'And what about me?' asked Sarah. 'What am I supposed to do while you're up to your armpits in monster intestines?'

'You have to go and see Breckinridge, remember?' the Doctor reminded her. 'I want you to take a good look at the factory of his. Make sure it really is manufacturing cables.'

'And not monsters, eh?' Sarah grinned. 'Should be a doddle.'

In the morning when Sarah went down to breakfast, she discovered Alice was feeling much better. Bridewell was very subdued, however, and Sarah realized he was probably trying to reconcile Ross's actions with their supposed friends.h.i.+p. Sarah was content to let him stew. She wasn't surprised to discover that Sir Edward and Doyle had both left at the crack of dawn with several servants and a cart to collect the slain monster.

As he had promised, Sir Alexander arrived after breakfast was over. He had his own carriage and horseman, and had secured access to Breckinridge, as he had promised. Sarah was very grateful, and happy to have his company for the grand tour of the factory. On the trip out, the magistrate spent the time talking about his family and the local gossip. Sarah was content to allow him to chatter on. She couldn't help wondering what might turn up at the factory.

There was a different man on the gate this morning, a heavier, duller-looking individual. As soon as he saw Sir Alexander Cromwell, he unlocked the gate and opened it. Very different from her last visit! It was amazing what money and influence could do.

The journey from the gate to the main door was a short one. The factory was one main building of several storeys, with a cl.u.s.ter of a dozen or so smaller box-shaped constructions about it. Sarah a.s.sumed that they were storage sheds. There was a side entrance, presumably for the local workers to enter by, and a rather impressive large front doorway. Its two huge oak doors were open, and Sarah could see a short entrance hall beyond.

Sir Alexander insisted on helping her from the carriage, and she linked arms with him to walk up the short flight of steps to the doors. As they entered the small hallway, Sarah saw that it was lined with gla.s.s cases showing the various forms of sizes of wires and cables the factory produced. To her surprise, the hallway was illuminated not by softly hissing gas lamps, such as were used at the Hall, but by glowing electrical lamps.

'I wasn't aware that electrical lighting was commercially feasible yet,' she commented to Sir Alexander.

'It isn't,' a voice said from a doorway. Sarah saw a tall, angular man emerge, his face illuminated by a wide smile. He was dressed conservatively but neatly, in a dark suit and with a dark tie over a white s.h.i.+rt. Small pince-nez gla.s.ses were perched on his thin nose, and mild blue eyes peered at her through them. His hair was dark, tinged with grey at the temples, thinning and swept back, showing a high forehead. 'I'm Tobias Breckinridge,' he said, extending a hand. 'You must be the Miss Smith who was so eager to visit me yesterday.'

'Sarah Jane,' Sarah replied, shaking his hand. 'I'm pleased you agreed to show me around.'

'I am very proud of what I have accomplished here,' he answered. 'Sir Alexander has been very supportive of my work, and I do believe that I have latched onto the wave of the future.'

'Like the lighting?' asked Sarah, gesturing at the lamps.

'Quite.' Breckinridge's eyes glimmered as he stared at the closest. 'Incandescent lamps. The invention just last year of the American Thomas Edison.' He blinked. 'Have you heard of him?'

'Thomas Alva Edison?' Sarah grinned. 'Who hasn't? A genius, they say.'

'I suspect they say it with great accuracy.' He waved his hand about. 'This factory would not have been possible without some of Edison's inventions. We are on the boundaries of science here, Miss Smith. I have an even dozen of his bipolar generators hard at work here. They power most of my machinery. Come, allow me to show you around.'

'I've seen this before, Tobias,' the magistrate interrupted. 'And my legs aren't as up to this as they used to be. Would you mind if I sat this out?'

'Of course not, Sir Alexander,' the factory owner said smoothly. 'I'll have my secretary bring you fresh tea.'

'Dashed decent of you.' Sir Alexander smiled at Sarah. 'I'm sure you'll learn a few things on this tour. Most interesting.

Wish I were up to it myself.'

'Thanks.' Sarah turned to Breckinridge. 'I'm absolutely fascinated. Please, tell me all.'

'Certainly.' He gestured for her to walk with him down the short corridor. 'It's very gratifying to discover a person of your age and s.e.x who is interested in such mundane matters as my humble factory.' He opened the door ahead of them and ushered her through.

'Don't be so modest, Mister Breckinridge,' she replied. 'This may be a factory, but it certainly isn't humble. You are, as you say, on the cutting edge of science here. And I'm fascinated by science. My colleague, the Doctor, is constantly teaching me about it.'

The noise level had increased here, and Sarah saw that they had emerged onto the main floor of the building. There were large vats with smoke and steam rising from them. Trolleys on wheels ran from these vats across the floor to what looked like large lathes and presses. Beyond those, other machines were whirring and chuffing away, spinning threads into cables.

