The Three-Body Problem (26 page)

I remembered something.

‘We are twin souls, then, sir, for I have heard that you insisted on naming, here in Stockholm, the only woman university professor in the whole of Europe, when no other country would have countenanced such a thing, not even Germany, where at least women are allowed to study.’

He smiled. ‘So you have heard of the famous Sonya Kovalevskaya,’ he said. ‘She is one of the greatest mathematicians alive today, and what may have seemed like a disgrace to others appears a great honour and good fortune to me. I wish you could meet her. I do not ask you anything about the details of your quest, for I perceive that you must keep your suspicions secret until you are certain of their truth, and in any case I know almost nothing of the protagonists, dead or alive. But should all pass as you hope and believe that justice would require, I pray that there may be some future day, when your life is full of peace and pleasantness, and you have sufficient strength and time to undertake the long journey hither once again. I would welcome you here with the greatest pleasure, and introduce you to my dear Sonya who would appreciate you very much, I think. Now, we must prepare our departure.’

We arose, and the maid removed the large aprons which protected the children’s clothing from the various drops of jam and honey which naturally fell about them. I was amazed and delighted to see that not only had they been bathed and scrubbed to perfection, but somehow, their
clothes had been washed and – more surprisingly – dried during the night. They must have kept a great fire burning to accomplish it so quickly, for clothing is generally most reluctant to dry in the darkness. Emily’s dress had been ironed and starched, and her soft, dark hair drawn back with a band, and her shoes polished; the gracious princess I was used to seeing at lessons had returned to replace the laughing gypsy of the past week. Robert also had been washed and brushed and pressed and polished, and looked for all the world like a much-beloved little boy of good family; I perceived more strongly than ever his delicate charm and strong resemblance to Edmund.

I was led upstairs, where the personal maid of the professor’s wife – who was still asleep – took charge of my hair and wound it with easy precision into an elegant chignon. She perched my hat on top of it, pinned it carefully, and guided me downstairs to where the professor and the children were waiting in the hall, already wrapped up in their outdoor things. The professor’s handsome carriage was at the door, and we mounted and set off through the wide, lovely streets to the capital, the professor bearing a leather case containing the full set of manuscripts and sealed envelopes submitted to the King’s Competition.

The distance to the centre of Stockholm was not far, and before eight o’clock had struck, we drew up before the Royal Palace. The palace is an extremely regular building, absolutely square and similar on all sides, four stories high, with a grand courtyard in the centre, and four symmetric wings extending from the corners, two from the front and
two from the back, enclosing grand esplanades between them. The facades are sculpted in niches in which stand statues. The Swedes call their king’s palace
Kungliga Slottet
, which sounds quite strange to our British ears, except for the echo it contains of something ‘kingly’.

We drew up at the front esplanade and descended, whereupon we were immediately surrounded by uniformed guards, who questioned us closely and kept us waiting while they sent for information, before finally ushering us within the precincts of the Palace itself. There, we were shown up and down long and noble halls, to a large antechamber where quite a large number of people were already waiting.

‘This is the antechamber to the King’s offices,’ the professor told us. ‘He works here, and receives visits and petitions. We must now wait for an answer to our message, which should have already been delivered. The King has no time to waste, so the message was a brief one; I represented the extreme urgency of the situation and begged him to spare us only a very few minutes. My relationship with the King is a close and trusting one, and I hope that he will be able to send us at least a brief message in answer at any moment.’

Indeed, we had not waited for longer than half an hour (during which time I was on tenterhooks, not only for fear of a negative answer, but lest Emily or Robert behave in some way incompatible with our royal surroundings) before a uniformed guard entered the room and called for Professor Mittag-Leffler. They spoke for a moment, and the professor turned to us.

‘The King will make a short space of a few minutes in his
schedule, to receive us, at ten o’clock, upon the departure of the Danish Ambassador,’ he said. ‘I would have preferred to prepare the King by speaking to him myself, but as we have so short a time, we shall enter all together. I shall speak to him first, and you, Miss Duncan, will answer any questions he may put to you. Please remember to conclude each sentence with the words “Your Majesty”.’

