Chapter Fifteen
“Mrs Truro sends her apologies!” Eleanor said as Felix came into the library and found her there with Lady Blanchfort. “Not for ruining my table, though!”
“She is quite right to stay at home,” said Lady Blanchfort. “And at least there is time to work out a new plan before anyone arrives. That was considerate of her.”
The ladies were sitting at a table with a large sheet of paper in front of them.
“I have to say, this has been a conundrum,” Lady Blanchfort said. “But at least we now have seven ladies and seven gentlemen.”
“They are all coming from the Rectory, then?” said Felix, thinking of Miss Martha.
“I should hope so!” said Eleanor. “If one of them were to cry off now then I don’t know what I should do. I could not bear to go through this again,” she said, stabbing the paper with her finger. “And I do not like this in the least. All these silly rules, Mama, I don’t see the point of them.”
“They are there to make things run smoothly,” said Lady Blanchfort.
“And I don’t see why Mr Truro may not sit by me,” she said.
“That would be improper,” said Lady Blanchfort. “Lord Rothborough must be on your right, and then Canon Fforde on your left. Mr Truro, unless he is a great fool, which I am sure he is not, will not expect to be anywhere but in the middle.”
“But I shall not be able to talk to him if he is there,” said Eleanor.
“I think this might work,” said Lady Blanchfort, who had been scratching away with her pencil. “There.” Eleanor looked at it and frowned. “Shall I give it to Littleboy?”
“No,” she said. “This is hopeless! You have put him between the Rector’s daughters. That is ridiculous, Mama!”
Lady Blanchfort got up and said, rather wearily, “As you like. I put it all in your hands, Eleanor. It is your house and your reputation, after all. I am going to rest a little.”
She left, and Eleanor said, “I shall not ask for her help again. She has such ideas.”
“I think she knows what she is talking about,” said Felix, taking the plan and looking at it. “This looks perfectly unobjectionable.”
“If one wished to insult Mr Truro, yes,” said Eleanor. “I shall put him on my left. Canon Fforde will understand. He is not so old-fashioned and petty as my mother.” She began to scribble out her own version on a fresh sheet of paper. “And it is just as well Mrs Truro is not coming. She is hardly his equal.”
“I thought she was pleasant enough,” said Felix.
“Yes, yes, if she were married to a butcher,” said Eleanor, still scribbling away. “But Truro – that is hardly what one would expect. How can a genius be married to someone like that?” She picked up her table plan and studied it. “Voila! That will do nicely.”
Felix did not ask for details. He felt sure it would be the cause of an argument, and given that Lord Rothborough, Lady Maria and Sir Mark Hurrell were expected within an hour, it was not the moment. If she had decided upon a social revolution, it would happen, whether he liked it or not.
“I have some work to finish,” he said, going to the door. “You do not need me for anything just now?”
“No, no, everything is in hand,” she said, now evidently pleased with her plan.
“How is Nigel?” he ventured. “Is he still in your dressing room?”
“Yes, I think that’s the best place for him at present. I don’t want him being disturbed by the guests. He seemed a little livelier today, in fact. You saved his life, you know,” she added, and came up to him. “It was rather clever of you, I have to say.” She laid her hands on his chest and smiled up at him.
“Might I be considered a genius, then?” he said. “Of course, I cannot compete with the likes of Oliver Truro, but in my own small way?”
“Perhaps,” she said. She tilted her head, obviously expecting to be kissed. This he did, but found himself doing it in a rather perfunctory manner.
“I really must do some work,” he said, detaching himself. “I have promised Major Vernon something.”
He went to his study and carefully prepared his samples of red flannel for the microscope: namely the scraps that Major Vernon had collected in the yard at Oil Mill Lane, a section cut from a set of the late Mr Edwardes’ underwear, a sample obtained at a draper’s shop, and finally the threads he had removed from the wound.
This task was so absorbing that he did not notice the time passing, and was surprised to hear a knock on the door. It was Lord Rothborough, no less, still in his travelling clothes.