There were almost a hundred men hard at work down here, Sarah estimated. Apart from brief glances, none of them stopped working as they pa.s.sed.

'The vats are where we load the raw materials,' Breckinridge explained. 'We import iron and other metals mostly from the Midlands. I'm thinking of installing a railway line out here to bring them faster than the s.h.i.+ps and carriages can at the moment. We get through quite an amount of iron, as I'm sure you can imagine. It's melted down in the vats. Next, we check the purity of the mix, and add whatever small trace metals are needed for conductivity. Then the resultant mix is extruded through the next batch of machines. There it is pressed into wire of uniform thickness and purity before being cooled and wound onto those large spools that you see. Some of these are simply s.h.i.+pped off. We have a large storage area at the back, and we continually receive and send supplies.'

'And the rest of the machines?' asked Sarah, pointing to the far end of the floor.

'There we spin and weave cables, Miss Smith,' Breckinridge explained. 'They are corded together in bundles for carrying electrical impulses. I'd take you down on the floor, but it is important to maintain safety. Besides your own, I am, of course, concerned with that of my men.' He gave her a smile. 'A lady as pretty as yourself might distract them from their labours, and inattention can be dangerous, if not fatal.'

'I wouldn't want to cause trouble,' Sarah a.s.sured him.

'Thank you.' Breckinridge gestured to a door beside them. 'This leads to the stairs to the next level. If you'd care to?'

'Try and stop me,' Sarah said cheerfully. She opened the door and started off up the stairs. Breckinridge followed her up. They emerged into a short corridor, and when they closed the stairwell door behind them, the sound of the lower-level machinery was much diminished.

'This floor contains such dull but essential departments as the accountants, the s.h.i.+pping clerks and the laboratories,' the owner explained.

'Laboratories?' Sarah asked. 'You do research here, then?'

Breckinridge laughed. 'Don't I wis.h.!.+ I am certain that we English could duplicate and surpa.s.s the achievements of Edison, given half the chance. After all, scientific method was mostly born in this country. Davy, Boyle, Kelvin and so forth. No, the laboratories are mostly to check samples of the cable for accuracy and conductive properties, that kind of thing. You could take a look in if you wish, but you'd most likely find it rather boring.'

'I'll take your word for it, Mister Breckinridge.' Was he being honest, or simply trying to divert her attention? Sarah wasn't absolutely sure what to make of the man. He appeared to be open and honest, and he certainly had a winning way about him. But was this merely illusion, to cover some hidden depths? Or was she searching for clues to something that didn't in fact exist? 'Is this everything?'

'By no means!' Breckinridge's eyes sparkled. 'There is the final floor. I think you might well enjoy that. Come along.'

He led her past the wooden and smoked-gla.s.s doors leading to the 'dull' areas, and to another door. As Sarah had expected, there was a further staircase beyond.

'Have you thought of installing elevators?' she asked.

'It had occurred to me,' he replied. 'But hydraulic elevators are not as efficient as they might be. I hear that our American cousins are experimenting with electrically powered models. I'm certain that they will soon become practical, and then I shall certainly install them. Until that time, alas, we have to endure the omnipresent stairs.'

Sarah nodded, and followed him up to another door. This was locked, and Breckinridge removed the key on a chain from his waistcoat pocket. 'This is my private part of the factory,' he explained. 'This is where I come when I wish to relax or to cogitate.' Throwing open the door, he gestured her to precede him.

Inside, Sarah was impressed. It was a single large room that must have spanned about a third of the entire floor. There was a gentle hum of machinery and the sound of water splas.h.i.+ng gently, but it was otherwise quite serene. Large aquarium tanks lined the walls everywhere except by the windows. Inside the tanks swam all manner of species of fish. Sarah recognized a few of the species, but many were strange to her. Some of them were clearly foreign. She stared at Breckinridge in respect. 'An impressive collection of species,' she observed, nodding at one tank. 'Is that a sand shark?'

'It is indeed.' His eyes lit up. 'You are an admirer of fish?' he asked hopefully.

'Mostly with chips, I'm afraid,' Sarah admitted. 'But I realize this is a most impressive collection. Is this your hobby?'

'More of an obsession, I'm afraid,' he admitted, like a boy with a guilty secret. 'And a fairly recent one, too. I began to study the oceans when I considered the laying of a telephonic cable to the continental United States. As I studied, marine life began to fascinate me. I've made a small fortune from my manufacturing plants here and in London, and was able to indulge my curiosity.' He gestured her over to the windows. 'I often stand here and simply stare out.'

