The Fatal Engine

by Harriet Smart

  Williamson drained his coffee cup and sat down.

  “Dead?” Giles nodded. “Ye Gods.” He sat silently for a moment, thinking deeply. “Troubles never do come singly. When? What happened?”

  “He was attacked two nights ago in his own workshop.”

  “And you have no idea who did this?”

  “The circumstances are still unclear. Might I ask you what your relationship with Mr Roper was? From his appointment book, it seems like you were in the habit of meeting him at The Greyhound Inn at Darnell’s Cross.”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “For what reason?”

  “Is it relevant?”

  “Given the manner of his death, yes, Mr Williamson. And given that The Greyhound is a strange place for two gentlemen to meet when they might just as easily meet in Northminster.”

  “It is discreet,” said Williamson. “We had delicate business to discuss. Roper was developing a new machine for me. This business is cut-throat. It is best to keep quiet about such innovations.”

  “What sort of machine?”

  “It was somewhat speculative. A sewing machine. Such things have been attempted before, but this was to address a specific problem. You can probably guess the destination of that red cloth you saw being woven back there, Major Vernon?”

  “The Army?”

  “This firm has secured an extremely valuable contract from the Board of Ordinance. That cloth is the most durable and economical broadcloth ever made in this country. After it has been woven, it will be subjected to an extensive fulling and finishing process which will makes it almost completely waterproof. It is considerably lighter than the old standard broadcloth and it does not fray, which eliminates the necessity to finish seams, which is a vast saving in labour, time and as a result expense.”

  “And where does Mr Roper’s sewing machine come in?”

  “It is the next logical step. If one can mechanise weaving, why not sewing? Roper had worked for us on occasion. He suggested one or two improvements to the power looms, which have been of great value. When he told me he was working on a sewing machine I felt I had to take it further.”

  “So you were paying him to develop this machine?”

  “Yes. I wanted him to come and work here. I have a good team of mechanics and engineers, but he is – excuse me, was – one of those men who do not like to work in that way, and given the ingenuity of what he was proposing, I let him do it his way.”

  “And had he delivered a machine to you?”

  “No. Not even a prototype. It was trying my patience. Time is everything in this business. I wanted to be able to present something to the Board of Ordinance as soon as I could. After all, it makes perfect sense: we spin the wool, and weave it, and then sew it into tunics. All the necessary processes supplied by Williamson and Collworth. That was the plan, at least.” He reached for the coffee pot and attempted to pour himself another cup. Finding it was empty, he went and called to the clerk for more. He came back into the room and sat down again. “This is bad news, Major Vernon. Very bad news.”

  “How much money did you give him?” said Giles.

  “Quite a substantial amount. And of course, when the machine was operational he would have had a percentage. It would have been the making of him.”

  “And you don’t know what he did with the money?”

  “No. I did not ask him for a breakdown of costs. That was foolish, perhaps, but he seemed an honest fellow, even if he was not progressing as fast as I would have liked. When we last met he assured me he would have a prototype to show me and Mr Collworth early next year. I left feeling quite reassured, and now I suppose I shall never see it, nor any return on the investment. Does he have any family?” he added after a moment. “I should pay my respects. At least I know they will have some resources.”

  “How are you sure of that?” Giles said.

  “Because, as I said, the amount I gave him was substantial. At least a thousand guineas over the last five months. More than enough to cover his expenses and his household.”

  Giles glanced at Coxe.

  “Does he have a family?” Williamson said again.

  “Yes,” said Giles. “Two unmarried daughters. May I ask how this money was paid to Mr Roper?”

  “I gave him cash. It came from my personal income. I wished the transaction to remain completely confidential until such time as we had a working prototype, and then we would have drawn up a contract.”

  “And did you give him any money the last time you met? On the seventeenth of last month, I think it was?”

  “Yes, I did. I gave him three hundred. Yes, I know this makes me look like a fool, but you have to understand what a sort of man he was. He had vision. That was clear. One only had to look at his notebooks to know that he could deliver what he said he would deliver. That it was taking longer than he said – well, these things happen. One makes allowances for it.” At which Williamson sighed and rubbed his face. “I think he was close. It’s a damned shame.”

  “Did he ever mention to you that he was in difficulties of any sort? That he had enemies?”

  “No, never. I can’t imagine anyone would have wanted to hurt him.”

  “You consider this business competitive,” said Giles. He was thinking now of the appointment book and the initials indicating another manufacturer in Market Craven. “Do you know if any of your competitors are trying to develop a similar device?”

  “I should imagine so,” said Williamson. “As I said, it is the logical development beyond power weaving. The savings in labour costs would be immeasurable if it could be achieved. I believe certain companies have attempted similar things on the continent which makes it all the more important that something is developed here in England, where we already lead the market. And of course there is no knowing what might happen in the United States. We have banned the export of our machines to that country, for obvious reasons, but, as I’m sure you know well, Major Vernon, when something is forbidden, a way round is often found.”

  “True,” said Giles. “Did you discuss this with Mr Roper?”

  “Yes, he was aware of the need for secrecy.”

  “And you trusted him completely?” said Giles.

