The Fatal Engine

by Harriet Smart

  “Do you know why?” Giles asked.

  “I know that Sarah has done all she can to be a friend to her, but Amy never makes the slightest effort in return. She is not a good person and I would never trust her. There has always been something sly about her. And I think she may not be chaste.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I went to their house once and I think she had someone there. Sarah and her father were out and Amy opened the door to me. I went to wait in the workshop for Mr Roper to come back and I heard two sets of feet running downstairs and a lot of whispering in the hall – she was with a man. Amy was laughing, and then the door slammed shut.”

  “Can you remember when this was?”

  “It was at least six months ago, or I should not have gone to the house.” He turned to Carswell. “I wanted to ask you – have you any idea what is wrong with her yet?”

  “I think the most likely theory is that she has slowly become addicted to opium. Probably without knowing. She was in the habit of taking a cordial –”

  “Throcktons’, yes,” said Edwardes.

  “I think it has been doctored with laudanum over time, causing her to become addicted. She is fighting off that demon now, and I think she will pull through.”

  Edwardes nodded and sat down again. Giles excused himself and Carswell, and they went into the late Mr Edwardes’ bedroom. The scent of the body was becoming rather unpleasant and Giles opened the window to admit the freezing air.

  “Do you think he is telling the truth?” said Carswell. “He could have learnt that Roper had gone to other investors – perhaps from Sarah – and the pair of them could have dispatched him together. They have every reason, surely?”

  “I don’t think he is lying. If he is, then he has a great mastery of himself, given the circumstances. But he is no fool, so there may be something in your theory.” He turned to the covered corpse. “May I see this wound?”

  Carswell drew back the sheet.

  “This is a puzzle, certainly. He must have been in some distress from this. It seems concealment was more important than cure. Concealment of what?”

  He glanced about the room. It was well-appointed, with fashionable modern furniture. There were prints on the wall of elegant beauties in gilded frames and the marble mantel had an expensive gilt clock, the face of which was supported by white porcelain nymphs.

  “Did Roper and Edwardes ever meet?” he said. “That is a question we forgot to ask. After all, there was considerable antipathy there, it seems, but why, if they did not even know each other?”

  Carswell was peering at the wound through his hand lens.

  “I need tweezers,” he said, and went searching in his bag. He returned to his study of the wound.

  “Something has caught your eye?” said Giles.

  “I may be seeing things,” said Carswell, and then having deftly pulled at something, straightened up. “Or not. A thread.” He moved over to the lamp. “Pass me that towel, would you, sir?”

  Giles handed him the towel, which was dazzling white, and Carswell laid his trophy upon it.

  “Yes, a thread.”

  “Presumably from his trousers?”

  “Looks like red flannel to me,” said Carswell. “Red flannel underdrawers, I suppose.”

  “No?” said Giles. “Are you sure it is red?”

  “Why?”

  “I found some shreds of red flannel in the yard at Oil Mill Lane. On a nail. I nearly caught myself on it, as a matter of fact.”

  “Could be a coincidence. After all, red flannel is common enough. Especially in this weather.”

  “Yes, quite so,” said Giles. “But you could determine if it is red flannel, could you not?”

  “Yes, if I use the microscope at home, I can have a result for you this evening.”

  “And in the meantime, I think we should ask Mr Edwardes to let us have his father’s body for further study.”

  He left Carswell and went back to Mr Edwardes. Having obtained his permission to remove his father’s corpse, he said, “There is one more question for you, Mr Edwardes. Did your father and Mr Roper know each other?”

  “No, I don’t think so. That is the puzzling thing about all this to me. My father was violently against him, but he would not give me any sensible reason.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Has Amy had any visitors since she has been staying here with you, Mrs Steele?”

  “The Vicar and some of our other neighbours. They have been asking when he will be buried so they can pay their respects.”

  “No young men?” Mrs Steele shook her head. “She hasn’t confided in you about a courtship?”

  “No.”

  “And no one has called that you can’t quite account for?”

  “I don’t think so, sir. She’s been quiet – worried for her sister, I think, and grieving of course. But she’s been a great help to me with the children, and I think they have helped her. Ah, here she is.”

  Amy had slipped into the room behind them. A slight, pretty girl, she came to stand by Mrs Steele.

  “May we ask you some questions?” Major Vernon said.

  “Of course, sir,” she said.

  “About your sister,” he added.

  “Is there any news? Is she better?” she asked.

  “Yes and no,” said Felix. “She has become enslaved to opium by some means or other. It will be difficult for her for a while as her body withdraws from its influence. But I think she will recover in time.”

  Amy nodded.

  “Perhaps we should sit down?” said Major Vernon, offering her a chair. She obeyed and he sat down opposite her. “The interesting thing is that she swears, even in her muddled state, and indeed Jack Edwardes confirms it, that she never touched opium in any form.”

  “That’s true,” said Mrs Steele. “She gives quite the lecture on the subject, but I have told her that it’s all very well to say it is dangerous, but another thing if you have toothache as I do, from time to time.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Steele,” said Major Vernon, “that’s interesting. So from that one must deduce that either your sister is an accomplished liar or someone else has been dosing her favourite cordial with laudanum. That does seem to be the source of it, Mr Carswell, I think?”

