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death.”
    “Sir, there are many iniquities in this life. In my work, I meet the dying and bereaved every day. I have seen young children fail, and women and their new born infants die in childbed. I would do everything in my power to restore them, but in the history of mankind only Jesus Christ had that gift. There is much we could do to improve life—decent food, medicine, clean air, warm homes. Let’s concentrate on what sustains life, not on some fruitless attempt to bring life back.”
    “So you won’t help me?”
    “In anything else, yes. In this, no. I can’t assist you, sir. I believe alchemy to be counter to both the laws of my religion and the laws of nature.”
    “Laws of nature. Religion. How can any natural philosopher work within the bounds of religion? I won’t be contained by such pettiness.” By now both men were on their feet. My father’s head was level with the middle button on Shales’s coat, but he was powerful: hands clenched on his staff, eyes on fire. “I am surprised by your lack of faith, Shales. At Selden, we believe that there is more to natural philosophy than experimentation and calculation. Do you think Newton would have uncovered the laws of the universe if he had been bound by what he could measure or by what men thought to be the laws of nature? He began by searching, he applied his great mind to his observations, but he had the courage to believe that the very process of looking would lead to enlightenment. He knew that a phenomenon does not exist until man has found it.”
    I willed Shales not to be so rigid. Surely he could show a little compassion to an old man, even if he disagreed with the principles of his research. After a moment, he said quietly, “I will consider your arguments, of course, and if I find that they convince me, I shall change my mind. In the meantime, I regret that in this one area I cannot help you.”
    My father was stuttering with rage. “In the meantime . . . There is no other time, Shales. I won’t ask you again. I won’t have you blighting my work. Good day to you, sir.”
    Shales was still for a moment, then bowed and turned suddenly to me. “Mistress Selden, if you ever have time to call, I should be delighted to show you my most recent work with plants and airs, and to hear your views.” He crossed the room a few paces toward me, but I wouldn’t look at him or offer my hand for fear of my father. The door closed, and I heard the sound of his feet on the bare boards in the entrance hall.
    I finished my transcript and blotted my work. Neither of us spoke. As usual when my father was in a rage, I tried to obliterate myself by keeping quiet and anticipating every demand, but I was stricken by the loss of a potential friend. In the end, I couldn’t decide who had been most at fault, Shales or my father.
    No more was said about that meeting, though I thought about it often, especially when I heard the ringing of the church bell on a Sunday morning. When Shales came to the house—and Mrs. Gill told me that he did call from time to time—my father refused to see him. I didn’t even know if Shales would have remained long in the parish afterward had it not been for the arrival late that summer of Robert Aislabie, in a puff of smoke.
    [ 4 ]
    E ACH YEAR WE began our alchemical phase on August 3, my father’s birthday. That morning, I was sent out to find a perfect rose.
    The rose garden was south-facing and very hot, sheltered by the high wall of the terrace. Neglected bushes scrambled into each other, a wasp pestered, my skirts snagged, and all the roses were overblown or diseased. My search seemed hopeless. In fact, there was a part of me that wanted to fail. Since Shales’s visit, the prospect of palingenesis had seemed impossibly far-fetched. If there was no rose, there could be no experiment. It had to be a perfect rose, a tough-stemmed, fragrant, mystical flower. But as I came to the farthest corner, I saw a pink gleam in the shadows. I