  “As much as one can. Why do you ask that?” said Williamson.

  “Does the name Blake mean anything to you?”

  “Do you mean the manufactory in Market Craven?” Williamson said. Giles nodded. “It’s a small operation. Fustian is their speciality, I think, but as I said, not a large concern.”

  “Would it surprise you that Mr Roper may have had dealings with them?”

  “Frankly it would. If that is what you are suggesting, then that is serious news. What would Roper want with them? Especially when I had made it extremely clear that he was only working for us now. Blake in Market Craven? Are you quite sure?”

  “He seems to have had some dealings with them. But of what kind we’re not yet sure.”

  “I know the man has died, and in most unpleasant circumstances, but if he had dealings with them, if he had been offering to them what he had offered to me, then that is behaviour of the most base and treacherous kind. I had a long labour with that man – it wasn’t easy, and to think that he may have...” – he hesitated, his annoyance getting the better of him – “played me for a fool, then...”

  “I’m afraid we have to ask this, for the sake of formalities, Mr Williamson: where were you on Tuesday evening?”

  “I dined at home with my wife. We ate early because we went to the Philharmonia concert at eight, so I would have been home from six. After the concert we went to a neighbour’s for tea – we went there in the carriage – and we were home at eleven. I did not go out again. It was a miserable night.”

  “Thank you, Mr Williamson,” said Giles. “That will be all for now.”

  “You will keep me informed? After all, there is the matter of my property. The work was paid for, and something may still be done with the prototype.”

&n
bsp; “I’m afraid I cannot help you with that. You might be better speaking to your solicitor – and he does have heirs.”

  “Yes, those daughters,” said Williamson. “He never spoke of them. If I had known he had a family to support then I might have been more generous.”

  As they walked away from the factory, Coxe said, “A thousand guineas over five months, sir? That seems like a fortune to me, and it would have been to those girls. There was scarcely a loaf of bread in the kitchen. Where did the money go?”

  “That’s a good question,” said Giles. “I can’t believe it was all spent on brass cog wheels and copper piping. Did you see an account book in his papers?” Coxe shook his head. “We need to do another search, and we also need to take a trip to Market Craven. I want to talk to Mr Blake.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Mrs Patton,” said Giles, “may I disturb you?”

  “Of course, sir. I’m only checking over the linen. And teaching Miss Sophy to do her buttonholes.”

  Sophy was sitting on a stool by the window frowning over a piece of sewing.

  “I have something I would like you to look at. Holt, bring it in, would you?”

  Holt came into the room and with a sigh of relief, put the bulky sacking-wrapped object down on the table, next to the pile of neatly folded linen.

  “What on earth is that, sir?” Patton said, moving the linen swiftly away.

  Giles pulled away the sacking to reveal one of the machines they had discovered in Roper’s workshop. It was a complicated device, with cogs and levers carefully organised to drive a rising and falling head with a needle set in it.

  “A sewing machine – perhaps.”

  “A what?” said Patton. “It looks like – well, I don’t know what it looks like.”

  “It looks like a instrument of torture, Mrs Patton,” said Holt.

  “It does a little, I suppose, and a man has perhaps died for it,” said Giles. “You turn the handle here to move the needle up and down. A most ingenious engine: or at least it has the potential to be.”

  Now Sophy came over and gazed at the machine.

  “Can we make my dress on it?” she said.

  “I wouldn’t trust a nice bit of stuff anywhere near such a dirty bit of – a sewing machine? What does the world want with one of those, I ask you, sir?” said Patton. “When it is no trouble to pick up a needle and thread.”

  “I was hoping that with your skill at such matters, you might be able to work out how it operates. If it operates at all.”

  Mrs Patton sighed and stared at it.

  “Well, I don’t know, sir, really.”

  Sophy was now turning the handle and watching the needle bob up and down. Because of her small stature she had a perfect view of the mechanism.

  “It goes in and out,” she said, “but not through.”

  “That is what I cannot fathom,” said Giles. “How does it hold the two pieces of cloth together?”

  “It needs two human hands to sew, not a metal claw with a needle in it,” said Mrs Patton. “Careful, Miss Sophy, you will get your hands dirty.”

  “So there must be another hand in this part here, or something like it,” said Giles, crouching down beside Sophy. “Something to pull the thread through the cloth and push it up again.”

  “I really don’t know if I can help you, sir,” said Mrs Patton. “And if a gentleman like you cannot work it out, I don’t know if I can. Perhaps the mistress might have a better idea.”

  “Where is Mrs Vernon?” Giles asked.

  “She went with Mrs Gordon to your sister’s, sir,” said Holt. “They will be back for lunch. Will you be joining them?”

  “Since I am here, yes, I shall. That will be all for now, Holt, thank you.” Holt left them. “Now, do you have any scraps in the work bag there, Sophy? And some thread? You could try threading the needle. Your eyes will be best for the task.”

  “Patton can thread a needle blindfold,” said Sophy.

  “Not quite, Miss,” said Patton, going to the shelf and taking down a lidded basket. “How large is the eye, Miss Sophy?”

  “Quite large,” said Sophy.