‘Of course!’ I assured him, rather taken aback at the idea that my lack of experience in dealing with kings might somehow jeopardise the outcome of my quest. I tried to imagine myself speaking to the King, and it was not easy – I felt I must look like nothing so much as Alice respectfully addressing the Cheshire cat! The wait was long; I dearly wished that I had something to read. These many long moments of enforced inactivity, when all inside me is burning to act, have truly proved the most tormenting aspect of my entire journey. However, the time passed; the many waiters and petitioners in the room talked in low voices, so that Emily and Robert felt it was not forbidden to do as much themselves, and I began to catch occasional snatches of the tale of Sleeping Beauty, recounted with great attention to detail. Finally, ten o’clock struck; I wondered greatly what form our summons would take. The large double doors at one end of the antechamber – not that from which we had entered – opened, and one of the uniformed guards appeared in the opening, and called out in stentorian tones:

‘The King will receive Professor Mittag-Leffler and his suite!’

We arose, much to the annoyance of all those in the room who had arrived long before us, and would probably
have to wait much longer, and were ushered through the small room beyond, whose main purpose appeared to be to house the guard and separate the King from the noise of the antechamber, into his very Office, where I had my first glimpse of the Royal Personage.

The King is near on sixty years old. His bearing is noble and haughty, his hair white and scant, his beard grizzled and firm, and his moustache so very long that its two ends extend down into the beard and then outwards in two well-waxed points as long as fingers. He was seated behind a large desk. We remained standing. Although I could not understand a word that passed between them, it was clear that the King was inviting the professor to state his business as rapidly as possible, for he spoke only very briefly. The Professor began by showing him the pile of papers and sealed envelopes which he had collected. The King nodded briefly and said something, and the piles were handed over to him. The Professor then spoke some more, and I heard the urgency in his tones, and knew that he was coming to the heart of the matter. The King said a few words to the professor, and rang a small bell. My heart nearly stopped, as I saw the door opened from the outside by the guard, for I thought we were being summarily dismissed. But the professor shook the hand of the King – one short, sharp shake, as though no time could be lost even for such a brief ceremony, and then saying to me ‘The King will see you alone,’ he allowed himself to be ushered out by the guard. The door closed firmly, and the king addressed himself to me in English.

‘Professor Mittag-Leffler has told me that you are Miss
Duncan, that you come from Cambridge, that you have interested yourself in the murder of three mathematicians there, that you believe the person now on trial, himself a mathematician, is innocent and yet runs a great risk of condemnation, that you believe you know the true course of events, and that one of these envelopes here contains an important proof of your theory.’

I saw how such a man could be a King. If the country was run as efficiently as this, then it was well run indeed.

‘Miss Duncan, I am willing to open and look at the name contained in the envelope whose number you indicate to me, for I know nothing of the contents of the associated manuscript. But I am reluctant to communicate the name which I will see there to you, for I would not somehow suggest the name of the murderer to you by this procedure. However, if it is true that you believe yourself to be informed of his identity, then you need only write down the name on this piece of paper, and the number of the envelope you wish me to open, and I will let you know whether you are right or wrong.’

I was in a quandary. I was not absolutely sure of the author of the critical memoir – it could be one of two people. I thought of Mr Akers and his medicine. I closed my eyes briefly, sent up a prayer, wrote a name upon the paper, and then the number seven.

He took the paper, read it, slipped out the envelope numbered seven, slit it open with a silver paper-knife, extracted the paper within, and looked at it. Each of his gestures was as sharp and precise as his speech. He looked directly into my eyes with a nod, and spoke.

‘Yes, Miss Duncan. You are correct. I congratulate you on your insight and wish you success in your endeavour.’

My heart leapt with triumph and relief. Now I knew! I truly knew! I had only to rush back to England, as though on wings, and confront the judge with my discoveries!

