Page 5 of Her Scandalous Pursuit

He laughed. “I have no doubt of that.”

“But,” she went on, “yes, if you could absolutely, incontrovertibly prove it, I would have to believe it.”

“That is the very thing we are trying to do.” His face lit with enthusiasm. “We are experimenting. My goal is to prove or disprove the presence of a spirit that exists even after death. It doesn’t really matter to me which is correct. It’s the exploration that’s important. There are so many things in this world that we don’t know, things we cannot see. Much we know now would have been deemed impossible fifty, even twenty, years ago. Telegraphy, for instance. Who would have thought one could send a message to someone miles and miles away in just a moment? Or photography. Electricity. Those principles were always there—we just could not see them.”

Thisbe thought investigating ghosts was scarcely science, but she warmed to the joy in his eyes, the passion for learning and exploration. It was what she had felt all her life, that eager thirst for knowledge, the excitement of discovery. She had liked this man the moment she saw him, but now, in this instant, she knew that he was important.

“But how do you propose to prove the theory?” she asked.

“We have to find the right tools. Think of all the stars we could not see until the telescope was invented. All the minute things that were invisible until we had microscopes. What if people’s spirits are right here with us all the time, and we just don’t have the capability to see them?”

“You want to invent a tool with which we can see them?”

“That’s my hope. Spirit photography was based on the idea that a camera might be able to catch what we couldn’t see, what was too fast or too faint. What I am working on are the properties of light. Light isn’t visible to our eyes as colors until one uses a prism. But William Herschel discovered that there was another kind of light, infrared, which we cannot see even with a prism.”

Thisbe nodded. “Yes, I’ve read about it. He used a prism to separate the colors, then put a thermometer under each color to see which heated faster. But he found that the thermometer outside the spectrum increased the most. So there had to be another part of the spectrum that exists but is invisible to us.”

“Exactly. And then Ritter found another band on the blue end—ultraviolet.”

“So you think a spirit is something that exists in another band of light?”

“That can be seen in another band. Can we create an instrument that will allow us to see the invisible bands in the way that the prism allows us to see the separate colors?” He shrugged. “That’s one of the things we’re working on. There are others.”

“We? You and Mr. Gordon?”

“And a few other fellows. Professor Gordon has a patron who’s very interested in his research, so he is able to provide us with a laboratory and materials. It’s quite nice. Perhaps you could see it sometime. I mean, well, if you have any interest, of course.”

“That would be—” she began just as Andrews reappeared, carrying her cloak.

“I took the liberty of bringing you your wrap, La—Miss Moreland. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, of course not. Thank you.” There was nothing to do then, but leave. She spent some time tying her cloak and pulling on her gloves, but that could only last so long.

“Well, um...” She turned to her companion.

“I suppose we should leave.” He shuffled his feet. “I, ah... It’s been terribly nice speaking with you. It was most generous of you to lend me your notes.” He patted his pocket, where he had stuck her small tablet. “I promise I’ll take good care of them and return them to you. At the Christmas lecture, perhaps?”

“Yes. That sounds perfect.” Thisbe held her hand out to him. “Excuse me. I should have introduced myself. My name is Thisbe Moreland.”

He clasped her hand. Thisbe wished she hadn’t already donned her gloves. “Miss Moreland. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Desmond Harrison.”

“Mr. Harrison.” With a last smile, she turned toward the door, and Desmond leaped to open it for her.

He followed her down the steps, then said, “Please, allow me to walk you home.”

Thisbe cast a glance down the street, where the Moreland town carriage sat waiting for her. John, the coachman, who was standing at the head of the horses, saw her and climbed into the carriage. But she turned her back to him. “That would be very nice of you, Mr. Harrison. Thank you.”

She heard the carriage begin to rattle up the street toward them. She started off with Desmond in the opposite direction. Holding one hand behind her back, she waved the coachman away. John would understand... Well, not understand exactly, but the servants were accustomed to the Moreland oddities.

Apparently, John caught her meaning, for the clip-clop of the horses stopped for a moment, then continued at a much slower pace. Hopefully, Desmond would not glance back and see the carriage creeping along after them.

She glanced over at Desmond, strolling along beside her, hands in his pockets. “Mr. Harrison! Where is your coat? And gloves. And hat.” She started to turn back. “Did you leave them at the Institute?”

“No. I fear I forgot them,” he told her sheepishly. “I was late and I ran out without my coat and cap. I lost the gloves last week.” He looked faintly puzzled. “Somewhere.”

“You sound like Theo. He can never hold on to a pair of gloves.”

“Theo?” He looked at her sharply.