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At a loss, I was aware of my mouth opening and closing. "Ah "
Françoise studied me with a hint of disapproval. "You are surely aware of the progress of the war,
Mr. Vicars?"
Holden came to my rescue. "But the news when we left England was favorable. Marshals Bazaine
and MacMahon appeared to be putting up a good fight against the Prussians."
"The news has worsened, I fear, sir," Bourne said. "Bazaine has been dislodged from Forbach-
Spicheren and is making for Metz, while MacMahon is moving toward Chalons-sur-Marne "
"You should not hide the gravity of the situation, Frédéric," Françoise said sharply. I watched the
fine dusky hairs on the nape of her neck float in the sunlight. She addressed Holden. "MacMahon
was defeated at Worth. Twenty thousand men were lost."
Holden whistled. "Mam'selle, I have to say your news is a shock. I imagined that the seasoned
armies of France would more than hold their own against the Prussian mobs."
Her elegant face took on a stern frown. "We will not make the mistake again of underestimating
them, I imagine."
Holden rubbed his chin. "I suppose the debate in Manchester must rage ever more fiercely, then."
"Debate?" I asked.
"On whether Britain should intervene in this dispute. Put an end to this this medieval squabbling,
and princely posturing."
Françoise bridled; her pretty nostrils flared. "Sir, France would not welcome the intervention of the
British. Frenchmen can and will defend France. And this war will not be lost as long as one
Frenchman still holds a chasse-pot before him."
Her words, delivered in a gentle, liquid tone, were hard not at all, I was abruptly aware through my
romantic fug, typical of those of a young society beauty of her class. I had the uneasy feeling that I
had much to learn about Mlle. Michelet, and I felt even less confident.
"Well," I said, "are you making for the Grand Saloon, mam'selle? I hear the champagne is already
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flowing "
"Good God, no." She stifled a mock yawn with one delicate glove. "If I want to study mirrored walls
and arabesques I can stay in Paris. We are making for the engine room and stokehold, Mr. Vicars,
under the guide of a ship's engineer."
Holden laughed, apparently pleased.
"It's quite a unique opportunity," Françoise told me coolly. "Would you care to join us, Mr.
Vicars? or is the lure of yet more champagne too strong for you?"
Bourne snickered unattractively.
And so I had no choice. "To the stokehold!" I cried. A doorway cut into the ship's side lay looming
open at the top of the gangway, and we made our way not without some trepidation, at least on my
part into the dark bowels of the vessel.
* * *
Our guide was one Jack Dever, an engineer of the James Watt Company which had fitted out the
ship's engines. Dever was a thin-faced, gloomy young man clad in oil-stained overalls. His receding
hair was slicked back from his forehead and I wondered idly if machine-oil had been applied to his
scalp.
With every evidence of impatience and irritation, Dever led us in single file along an iron-walled
corridor into the heart of the ship.
We emerged into a vast chamber walled with bare iron. This was the engine room, our guide
reluctantly explained; it was one of three one to each of the craft's axles and it was as wide as the
ship itself. A pair of iron beams the height of two men ran the width of the room, and on these beams
rested oscillating-engines piston-like affairs, now at rest, which leaked gleaming oil. The pistons
inclined toward each other in pairs, like mechanical suitors, each pair supporting a huge, T-sectioned
metal spindle. The axle itself crossed this stokehold from side to side, piercing through the spindles.
Our guide, droning on, told us how these oscillating-engines were keyed to the drive by friction-
belts, which could be disengaged on command (relayed by speaking-tube) from the bridge.
I peered up at this mighty metal shaft and envisioned the great wheels borne by the axle, just beyond
the hull. In the presence of these idle giants I felt as if I had been reduced to the scale of a mouse. I
tried to imagine how this monstrous room would appear when the Albert sailed forth. As its tracks
chewed the turf of Europe, how these mighty metal limbs would strain and thrash! The room would
be a bedlam of shouted orders, grease-covered torsos, running feet.
Holden leaned close to me, a sour amusement in his eyes. "This Dever fellow. Charming chap, eh,
Ned?"
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I frowned. "Well, perhaps the fellow's busy, Holden. One must make allowances."
"Really? The purpose of today's event is to drum up funding for the operation of the vessel. We
should be charmed, wined, welcomed, even here, in the stinking belly of the ship! I'm sure our Mr.
Dever knows his stopcocks and bulkheads, but he is a diplomatic disaster. Do our companions look
as if they are willing to make allowances for this oaf?"
I peeked at the French, but I disagreed with Holden's gloomy diagnosis; the young continentals,
looking like a handful of flowers thrown into the midst of the great machines, peered at the huge
engines with every sign of excitement and anticipation. Perhaps the charm and novelty of the vessel
itself were outside the scope of Holden's cynical calculations.
I tried to make my way toward the fragrant Françoise, but would have succeeded only at the expense
of discretion and good manners. Nevertheless I observed, to my surprise, that she showed no signs of
discomfiture in the face of these leviathans of steel. Rather her face was a little flushed, as if she was
exhilarated; and she pressed our reluctant guide with a series of baffling questions concerning crank-
pins and air pumps.
As I stood admiring that china-delicate profile oblivious to the competing charms of the greasy
machines all around Holden sidled closer to Françoise. "Rather attractive, all this brute power,
mam'selle."
She turned to him. "Quite so, sir."
"Imagine those pistons pumping and thrusting," said Holden in an oily voice, "and the axle gleaming
like a sweating limb as it turns "
Her eyebrows rose by no more than a fraction of an inch and, with the faintest of smiles, she moved
away. Holden watched her go, a look of calculation on his round face. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]