Sarah emulated him, and saw that from this vantage point the bay was visible. She could see the waves on the surface of the grey waters, and from time to time spume flying as the waves crashed against rocks in the water. It really was very pleasant in this lofty perch. 'Is that why you met with Captain Gray?' she asked. 'Does he supply you with some of these samples?'

Breckinridge appeared surprised. 'You know about the captain?'

'His s.h.i.+p's surgeon, Doyle, is helping my friend, the Doctor,' Sarah explained. 'He mentioned that the captain had business with you, that's all.'

'Ah, I see.' Breckinridge shook his head. 'No, the captain does not bring live specimens back, I'm afraid. I met with him to offer him a job. I wish to finance my own cable-laying s.h.i.+p, and the good captain would be a perfect choice to skipper such a vessel. But, alas, I shall have to search elsewhere. Captain Gray is wedded to his love of whaling, it appears. I tried to convince him that whaling cannot last much longer, but he wouldn't listen. He knows that there are probably less than three hundred Greenland whales still in those waters, but seems impervious to suggestions that the whaling should at least pause for a while to allow their numbers to be replenished. A terrible shame.'

'Quite.' Sarah was amazed at his enlightened att.i.tude. 'One day, I'm sure, more people will feel as you do. Perhaps then the whalers can be put out of action.'

'I only hope it's soon, Miss Smith.'

Sarah stared out of the window at the sea. So far, Breckinridge appeared to have been very honest and straightforward.

She could see why men like Sir Alexander Cromwell and Sir Edward Fulbright were taken with him. This was the age of progress, and Breckinridge seemed poised to take advantage of it.

A movement in the yard some eighty feet below caught her eyes. Several small figures were moving about between the small outbuildings. 'Are they children down there?' she asked, unbelieving.

Breckinridge frowned at the tone in her voice. 'Yes. We have several dozen of them working here.' He gave Sarah a penetrating gaze. 'Ah, I take it that you're a supporter of Mundella's Act, and think that all children should be in school, not in work.'

'I am indeed,' said Sarah firmly.

'I can sympathize with that point of view, Miss Smith,' Breckinridge answered. 'But I don't actually agree with it, especially in these cases. You have to understand that the children you see down there are happy to work here.'

'I'll just bet they are,' Sarah said sarcastically.

That made him irritated. 'I see no cause for such animosity,' he snapped. 'Most of those children have lost their fathers at sea. They often have younger brothers and sisters dependent on them. Without the wages they earn here, they and their families might well all perish, and this nonsense about sending them to school wouldn't keep them alive. I feel that what I am doing here is helping them, not harming them.'

Sarah realized that she was projecting ideas a hundred years in advance of their time on Breckinridge. It was unfair to judge him by the light of her era when he was doing what he believed to be right. 'I'm sorry,' she apologized. 'It was rude of me to criticize you in that tone.' She stared down at the sad little figures in the courtyard below. 'Nevertheless, I do feel that they would be better off being educated than worked.'

'And if the law pa.s.ses,' Breckinridge said, 'we may well get to discover which of us is correct. You believe they will be helped. I believe they will simply avoid going and many will become transients upon the city streets, as they were before I helped them. Until then, perhaps we could declare a truce?'

'Of course,' agreed Sarah. She smiled. 'I believe you're wrong, but I admit that you are sincere, and I have to admire you for doing what you believe is right.'

Breckinridge was mollified. 'Good. And I admire your outspokenness, Miss Smith, for a cause you obviously believe in.

Now, would you like tea and sandwiches with our truce? Or would you prefer to see more?'

'A cup of tea would be marvellous.'

'Excellent.' He gestured toward the door. 'Shall we go?'

Thankfully, Sir Alexander didn't press her for details on the way back. Sarah was lost in her thoughts, unable to decide how she felt about Breckinridge, and whether he was merely a factory owner or something more sinister. She couldn't help wis.h.i.+ng he'd seemed less idealistic and more exploitive. Then she'd have been happy to consider him the enemy. As it was, she simply couldn't decide.

He had apparently shown her everything at the factory. She'd peeked in at the laboratories on the way downstairs, but they had seemed to be exactly the kind of thing he'd described. He'd even allowed her to look around the yard and chat to a couple of the children without interference, which strongly suggested that he was hiding nothing. And the two young boys she'd spoken to had been grateful for their jobs as messengers and carriers at the factory. As Breckinridge had claimed, they were orphans who were supporting siblings with their wages.

Sarah sighed. It was so appealing to see the factory owner as a slave-driving villain, but the reality didn't resemble the prejudice much. He was enlightened and far-sighted. His schemes were all well within his grasp, and he showed a vivid certainty about the future that Sarah knew from experience was based in fact.