  “It seems most likely,” said Felix.

  “Her cordial?” said Mrs Steele.

  “Yes, that vile, sticky stuff she has been buying at Throcktons,” said Amy. “For her digestion, or so she says. Oh, I can quite believe she would put the stuff in herself and pretend not to. You don’t really believe her when she says that, do you?”

  “Should I not?” said Major Vernon.

  “She’s a good liar,” said Amy. “Always pretending to be good as gold and so much better than everyone else! I told you how she was with poor Pa, didn’t I? As if she would ever admit that, and I know she wouldn’t admit to taking something that she’d been preaching against. Yes, preaching! That’s how strong she was against it, and we all know that when people are so against something it’s really because they secretly love it. That is certainly the way with my sister!”

  “Where do you think she might have got her supply of opium from, then, Miss Amy?” said Major Vernon.

  “Oh, anywhere. It’s easy enough to find, isn’t it?”

  “But she would need ready money for it, and that’s something in short supply, I understand?”

  “She had the housekeeping from Pa. I never saw a penny of that. I suppose if there was enough to buy her stupid cordial, there would be enough to buy all that laudanum. It would explain why there was never a penny to spare, wouldn’t it?” She gave a shrug. “There. Does that answer your questions?”

  “Not entirely,” said Major Vernon. “I can’t quite put my finger on the reason why she began to take it, if she had never taken it before. Was she suffering from toothache, perhaps, or those pains that I understand women are often forced to endure?”

  “Not that I know of.
”

  “Or perhaps she had trouble sleeping for some reason?”

  “If she did, she never said anything to me.”

  “Or to you, Mrs Steele?” said Major Vernon.

  “No,” said Mrs Steele, “and I don’t understand what you are saying, Amy, because there are plenty of times when I have suggested to Sarah she should take a little dose when she has had her woman’s trouble, and we’ve had quite the row about it. She even gave me a pamphlet she had about it. And I don’t think she is a liar, Amy – I think that’s quite unkind of you to say so.”

  “Oh, you don’t know anything about anything!” Amy burst out, jumping up from her seat. “You really don’t!”

  “I wonder if we might talk to Amy alone for a moment, Mrs Steele,” said Major Vernon, showing her to the door.

  “With pleasure,” said Mrs Steele, throwing a sour look at her guest. “Really!”

  The door closed and Major Vernon sat down again, reaching into his coat pocket as he did. He had taken out an envelope.

  “Sit down,” he said to her. “And think for a moment, would you?”

  “About what?” she said.

  “About your situation,” he said. “And the trouble you might find yourself in if you go on this way.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Sit, will you, please?” he said. She hesitated and then obeyed him. “Thank you. Now, obviously, I do not know your sister, but I have heard from reliable, disinterested sources that she was adamantly against the taking of opium in any form. I entirely take your point that often people are hypocrites about such things, that they will say one thing and do quite another, but I do not think this is the case with your sister. Some other hand than hers tampered with that cordial, and then it is a question of looking to see who had the opportunity to do such a thing. Do you understand what I am saying?”

  “Yes, but what has this to do with me?”

  “Who has access to your sister’s room? Who knows her habits intimately? Who knows that she buys a bottle of that cordial once a fortnight and takes a glass of it every day?”

  “Are you accusing me of something?” she said after a moment.

  “And then there is this,” he said, handing her the envelope. It was not sealed. “Look inside.”

  She did so and frowned at the sight, her cheeks flushing. It was the French letter.

  “What is that?” prompted Major Vernon.

  “I have no idea,” she said.

  “Are you quite sure? It was in your bedroom.”

  “You looked in my bedroom? How dare you!”

  “Your father has been murdered and your sister poisoned, Miss Roper. These things must be done. I noticed you had some smart new bonnets, and a nice dress cloak. Given there wasn’t a penny to spare, I was puzzled.”

  “They are not smart at all, for your information, sir,” she said. “They are just wretched old things.”

  “Oh, I think I know an expensive bonnet when I see one,” said Major Vernon, and he reached out and took the envelope back from her. “And these items are certainly not cheap, nor easy to get hold of.”

  “I told you – I don’t know what that is.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Quite.”

  Major Vernon leant back in his chair, tucking the envelope into his pocket.

  “I think you ought to go and visit your sister, Miss Roper. You should see how she is suffering. Or perhaps you don’t care about that?”

  “Of course I care,” said Amy. “Of course!”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” said Major Vernon.

  ~

  “I’m surprised you didn’t push that a little further,” said Felix, as they walked away from the house.

  “I was tempted,” Major Vernon said. “She is obviously lying, but she has a well-constructed defence. Your theory about her entertaining a lover makes perfect sense. If this man has been coming to the house on a regular basis, then we need to know who is he and if he had any part in Roper’s death. Perhaps he has supplied her with the necessary to tamper with the cordial, or perhaps he gave her the idea for it. Her failure to admit to his existence has to be seen as significant.”

  “So you will keep her under watch?”