  “It has been made to sew soldier’s tunics,” said Giles, as Patton looked through the basket at various spools of thread.

  “Here, sir,” she said, handing him a reel.

  Giles got down on his knees next to Sophy and they spent a few moments attempting to thread the needle. They had just managed to do this when the door opened and Emma came in, still dressed in her cloak and bonnet.

  “Oh, I am glad you are home,” she said. “There is something I need to speak to you about.” Then she noticed the machine. “What is that?”

  “A sewing machine,” said Giles. “We think.”

  “How intriguing.”

  “If that works, then there will be no work for honest women,” said Mrs Patton, picking up Sophy’s sewing and examining it. “Your buttonholes are coming on nicely, Miss Sophy, and I don’t suppose a machine will ever be able to do that!”

  “No, perhaps not,” said Giles. “What did you want to speak to me about?”

  “I will go and put this away,” said Emma, taking off her bonnet.

  Guessing she wished to speak to him privately, he followed her from the room and downstairs to their own bedroom.

  “What’s amiss?”

  “Probably nothing,” she said, taking off her gloves. She laid them down on the dressing table, opened the top drawer and took out the box where she kept the housekeeping money. “I could have sworn there was at least fifteen pounds in here yesterday. You gave me three five pound notes, did you not, last Thursday?”

  “Yes.”

  “And now I have only one. Have I paid for something and forgotten it? I cannot see it in the book, and where is the change? I have nothing in my purse and I am sure I would remember paying out such a large sum as that. Did you take ten back for something, and I have forgotten that you did?”

  “No, not that I remember,” he said. He reached into his coat and took out his own pocket book. “But we have been distracted. I have only four one pound notes and a few shillings. I only took twenty from the bank – three five pound notes for you, and five one pound notes for me.”

  “Then I have lost it,” she said. “Apparently. Or –” She glanced at him and shook her head. “No, surely not. No.”

  “You think it has been removed?”

  She nodded and gave a nervous laugh.

  “How strange to hear you resort to such a euphemism! But how can one bear to say such a thing, in one’s own house, after all? It is such a horrible thought.”

  He nodded.

  “But something we can consider in private without accusing anyone openly,” he said, after a moment. He went to her side and took up the box. It had no lock.

  “I should have got a box with a lock,” she said, “but only you and I know that it is there and what it contains. Oh, and Patton does, but I do not suspect her of anything.”

  “And no one else would have reason to look in there?”

  “No,” said Emma, “to my knowledge I have not sent anyone to look in this drawer. Neither Patton, nor Annie nor Jane,” she added, referring to the two housemaids. “And no one else would possibly have any business in here, except Holt, of course. I have mislaid the money – that must be the answer. There is no one in the house whom I do not trust. I should not have employed them otherwise. Oh, I know that servants are sometimes disappointing, but I have been careful in that respect.”

  “There are other strangers in the house, of course,” Giles said, after a moment.

  “I have thought of that,” Emma said. “No, I have lost it. That is the simple truth. There is no need for accusations. I will make another, more thorough search. You know how it is when you have lost something of value: it can be difficult to search calmly.”

  “You might ask if she has seen any cash lying about,” he said.

  “I see we are thinking of the same person,”
she said, with a nervous laugh. “And I know Julia will take that as an accusation. No matter how innocently and calmly put, she will take it as such.”

  “Which is interesting in itself. That sort of behaviour –”

  “Is all too familiar to you? Yes, of course! But this is my sister, Giles – I cannot accuse her.”

  “That is not what I am suggesting. Ask her to help you look for it. Make yourself look a fool for mislaying it, and give her a chance to put it right, if that is the case. If you like, I will do it. In fact, that would be much better, would it not?”

  “Perhaps,” said Emma. “But I would rather look for it again. Perhaps it is in the watch pocket,” she said, going to the bed and examining the watch pocket fixed in the curtain on his side of the bed.

  “Where you never put anything of consequence?” he said. She threw up her hands and sat down on the bed. He came and sat beside her, putting his arm about her.

  “It will come to light, one way or another,” he said.

  “A whole ten pounds,” she said with a sigh, resting her head on his shoulder. “I hope to goodness it does.”

  “We are all at sixes and sevens with these visitors,” he said, leaning back and pulling her down with him, cradling her in his arms. She pressed against him gratefully. “I will make more effort at finding them some lodgings, I promise.” He kissed the nape of her neck and she shivered with pleasure. “I cannot have you all wrought up and riled, Mrs Vernon.”

  “I shall be crushed and crumpled before lunch,” she said, rolling over to face him, “at this rate.”

  “And blushing too?” he said, jumping up and fastening the door latch.

  “If you like,” she said, laughing.

  ~

  The memory of that brief but pleasant interlude sustained him through the chilly and disagreeable train ride to Market Craven. Coxe sat reading diligently, and although Giles had papers in his pocket he ought to study, he instead found himself wishing he were back in Emma’s arms.

  They went first to Blake’s fustian manufactory. This was a small concern compared with Williamson and Collworth, and the office of the proprietor, Mr Blake, had the look of a workshop about it. Clearly this was a business where mastery of the machine now predicted who would win and who would lose.