“Forgive me,” Felix said. “I did not hear you arrive.”
“You have got yourself an excellent spot here,” Rothborough said, as he embraced him. “Not being able to hear the front door is to your advantage. You are not the butler, after all!” He stepped back and regarded him. “You are looking well.”
“And you, my lord.”
“The Italian sun has something to be said for it,” Lord Rothborough said. “But lotus eating is not for me. And of course, the circumstances were not ideal.”
“Will you sit, sir?” said Felix. “Some wine?”
Lord Rothborough shook his head.
“We will talk it all through later. I must go and dress, as must you. I understand we have quite a party tonight.”
“Oliver Truro, yes. Eleanor told you, no doubt?”
“It was mentioned,” said Lord Rothborough with a smile. “She is learning to lionize, is that it?”
“Something like that.”
“It is probably for the best you do not live in London,” said Lord Rothborough.
“I am on my knees most days in gratitude that I do not!” said Felix.
“You have got that attitude from Major Vernon,” said Lord Rothborough.
“Quite possibly,” said Felix. “But as attitudes go, it is a good one.”
“That is not to say you should not consider it,” said Lord Rothborough. “In a few years, this all might seem a little provincial. Certainly Eleanor may crave a larger stage for her talents.”
Felix could not help frowning.
“God forbid!” he said. “And why the devil must the world revolve about London? It gives everyone who lives there an inflated sense of self-importance, and contempt for the rest of us. No, I would consider living in London a punishment.”
“Then you had better be careful that you do nothing to deserve it,” said Lord Rothborough. “What, for example, if you were offered a chair at one of the universities?” He gestured about him. “Wouldn’t that tempt you a little?”
“I don’t know,” Felix said. “I really do not like London.”
“A chair in Edinburgh, then? That would be an honour even you couldn’t resist,” said Lord Rothborough. “Now I must go and dress.”
Felix went up with him and into his own dressing room, where he found Jacob laying out his evening clothes.
“Where is my cream waistcoat?” Felix said, noticing that Jacob had put out a green embroidered waistcoat in which he always felt a trifle self-conscious. It had been a gift from Eleanor.
“Sorry, sir, there was a spot of blood on it. I put it aside for cleaning.” As he spoke, he put his hand behind his back, but not before Felix noticed the bandage on his hand.
“Half my clothes have bloodstains on them. But what happened to your hand? Let me look at it.”
“Oh, it’s nothing, sir,” said Jacob, “really.”
“Let me see it,” said Felix. Jacob put out his hand which was encased in a badly-arranged and blood-soaked rag. “What did you do to yourself?” he said, as he removed the rag and saw a gaping wound. “Did something bite you?”
Jacob did not answer for a moment.
“Miss Stevens asked me to help move the cage in Mrs Carswell’s dressing room. The door swung open and he gave me a right snap. Little brute,” he added.
“You need stitches,” said Felix, grabbing a towel and wrapping it tightly about Jacob’s hand. “Go and wa
it in my study. I will be down in a minute.”
Jacob despatched, he went into Eleanor’s dressing room, where irritatingly she was crouched down by the cage, feeding the animal scraps through the open door of the cage. Stevens stood by, looking a little queasy, as well she might, for there was a powerful stench in the air, which all the eau de cologne and pot pourri in the world could not disguise.
“Stevens, go and fetch Mr Littleboy and Hawkins, and make sure they are wearing gloves,” Felix said. “I want this animal taken down to the stables at once.”
“No!” exclaimed Eleanor. “Do not listen to him, Stevens! Stay where you are.”
“Stevens, if you please?” Felix said.
“He is the master, ma’am,” said Stevens. “I’m sorry, but I must do as he says, ma’am. And I agree with him, ma’am. It’s a nasty, vicious creature! You should have seen what he did to Jacob.”