  “As far as is possible. She may be quite devious. But no doubt, he will want to see her, sooner rather than later. Then we will be able to make some progress, I hope.”

  “And what shall we tell Truro tonight?” said Felix.

  “As little as possible. Perhaps he will forget all about us, when he is presented to Lord Rothborough.”

  “I don’t think anything could do that. He would be blethering on to Her Majesty herself, and expecting her to do him homage.”

  “I think she probably would, given how popular his novels are with young ladies.”

  “Eleanor has turned the house upside down for this evening’s junket,” Felix said. “We might as well be expecting the Queen, and not a counter-jumping hack.”

  “That’s strong for you,” said Major Vernon. “And you used to like his work.”

  “That was before I met him. This evening is going to be a trial. I apologise to you and Mrs Vernon in advance!”

  “I am sure it will be amusing.”

  “What is more likely is that I will be called to deliver his latest progeny. I met his wife the other night. If she does not give birth in the course of the evening on account of being savaged by a fox then –”

  “What?” said Major Vernon.

  “Eleanor has taken in an injured fox. She intends to make a pet of it.”

  “I used to dream of doing that when I was a boy, taking a cub with the hope of taming it. I never had the chance, though. They are appealing creatures.”

  “Do not encourage her, please, I beg you!” said Felix.

  “It can be done, with care. I have seen it done. She might manage it – but that is not what you want to hear, I think?”

  “No,” said Felix. “It is not.”

  “So foxes and junkets notwithstanding, you will still have a chance to look at that thread from Edwardes’ wound?”

  “With pleasure,” said Felix.

  “And I shall see if I can find the cause of Roper’s and Edwardes’ violent antipathy. It is an odd thing for two strangers to detest each other so heartily.”

  “Surely it is easier to hate something about which you know nothing? Ignorance breeds contempt.”

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps they did know each other, but took pains to conceal it. I shall have to see what I can find.”

  ~

  “I would not have guessed from the look of him that your Mr Carswell would be in a position to be throwing dinners,” Mrs Gordon said to Giles, finding him waiting in the hall for Emma to finish dressing. “Let alone married. He looks so young.”

  “He’s twenty-six,” said Giles.

  “And he’s married rather well, from what I’ve heard. What a lucky young man!” she said. “But perhaps it is not merely luck. I gather he is well connected?”

  At this moment there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and Hamish came hurtling into the hall, coming to an abrupt stop at the sight of them. Holt, who was running down after him, exclaimed, “Ha! You can’t run now, young master!”

  “What is going on?” Giles said.

  “I think that’s for Master Hamish to tell you, sir,” said Holt. “Yes?” The boy stood quivering, looking first at his mother and then at Giles, as if in utter agony. “Tell him, or I will!” he added.

  “I...” Hamish began, but terror had overcome him completely now. He shook his head, and then looking up and directly at Giles, made a slight gesture in the direction of his mother.

  “It might help if we were alone, I think,” Giles said. The boy nodded. “Let us just go in here for a moment, shall we?”

  He took him into the extremely cold, unlit dining room.

  “Now, what is going on?” Giles said.

  “I was putting it back, sir,” Ham
ish said. “That’s all, and Mr Holt caught me.”

  “Putting what back?”

  “The money.”

  “And which money is that?”

  “The money in my box. I wasn’t taking it. I was putting it back. I wasn’t stealing, I swear!”

  “I think we need to take a step or two back. What money was this?”

  “I found it in my box. It isn’t mine. I know that it isn’t, nor hers.”

  “Hers?”

  “Mama’s,” he said. “She put it there.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because...” He glanced at the door. “I saw her. That’s why I had to put it back when I heard Aunt Emma speaking to her about it: when she said she had lost some money and had she seen it. And Mama said no, but I saw her put it in my box.”

  “This money in your box, how much was there?”

  “Three pound notes and some shillings.”

  “And where is it now?”

  “On Aunt Emma’s dressing table. I was just leaving it there when Mr Holt came in and –”

  “And where was your aunt?”

  “She was with Sandro and Sophy, telling them a story. I made sure she was not there. I was only putting it back. You do believe me, sir, don’t you? On my honour, I’m not lying, sir. It’s just I couldn’t say in front of Mama because –”

  The door opened. It was Holt.

  “Canon and Mrs Fforde’s carriage is here, sir,” he said.

  “This will have to wait until tomorrow,” said Giles. “Go up to bed, Hamish. We will sort it all out tomorrow.”

  The boy nodded and bolted from the room. He ran upstairs, passing Emma, who was coming down, without a word of acknowledgement.

  “And good night to you too, Hamish!” she exclaimed, and seeing Giles at the dining room door, said, “What has happened?”

  “Well, ma’am –” Holt began, but Giles held up his hand to silence him.

  “This can all wait until tomorrow. Leave him be, for now, Holt. Now, we really must go,” he said, offering Emma his arm. “Good night, Mrs Gordon. I hope you have a pleasant evening!”

  “What is going on, Giles?” said Emma, as they went outside.

  “It will have to wait,” said Giles, for Lambert was coming up the path towards them, anxious to show Emma into the carriage.