Davies politely declined to answer any questions while they rode. He was obviously not a manservant, nor a secretary, but Stratton could not decide what sort of employee he was. The carriage carried them out of London into the countryside, until they reached Darrington Hall, one of the residences owned by the Fieldhurst lineage.
Once inside the home, Davies led Stratton through the foyer and then ushered him into an elegantly appointed study; he closed the doors without entering himself.
Seated at the desk within the study was a barrel-chested man wearing a silk coat and cravat; his broad, deeply creased cheeks were framed by woolly gray muttonchops. Stratton recognized him at once.
‘Lord Fieldhurst, it is an honor.’
‘A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stratton. You’ve been doing some excellent work recently.’
‘You are most kind. I did not realize that my work had become known.’
‘I make an effort to keep track of such things. Please, tell me what motivated you to develop such automata.’
Stratton explained his plans for manufacturing affordable engines. Fieldhurst listened with interest, occasionally offering cogent suggestions.
‘It is an admirable goal,’ he said, nodding his approval. ‘I’m pleased to find that you have such philanthropic motives, because I would ask your assistance in a project I’m directing.’
‘It would be my privilege to help in any way I could.’
‘Thank you.’ Fieldhurst’s expression became solemn. ‘This is a matter of grave import. Before I speak further, I must first have your word that you will retain everything I reveal to you in the utmost confidence.’
Stratton met the earl’s gaze directly. ‘Upon my honor as a gentleman, sir, I shall not divulge anything you relate to me.’
‘Thank you, Mr. Stratton. Please come this way.’ Fieldhurst opened a door in the rear wall of the study and they walked down a short hallway. At the end of the hallway was a laboratory; a long, scrupulously clean worktable held a number of stations, each consisting of a microscope and an articulated brass framework of some sort, equipped with three mutually perpendicular knurled wheels for performing fine adjustments. An elderly man was peering into the microscope at the furthest station; he looked up from his work as they entered.
‘Mr. Stratton, I believe you know Dr. Ashbourne.’
Stratton, caught off guard, was momentarily speechless. Nicholas Ashbourne had been a lecturer at Trinity when Stratton was studying there, but had left years ago to pursue studies of, it was said, an unorthodox nature. Stratton remembered him as one of his most enthusiastic instructors. Age had narrowed his face somewhat, making his high forehead seem even higher, but his eyes were as bright and alert as ever. He walked over with the help of a carved ivory walking stick.
‘Stratton, good to see you again.’
‘And you, sir. I was truly not expecting to see you here.’
‘This will be an evening full of surprises, my boy. Prepare yourself.’ He turned to Fieldhurst. ‘Would you care to begin?’
They followed Fieldhurst to the far end of the laboratory, where he opened another door and led them down a flight of stairs. ‘Only a small number of individuals – either fellows of the Royal Society or members of Parliament, or both – are privy to this matter. Five years ago, I was contacted confidentially by the Académie des Sciences in Paris. They wished for English scientists to confirm certain experimental findings of theirs.’
‘Indeed?’
‘You can imagine their reluctance. However, they felt the matter outweighed national rivalries, and once I understood the situation, I agreed.’
The three of them descended to a cellar. Gas brackets along the walls provided illumination, revealing the cellar’s considerable size; its interior was punctuated by an array of stone pillars that rose to form groined vaults. The long cellar contained row upon row of stout wooden tables, each one supporting a tank roughly the size of a bathtub. The tanks were made of zinc and fitted with plate-glass windows on all four sides, revealing their contents as a clear, faintly straw-colored fluid.
Stratton looked at the nearest tank. There was a distortion floating in the center of the tank, as if some of the liquid had congealed into a mass of jelly. It was difficult to distinguish the mass’s features from the mottled shadows cast on the bottom of the tank, so he moved to another side of the tank and squatted down low to view the mass directly against a flame of a gas lamp. It was then that the coagulum resolved itself into the ghostly figure of a man, clear as aspic, curled up in foetal position.
‘Incredible,’ Stratton whispered.
‘We call it a megafoetus,’ explained Fieldhurst.
‘This was grown from a spermatozoon? This must have required decades.’
‘It did not, more’s the wonder. Several years ago, two Parisian naturalists named Dubuisson and Gille developed a method of inducing hypertrophic growth in a seminal foetus. The rapid infusion of nutrients allows such a foetus to reach this size within a fortnight.’
By shifting his head back and forth, he saw slight differences in the way the gaslight was refracted, indicating the boundaries of the megafoetus’s internal organs. ‘Is this creature… alive?’
‘Only in an insensate manner, like a spermatozoon. No artificial process can replace gestation; it is the vital principle within the ovum which quickens the foetus, and the maternal influence which transforms it into a person. All we’ve done is effect a maturation in size and scale.’ Fieldhurst gestured toward the megafoetus. ‘The maternal influence also provides a foetus with pigmentation and all distinguishing physical characteristics. Our megafoetuses have no features beyond their sex. Every male bears the generic appearance you see here, and all the females are likewise identical. Within each sex, it is impossible to distinguish one from another by physical examination, no matter how dissimilar the original fathers might have been; only rigorous record keeping allows us to identify each megafoetus.’
Stratton stood up again. ‘So what was the intention of the experiment if not to develop an artificial womb?’
‘To test the notion of the fixity of species.’ Realizing that Stratton was not a zoologist, the earl explained further. ‘Were lens grinders able to construct microscopes of unlimited magnifying power, biologists could examine the future generations nested in the spermatozoa of any species and see whether their appearance remains fixed, or changes to give rise to a new species. In the latter case, they could also determine if the transition occurs gradually or abruptly.
‘However, chromatic aberration imposes an upper limit on the magnifying power of any optical instrument. Messieurs Dubuisson and Gille hit upon the idea of artificially increasing the size of the foetuses themselves. Once a foetus reaches its adult size, one can extract a spermatozoon from it and enlarge a foetus from the next generation in the same manner.’ Fieldhurst stepped over to the next table in the row and indicated the tank it supported. ‘Repetition of the process lets us examine the unborn generations of any given species.’
Stratton looked around the room. The rows of tanks took on a new significance. ‘So they compressed the intervals between “births” to gain a preliminary view of our genealogical future.’
‘Precisely.’
‘Audacious! And what were the results?’
‘They tested many animal species, but never observed any changes in form. However, they obtained a peculiar result when working with the seminal foetuses of humans. After no more than five generations, the male foetuses held no more spermatozoa, and the females held no more ova. The line terminated in a sterile generation.’
‘I imagine that wasn’t entirely unexpected,’ Stratton said, glancing at the jellied form. ‘Each repetition must further attenuate some essence in the organisms. It’s only logical that at some point the offspring would be so feeble that the process would fail.’