The Last Queen of England by Steve Robinson

of sightseers who, according to the noticeboard, were waiting to take in one of the society’s lectures.   The eager-looking man who had been appointed to them for the duration of their visit was called Rakesh Dattani.   He was a slim man in an olive-green suit with a white shirt open at the neck.
    “The society was formed by twelve men in 1660,” Dattani said as they walked, his voice conveying the elocution of a fine public school education.   “It was after one of Sir Christopher Wren’s lectures at Gresham College.   Their purpose was to promote natural philosophy or ‘science’ as we call it today.”
    “From the Latin, scientia, ” Jean said.   “Knowledge.”
    “A Latin scholar?”
    “Once upon a time.   It sort of goes with the job.   I’m a historian.”
    Latin was one of Tayte’s weakest subjects at college and he’d done little since then to improve his understanding.   “I saw something written in Latin on the way in.”
    “ Nullius in Verba, ” Dattani said.   “The Royal Society’s motto, taken from Horace.   It more or less means to take no one’s word for it.”
    “To prove it,” Jean said.
    “Precisely.   After all,   that is the essence of science, isn’t it?
    They continued walking, passing gilt-framed portraits of former notable Fellows such as Sir Isaac Newton and John Flamsteed, the first Astronomer Royal.   Dattani paused when he came to a portrait of founder member and diarist, John Evelyn.
    “Did you know that when the society was founded it was called the Invisible College for the Promoting of Physico-Mathematical Experimental Learning?”
    “No,” Tayte said.   “That’s quite a mouthful.”
    Dattani gave a small laugh.   “Quite.   Which is why in 1663, when King Charles II gave the society his Royal Charter, it became known as the Royal Society of London for Improving Natural Knowledge.   Or more commonly now, the Royal Society of London.   It’s the oldest society of its kind in the world.”
    “How long have you been at these premises?” Jean asked.
    “We’ve been here at Carlton House Terrace since 1967,” Dattani said.   “Before that the society made its home at Burlington House for almost a hundred years after moving from cramped accommodation at Somerset House.”
    They reached the library through a carved, oak-panelled door and Hampshire and Hues, who had dropped behind, were suddenly at their heels again.   Tayte thought the room looked just how a library should look, with high ceilings and decorative stuccowork on the walls and on the ceiling cornices.   There were plaster busts of other past Fellows between the carved bookcases that lined the walls and a long mahogany table dominated the centre of the room, which was surrounded by carver chairs upholstered in green to match the carpet.   Tayte thought the place smelled right, too: old books and polish.
    “We’ve over seventy-thousand titles in our library,” Dattani said.
    Tayte was still taking the room in.   “How far back do your records go?”   He was keen to confirm that the records covered the dates he and Jean were interested in.
    “Our earliest records date circa 1470,” Dattani said.   “Although locked away in temperature controlled vaults in the basement we have a document that dates as far back as the twelfth century.”
    Tayte arched his eyebrows, thinking that the early 1700s should be no problem.
    “The archives are pretty much all digitised now,” Dattani added, noting Tayte’s interest in the few keyboards and computer screens at the end of the table.
    Tayte opened his briefcase and pulled out his laptop.   “Okay if I use this?   I’m used to the setup.”
    “Of course,” Dattani said.   “Everything’s online.   I’ll sign you in for the day.   There’s an Ethernet cable if you need wired access.”
    Tayte wasn’t surprised to hear that the Royal Society had gone digital.   Pay-per-view documents were big business and this was one