eventually, as if answering some question Maggie hadn’t heard. ‘Mr James Clark, as you know, is now cultivating the mother-of-pearl shell.’ He added, ‘ Meleagrina margaretifera. ’
Tommy held the words in Latin above him for a moment and then said, ‘He’s had some success, you know. In farming shells.’
‘Has he?’
‘But, Mrs Porter,’ said Tommy, and he lowered his voice to a confidential murmur, ‘did you know that Mr James Clark now wants to cultivate the oyster for pearls ?’
Maggie looked up. He seemed to be pleased to get her attention again.
‘It’s a secret,’ he said, ‘but I know you won’t tell anyone.’
She thought Poor Tommy was making this up. Why would Mr James Clark confide such a thing to Tommy? Perhaps he’d learned it from his father.
Maggie asked, ‘How does he propose to cultivate pearls?’
‘It’s at the experimental stage. It may be a matter of putting a grain of sand under the lip. In any case, though, as I said, if you cultivate enough shells, you should naturally get a certain number of pearls.’
‘One in nine hundred and twenty-nine.’
‘Exactly,’ said Tommy, nodding. ‘And if the price of shell happens to fall, which it will one day, the value of pearls fished per ton will eventually exceed it.’
‘Mr James Clark offered you a job before your father died?’
‘That’s right.’
‘But not with the fleet?’
‘Not at sea at first, no. In the office on Thursday Island. I graded shell.’
‘And pearls?’ asked Maggie.
‘That’s right.’
‘And then he realised how much you already knew.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘And you looked at the amount of shell all the fleets harvested last season, and you told him that there should also be so many pearls.’
‘Mrs Porter! How did you know that? Mr James Clark is interested in science, and this,’ he tapped the table with a finger, ‘is science. Don’t you see? I know how many pearls each lugger, each diver, should be able to find. Based on the figures from previous seasons, it’s obvious that a good many pearls aren’t being turned in. Pearls are being stolen.’
‘Stolen?’ said Maggie.
Poor Tommy was smiling and holding up a piece of paper he’d previously been doodling on.
‘Let’s say the average shell size this season is seven inches and that a lugger will collect, say, six tons of shell. That’s seven thousands two hundred pairs. Of oysters, Mrs Porter. Do you see? That lugger should then, according to my calculations, also produce seven good round pearls.’
‘Like the pearl you showed me?’
‘Well, that one is even rarer in these waters, but yes.’ Tommy sat forward again and whispered. ‘And I’ll wager that there are others like it in the pockets of the men on the luggers. In fact,’ said Tommy, ‘did you know, Mrs Porter, that it’s likely the lugger that fished that pearl, also fished others like it? My father always said that pearls love company. Types of pearls are found together. Take any species. Of anything. There are racial variations.’ He pointed to the deck above. ‘And some shell beds produce shells with certain features. Black, white, yellow. Different shapes, or wormy. It may be that one bed of pearlshell is in a particularly strong current and the shells ingest a lot of worn grit. The grain is coated with nacre and, bingo , a nice round pearl from time to time. Or perhaps it’s in mud. A baroque. Or another might be plagued with some parasitic shell-boring crab. A blister. Different infections, if you like, produce different diseases, a different way of making pearls. But find one type of pearl and the chances are that nearby are pearls of a kind.’
Tommy certainly sounded like a man of science, thought Maggie. ‘And you learned all this from your father?’
‘And Mr Saville-Kent. That’s all they talked about.’ He finished his cigarette and put his hands behind his head, leaning back again in Porter’s chair.
Alice was still
Tommy held the words in Latin above him for a moment and then said, ‘He’s had some success, you know. In farming shells.’
‘Has he?’
‘But, Mrs Porter,’ said Tommy, and he lowered his voice to a confidential murmur, ‘did you know that Mr James Clark now wants to cultivate the oyster for pearls ?’
Maggie looked up. He seemed to be pleased to get her attention again.
‘It’s a secret,’ he said, ‘but I know you won’t tell anyone.’
She thought Poor Tommy was making this up. Why would Mr James Clark confide such a thing to Tommy? Perhaps he’d learned it from his father.
Maggie asked, ‘How does he propose to cultivate pearls?’
‘It’s at the experimental stage. It may be a matter of putting a grain of sand under the lip. In any case, though, as I said, if you cultivate enough shells, you should naturally get a certain number of pearls.’
‘One in nine hundred and twenty-nine.’
‘Exactly,’ said Tommy, nodding. ‘And if the price of shell happens to fall, which it will one day, the value of pearls fished per ton will eventually exceed it.’
‘Mr James Clark offered you a job before your father died?’
‘That’s right.’
‘But not with the fleet?’
‘Not at sea at first, no. In the office on Thursday Island. I graded shell.’
‘And pearls?’ asked Maggie.
‘That’s right.’
‘And then he realised how much you already knew.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘And you looked at the amount of shell all the fleets harvested last season, and you told him that there should also be so many pearls.’
‘Mrs Porter! How did you know that? Mr James Clark is interested in science, and this,’ he tapped the table with a finger, ‘is science. Don’t you see? I know how many pearls each lugger, each diver, should be able to find. Based on the figures from previous seasons, it’s obvious that a good many pearls aren’t being turned in. Pearls are being stolen.’
‘Stolen?’ said Maggie.
Poor Tommy was smiling and holding up a piece of paper he’d previously been doodling on.
‘Let’s say the average shell size this season is seven inches and that a lugger will collect, say, six tons of shell. That’s seven thousands two hundred pairs. Of oysters, Mrs Porter. Do you see? That lugger should then, according to my calculations, also produce seven good round pearls.’
‘Like the pearl you showed me?’
‘Well, that one is even rarer in these waters, but yes.’ Tommy sat forward again and whispered. ‘And I’ll wager that there are others like it in the pockets of the men on the luggers. In fact,’ said Tommy, ‘did you know, Mrs Porter, that it’s likely the lugger that fished that pearl, also fished others like it? My father always said that pearls love company. Types of pearls are found together. Take any species. Of anything. There are racial variations.’ He pointed to the deck above. ‘And some shell beds produce shells with certain features. Black, white, yellow. Different shapes, or wormy. It may be that one bed of pearlshell is in a particularly strong current and the shells ingest a lot of worn grit. The grain is coated with nacre and, bingo , a nice round pearl from time to time. Or perhaps it’s in mud. A baroque. Or another might be plagued with some parasitic shell-boring crab. A blister. Different infections, if you like, produce different diseases, a different way of making pearls. But find one type of pearl and the chances are that nearby are pearls of a kind.’
Tommy certainly sounded like a man of science, thought Maggie. ‘And you learned all this from your father?’
‘And Mr Saville-Kent. That’s all they talked about.’ He finished his cigarette and put his hands behind his head, leaning back again in Porter’s chair.
Alice was still
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