The King reached towards his little bell. I felt Emily tug at my dress, and turned to her. She wished urgently to speak, but felt too nervous.

‘What do you wish, my child?’ said the King, addressing an unexpected smile at the children, of whom he had not taken any notice hitherto.

‘Your Majesty, Miss Duncan will need proof to bring back to England and show the judge, in order to save Mr Weatherburn, please, Your Majesty!’ she burst out, all pink.

He reflected for an instant.

‘You are right, child,’ he said. ‘Yet I am reluctant to render this thing public. Hold – I will write and seal a letter, to be opened and read uniquely by the judge, which you will transmit to him for me. What is his name?’

‘Mr Justice Penrose, my Lord – no, Your Majesty!’ I stammered.

The King dipped his pen in the ink, took a beautifully embossed sheet of paper, and wrote a few sentences on it, while Emily, Robert and I tried to look elsewhere, and prevent our eyes from straying irresistibly towards the page. When he had finished, he said, ‘I have written that you came to see me with the belief that the person you named was the author of the manuscript received by Professor Mittag-Leffler, and that I personally confirm the correctness of your guess.’

He folded the paper, slipped it into an envelope also embossed with his crest, and sealed it with a large and impressive seal in red wax. He addressed the envelope in his large, noble handwriting to ‘Mr Justice Penrose, Cambridge, England’ and handed it to me. He then shook each of our hands, saying to Emily, ‘You have been very helpful, my child.’

‘Oh, thank you, Your Majesty, thank you for everything!’ she gasped.

The King took up his silver paper-knife, and held it out to her, smiling.

‘You may have this,’ he said, ‘and keep it as a gift. So, you will always remember your friend, the King of Sweden. I wish you “
Bon voyage
”.’

He pressed his bell, while we still sought to express our stammering thanks!

The guard appeared, and we passed out, myself feeling weak in the knees and clutching the envelope tightly, Emily clinging to her paper-knife. We were taken to yet another antechamber, where the professor was waiting for us.

‘Your interview went well?’ he asked immediately.

‘Yes!’ I told him. ‘The King opened the envelope; he would not tell me what was in it, but bade me tell him, and then confirmed my guess. He wrote a letter to the judge,’ and I showed him the envelope.

‘You are very lucky,’ he told me. ‘Keep it carefully. I will now accompany you to send you on your return to England. I would like to purchase a small strongbox for you to carry this important letter back with you, for the
risk of your losing it or having it stolen from you is too great.’

I tried to remonstrate, but the professor had the situation well in hand. His carriage was brought, and we mounted; he told one of the footmen to descend, purchase the strongbox, and to meet us at the railway station. Thither we then drove, and the professor himself accompanied us to the counter, and oh, Dora – he bought and paid for our first-class tickets all the way to London, and wrote down on a piece of paper for me the name of the small ‘pension’ in Malmö where we are at this very moment! The footman arrived with the small, flat strongbox meant for holding papers, and the professor enclosed the King’s letter within it almost religiously, as well as Emily’s paper-knife, locked it up and gave me the key, enjoining me to hide it as well as humanly possible.

‘If only I had Rose’s petticoats!’ exclaimed Emily, as I tried to find a place to conceal the strongbox as well as the key.

‘Is there any other service I can render you before your departure?’ asked the professor.

‘Oh – we should send a telegram to my mother!’ said Emily. ‘We really ought to do it every day, poor Mother.’

‘I shall send it the moment you depart,’ he assured her with a smile. ‘Let us write the text of it out now, shall we?’ And taking out a bit of paper from his pocket – mathematicians seem never to be without these infinitely useful scraps – he penned a few words.

‘How does this sound?
June 2nd, 1888: Emily and
Robert met the King of Sweden this morning, they leave Stockholm for Malmö today, on their way to London
.’

‘Noooo,’ said Emily, ‘why, she’ll never believe it – she’ll think we’ve gone mad on the way!’

‘Leave it,’ I said. ‘It is the simple truth! Oh, do let us rush. We must go as fast as we can; I think we can be there in three days.’