“Yes!” said Felix. “And he will bite you too!” he added, attempting to pull Eleanor away from the cage. She gave a little shriek and resisted. Stevens went rushing from the room, and Felix tried again to manoeuvre her away. Failing in this, he did at least manage to shut the cage door, although he did not know how well it was fastened.
“How dare you!” she exclaimed.
“Go into the bedroom,” he said. “We do not want to have a scene in front of the servants.”
He was amazed that she saw the sense of this, and marched into the bedroom. He followed, shutting the door behind him.
“I have to go and see to Jacob,” he said. “You know this has to happen. That animal is not safe.”
“He is with me,” said Eleanor.
“You don’t know that!”
“He trusts me. You can’t do this, Felix, it is monstrous of you.”
“And it is monstrous of you to contradict me in front of Stevens!” Felix said.
“She is my servant, not yours!” said Eleanor. “And as for Nigel, he is perfectly safe in there.”
“He bit Jacob!”
“Because Jacob was foolish, no doubt. He had no business moving the cage, no business at all.”
“Dear God, Eleanor, this is not the time for an argument!” exclaimed Felix. “Really! I must go and see to Jacob now, and you can hope and pray there are no complications. I saw a man die from blood poisoning today, from an untreated wound, and I really don’t want have to amputate Jacob’s arm because of that wretched animal!”
He went to the door.
“I think I will stay up here tonight,” Eleanor said, just as he left. “I don’t feel like seeing anyone now.”
“As you wish,” Felix said, and shut the door behind him.
It was something of a relief to find, after cleaning the wound and examining it in a better light, that only two stitches were required and that the injury was not quite so grave as he had first feared. He sent Jacob off to rest and went back up to his dressing room to hurry into his evening clothes, including the green silk waistcoat he disliked. Eleanor, true to her word, had not come out of their bedroom, and he found Stevens in the dressing room, with the window pushed open. She was flapping about a cloth in order to air the room.
“Madam says she has a headache,” Stevens said to him. “Should I give her anything for it, sir?”
“Just let her be,” said Felix.
He went downstairs and, somewhat to his relief, found that Lady Blanchfort was already dressed and sitting in the drawing room entertaining Lord Rothborough, Lady Maria and Sir Mark Hurrell.
“Is anything amiss?” Lady Blanchfort said.
“Eleanor is unwell,” Felix said. “She sends her apologies.”
“Oh dear,” said Maria, “how wretched for her. Can I do anything for her? Would she like some company?”
“No, I think she needs to be quiet,” said Felix.
“That came on suddenly,” said Lord Rothborough. “She seemed quite herself when we arrived.”
“These things sometimes do, and I have had a cold all week,” said Lady Blanchfort. “It must be that, yes? I have given it to her and now I have ruined her evening. Oh dear!”
“I’m sure she will forgive you,” said Lady Maria. “And since Mr Truro is staying in the village all winter, she will have other chances to see him.”
“Have you met him yet, Carswell?” asked Sir Mark. Felix nodded. “What do you make of him?”
“He’s... no, I think I have to leave you to judge for yourself.”
At this point, Littleboy announced that the Ffordes and the Vernons had arrived, and shortly after that, the Rector and his daughters. Then, finally, Truro himself arrived, accompanied by Hepworth and Miss Fleming. Once everyone was introduced and the conversation became animated, there was a chance for Lady Blanchfort to catch Felix’s eye and draw him to one side.
“What is really wrong with her?” she said. “She’s not actually ill, is she?” He shook his head.
“The fox bit Jacob so I had it taken down to the stables. She is angry with me for it.”
“And so she will not come down?”
“Seemingly not.”
“Dinner will be ready at any moment,” said Lady Blanchfort. “I had better take her place – if you do not object?”
“Of course not. But you will have Mr Truro buzzing in your ear. She has put him where Canon Fforde was.”
“Dear me,” said Lady Blanchfort. She laid her hand on his arm for a moment. “You were right about the fox – poor Jacob!” She turned away and went to speak to Lord Rothborough.
