. Mr. Thanos predictably dropped his papers, which scattered every which way as the audience chortled.
Mr. Thanos collected the sheets, but could not manage to hold them and write at the same time. Cynthia released my arm—thank heavens, as she was gripping it rather tightly—sprang to her feet, and pushed her way to the aisle. She held her skirts out of her way as she hurried to the platform and up on it.
Mr. Thanos regarded her in some alarm. The audience began to clap again, especially the gentlemen, who were pleased to see such a lovely young lady before them.
Cynthia firmly took the chalk from Mr. Thanos’s hand and whispered something to him. He looked startled but thrust one of the pages at her. He watched worriedly until Cynthia began to write on the board, then he returned to the podium, removed his spectacles, dabbed his face with a handkerchief, and looped the spectacles around his ears again.
“My . . . er . . . friend, Cynth—er, Lady Cynthia Shires—will write out Fermat’s theorem. It is quite simple, and that is what is perplexing.”
I heard whispers around me, and Jonathan leaned back to peer at me. “Friend?” he stated in a soft voice. “Of course. Dear Cynthia is an enigma, is she not?”
“Hush,” Lady Covington said. “Cynthia is a fine young lady, and you will not gossip about her.”
Her tone was admonishing but not sharp, as though she couldn’t bear to speak harshly to Jonathan. Jonathan winked at me but closed his mouth.
I expected Cynthia to write a string of numbers on the board, but it was a sentence: For integers n > 2, the equation an + bn = cn cannot be solved with positive integers a, b, and c.
That was all. What it meant, heaven knew.
Cynthia finished writing, but she remained poised by the board, chalk in hand, waiting for Mr. Thanos to signal her. As Mr. Thanos explained what the statement meant—I was never clear exactly what—she noted what he indicated.
They’d done this before, I realized, though I’d not observed it. Cynthia often met Mr. Thanos, along with a group of ladies and gentlemen, at a public house near the British Museum. These people of learning gathered in an upstairs room to read or lecture to one another or discuss art, music, or science of the day. I imagined Cynthia had begun writing equations for Mr. Thanos so he could pontificate on them without having to stop and scratch things on a slate or blackboard.
Mr. Thanos continued his lecture, most of which I did not understand. He tried to tie in the obscure equation, which only had one number in it, as far as I could see, to the scientific discoveries certain to be found at the new Polytechnic.
The listeners hung on his words, though privately I did not believe they understood any more than I did. Mr. Thanos was a handsome young man, however, which must have pleased the ladies, while the gentlemen enjoyed watching Cynthia scribble, her body swaying as she did so.
Mr. Thanos finished and received enthusiastic applause—I clapped until my hands tingled.
Cynthia returned to her seat, flushed and breathless. “He never can write and speak at the same time. I have no idea how he’ll manage when he begins his classes.”
“You can attend with him and help, as you did tonight.”
Cynthia scrunched up her face. “If the Polytechnic admits women. Wouldn’t want the walls to fall in. Ha.”