And yet he was unknown in her age. She couldn't understand this. He should be dominating the field within five years, and yet he was destined for obscurity somehow. Why? How come he had never achieved his dreams of world-spanning communications? It was going to happen, and Breckinridge should have been there on the ground floor. He was prepared to seize the opportunity. Something obviously was going to go badly wrong for him. But what?

And could it be that she and the Doctor might be in a position to prevent it? She had often wondered what she would do if she were faced with the possibility of altering the past. Travelling in the TARDIS rendered such a thought more than aca-demic. On her very first trip in the TARDIS, for example, she'd gone back to the Middle Ages. One change there could have affected the whole course of history. Now, here she was again, this time in Victorian England.

She had met and was interacting with two of the most famous English writers of their day Arthur Conan Doyle and Rudyard Kipling. A little nudge from her, the wrong word even, and their lives could be altered. And while it might not change the entire course of history if Kipling never wrote The Jungle Book The Jungle Book, say, something was bound to be affected.

It was a tremendous responsibility to rest on her shoulders. She could see why the Time Lords, the mysterious race behind the Doctor's past, strongly forbade interference in the history of other worlds. Though even they would meddle if they felt it was justified. They'd tried to destroy the Daleks at their birth, for example.

There was no use in looking for trouble, though. As far as she knew, there wasn't much chance that she and the Doctor would change history. None of what they were doing now had ever made it into any history she'd ever heard of. At the moment, it seemed that the most they were doing was influencing a couple of authors by providing them with plot materials.

Hardly earth-shaking stuff!

On the other hand, there was something very wrong going on here. She'd bet her life on that. Sea-monsters and giant hounds were even more out of place here than she was. But was Breckinridge involved in this or not? He did have a fascination with the sea, but that wasn't necessarily an indicator of any kind. His own explanation for it was sufficient. However, she found his excuse for meeting Captain Gray to be a bit thin. Why offer the skipper of a whaling s.h.i.+p the job of running a cable-laying boat? Still, real life often did have thin threads of logic to it, and she might just be being a bit too suspicious there.

The problem was, she reflected, that life was never as tidy and neat as it tended to be on the telly or in a book. In fiction, all plot points were relevant and everything tied up neatly at the end to make sense. In real life, events often simply happened with no rhyme or reason, and resolutions either never came or pa.s.sed so fast you could miss them if you blinked.

Maybe Breckinridge was nothing more than he seemed: a man of vision and integrity. And maybe this was nothing but a mask that concealed a darker nature. She still had no real clue either way. All she could hope was that she and the Doctor could compare notes and that some enlightenment would come from it all.

The carriage drew up at Fulbright Hall, and Sir Alexander smiled at her. 'I trust you enjoyed your visit, my dear?'

'Very much, thank you.' Sarah shook his hand. 'You were super, Sir Alexander, and I really appreciate your help.'

'Any time, young lady.' He winked. 'It never hurts my reputation to be seen out driving with a pretty woman. Scandal-izes the neighbourhood, you know. Let's be certain to set tongues wagging again, eh?'

'It's a date,' Sarah promised with a laugh. The groom helped her down from the carriage. 'Bye, Sir Alexander.'

'Goodbye, my dear.' He waved his driver on, and the carriage pulled away. Sarah went up to the door, which was opened by a footman. 'Any idea where the Doctor and Doctor Doyle are?' she asked him.

'I believe they're in one of the outhouses, ma'am,' the groom answered. 'If you wish to find them, take the path to the rear of the house, and then ask one of the gardeners.'

'Thanks, Jeeves.' She gave him a grin and hurried to follow his instructions. At the rear of the house, one of the locals was raking leaves, and pointed her in the right direction. After a few minutes, she could smell the tang of formaldehyde in the air, and a sickly stench of decay. The rest of the journey was obvious.

The door to the small shed was open wide to provide some ventilation. One of the servants stood upwind of the shed, looking uncomfortable, while inside the hut were the Doctor and Doyle. 'So,' asked Sarah, 'made any great discoveries?'

'Indeed we have,' said the Doctor. His voice was tinged with anger and worry. 'It's been a most productive morning.'

He gestured at the remains of the carca.s.s on the trestle table behind him. 'Do you have any idea what that is?'

'Morbius's reject heap?' she guessed.

'You're very close, Sarah,' the Doctor replied. 'That isn't any known animal at all. In fact, it isn't even an animal.'

'Then what is it?'

The Doctors eyes were haunted. 'Off the cuff, I'd say it's a ten-year-old boy.'

'What?' Sarah couldn't believe her ears. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean someone is tampering with the fabric of the human cell,' the Doctor said darkly, 'perverting its secrets to their own purposes.'

6.