~
The ladies had withdrawn, the dessert had been cleared from the table and the cloth removed. The wine was set out.
“Pleasant,” said Canon Fforde, taking a sip of port.
“It ought to be, sir,” said Felix. “It was your wedding gift.”
He did not seem the least offended to find himself in the middle of the table. At the other end of the table, Truro was holding forth to Lord Rothborough.
“But the present lack of controls on opiates, surely you must agree it is disgraceful? It is far too easy for ordinary people to become slaves to the stuff. That young woman, Miss Roper, whom I saw at the Infirmary, that pitiful creature who appears, in her drug-fuelled frenzy, to have murdered her own father –”
“That is pure speculation, Mr Truro,” Major Vernon cut in. “And the case is not for general discussion.”
“But she has been completely destroyed by it, you cannot deny that. I saw that for myself. And it seems we are pushing this noxious substance everywhere, to everyone, offering it as a benefit when it is nothing but a snare. It is too cheap, too easy for them to obtain. The present system offers terrible temptation to those who can least afford to be tempted. And there are bills plastered everywhere, like sirens on the rocks, luring people in!”
“I do not think people take much heed of those,” said Lord Rothborough. “They are noise, but whether the average man is influenced by them we cannot say.”
“Then why would it be done? I know myself the power of advertisements. They should be regulated, for a start.”
“But you would not be without laudanum if you had the toothache, Mr Truro,” Major Vernon said.
“I am not saying it should be banned. Only strictly regulated.”
“Ah, regulation,” said Lord Rothborough. “Regulation! I hear that cry a hundred times a day on a hundred different matters and in every case, I wonder how on earth it is to be achieved without evoking some other equal ill-consequence.”
“That is not a reason why it should not be tried.”
“Yes, and you know I am not a laissez-faire man, but nothing like this should be done without great caution and study of the subject. I cannot abide this endless cry of ‘something must be done’,” Lord Rothborough said. “For with it comes the implication that something must be done at once, and that always raises the devil of unintended consequences. I think you would agree with me, Major Vernon?”
“Yes. If opiates were to be heavily regulated, there wou
ld be a flourishing black market trade in them, and with it a rise in criminal activity and all the associated evils. When we were at war with France, and we could not get our brandy and French lace, what did we turn to? Smuggling. Respectable gentlemen were caught colluding with violent criminals in order to get what they wanted. If laudanum became too difficult to obtain, then I think the consequences for law and order would be serious. It is a necessity for many people.”
“But it is still dangerous,” said Felix. “That can’t be denied. But one can say that of a great deal of the ordinary drugs available to the general public. The responsibility on individual apothecaries to dispense them correctly is a heavy one, and of course they have no way of stopping what can be done with them when the customer has left the shop. Arsenic, for example. That is a better candidate for regulation, surely?”
“I would second that,” said Mark Hurrell, “given what occurred in my own family. The contents of a housekeeper’s cupboard ought not to yield the agents of death.”
“I would have to agree with Mr Truro,” said Rector. “My own son, many years ago, succumbed to the lure of the poppy, and there were many poor souls in my last parish rendered listless and godless by cheap opium. It is a great evil.”
“I am sorry to hear that, sir,” said Canon Fforde, and the table felt silent for a moment.
“A price increase, at least in the first instance,” Truro said. “A minimum price might do a great deal of good.”
“And an equal amount of harm,” said Lord Rothborough. “And it is a dangerous precedent. What price will you fix next, Mr Truro? Sugar? Tea? There was a time when tea was thought objectionable to health.”
“There may yet be a case for sugar,” said Truro, with a glance at Felix. “It was suggested in last month’s Lancet – perhaps you saw it, Mr Carswell?”
“Where do you find time to write, Truro?” said Sir Mark. “You are ridiculously well-informed! You are making the rest of us feel ashamed.”
“It is all the coffee he drinks, Sir Mark,” said Mr Hepworth. “He is a slave to that. That is one substance he would never suggesting regulating.”
The Fatal Engine Page 14
