The Fatal Engine

by Harriet Smart

Truro took this gracefully enough.

  “We all have our vices,” said Lord Rothborough, smiling. “Now, tell me, how are you finding the neighbourhood, Mr Truro? Is your wife comfortable? I understand you have a happy event in the offing. Will it be a Christmas child, do you think?”

  At this point Littleboy came into the dining room and murmured to Felix: “Madam sent me to tell you she is coming downstairs.”

  “Perhaps we should join the ladies?” Felix said to the company.

  As they left the dining room, Eleanor appeared on the staircase, as if on cue. Had she been waiting for her moment to enter, he wondered? She was wearing a dress Felix had not seen before, the skirt vast and gauzy, flecked with silver spangles, and she had wrapped her bare shoulders in a translucent shawl that did not conceal anything, but rather emphasised the pale fleshiness of them. Her bodice struck him as outrageously low. Her hair also had a curious look about it, as if it had been arranged to look disarranged, with a generous lock falling onto her bare shoulder. Behind one ear she had placed a rose.

  It made him hungry to look at her, and at the same time he felt profoundly irritated.

  She made a slight curtsey when she saw them all, and he supposed he ought to go up and escort her down the last few steps, but he felt too annoyed at her making such a spectacle of herself to do anything of the kind.

  “I’m glad you are feeling better,” he managed to say.

  Fortunately Lord Rothborough, who was closer, did the honours. He went up and gave her a fatherly kiss, before leading her into the drawing room.

  Felix turned to Major Vernon, who was standing near him.

  “I must show you my results,” he said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I think we have a match,” Carswell said, “between the red flannel from Edwardes’ underdrawers and the red flannel you found on that nail, but I cannot say that the thread in the wound is from the same source. There is too little of it to be definite. Perhaps when I have another look at the wound tomorrow, there will be something else of use, but as it stands that is all I can say.”

  “That is useful enough,” said Giles, “although not conclusive. It was a shame we didn’t find the torn pair.”

  “I imagine he got rid of them.”

  “We might search the house. It might throw up some connection to Roper.” He hesitated a moment. “I’m glad Mrs Carswell felt well enough to come down. She looked –”

  “She was not unwell. That was an excuse. We had a quarrel,” said Carswell, “over that blasted fox. It bit Jacob, and naturally, because I did not want him to go the same way as poor Edwardes this morning, I lost my temper and had it put out of the house.”

  “I see,” said Giles.

  “What else was I to do?”

  “No, that sounds prudent.”

  “A concept she has no idea about. And now – do you not think that her dress was – well, it spoke for itself, did it not?”

  “It was charming.”

  “It was just about falling off her,” said Carswell.

  “Not really,” said Giles. It was true that the dress had been revealing, but it had still been perfectly decent. “And she’s a young woman at the height of her beauty – why should she not be allowed to revel in it? You would not like her coming down in sackcloth, would you? Besides, she would still look beautiful in sackcloth.”

  “That’s true,” said Carswell. He turned to his slides again. “You might want to look at this one –”

  “Shouldn’t we go and join the ladies?” Giles said. “And perhaps you should go and tell Mrs Carswell how ravishing she looks? You’ll be repaid for it later.”

  They went into the drawing room. Mrs Carswell’s appearance seemed to have created a rather lively atmosphere. Mark Hurrell and Lady Maria were at the piano playing a duet with great aplomb, while Mrs Carswell was sitting on a low stool in front of the fire, her sparkling skirts spread out, listening intently to them. Then when the piece ended, Truro pulled his chair a little closer and began to engage her in conversation. She was earnestly nodding as he spoke, and smiling. He was gesturing about him, and then suddenly she rose from her seat, and said to everyone, “Mr Truro has just made the most marvellous suggestion! That we should get up some theatricals for Twelfth Night!”

  Now Truro was on his legs.

  “I was observing to Mrs Carswell that this room is perfect for the purpose. A pair of curtains and we have a stage,” said Truro, pointing to the end of the room where the piano was. “Yes?”

  “It is certainly an excellent Christmas tradition,” said Lord Rothborough. “It was always quite the thing in our family, when I was a boy.”

  “Dear Lord,” murmured Carswell.

  “I think we should be grateful,” Giles said. “With luck it will keep him busy and away from our investigation,” said Giles.

  “Good point,” said Carswell.

  “What play do you have in mind?” Mark Hurrell said.

  “An excellent question, Sir Mark,” said Truro, looking about the room. “I believe we might be quite ambitious, for I suspect a reserve of great talent in this company. For example, I have heard, my lord,” he went on, with a bow to Lord Rothborough, “that your performances on the amateur stage were the equal of anything in Drury Lane.”

  “You are misinformed, Mr Truro,” said Lord Rothborough, “but that is such an outrageously agreeable compliment, I shall accept it with pleasure!”

  “And, ma’am,” said Truro to Mrs Carswell, “I think it was your late uncle, Mr Henry Blanchfort, who also had a notable reputation in this area. Is that not so, my lady?” he added, flipping about to address Lady Blanchfort.

  “He was fond of theatricals, yes,” said Lady Blanchfort, rather quietly. “But –”

  Now Truro went up to her, and said, “You must not be alarmed, my lady, I beg you. There will be nothing improper, nor indelicate. There will be no stain on this charming household. Merely a fitting celebration of the season.”

  “That is a matter open to dispute,” said the Rector, rising from his seat. “And I am afraid that myself and my daughters can have no part in this. And we must now take our leave – for such late hours are not for an old man such as myself. Mrs Carswell, Lady Blanchfort, Mr Carswell, I thank you for your hospitality.”

  “I will have the carriage take you home,” said Carswell.

  “It is only a short distance,” said the Rector. “We can walk, thank you, sir.”

  “No, no,” said Lambert. “We have our carriage here, let that take you. That will be easiest for everyone.”

  “I’ll go and arrange it,” said Carswell, leaving the room.

  The company rearranged itself, and Giles went to sit by Emma.

  “Well, well,” she murmured, smiling.

  “Quite,” said Giles.

  “And what was wrong with Hamish to put him in such a passion?”

  “The missing money.”

  “No? Hamish took it? Surely not.” Giles shook his head.

  “He was returning it. I think...” – he hesitated – “that the person responsible was –”

  Emma closed her eyes. “Oh dear. Just as I thought. Oh, but how could she! How?”

  “She must be desperate.”

  “No, she’s greedy,” said Emma. “Nothing more than that. Greedy and feckless! Oh, but those poor children. What are we to do?”

  “I shall try and get the truth out of her, and then we shall see. But it is difficult. We cannot reasonably turn her out, for the sake of the children. It will depend on what she says about it all, I suppose.”

  “She will try to manipulate you,” said Emma.

  “Then we will both talk to her.”

  Emma gave a shudder at that.

  “How disagreeable. How dare she put us in such a position!”

  At this point, Sally came up and sat beside him.

  “Should I throw your name into the casting hat, Giles?” she said. “We all know how you like to get up in disguise and
do a comic turn.”

  “I should like nothing better than to have the time to idle away on theatricals,” Giles said, “but alas we are in the thick of something. I hope you have volunteered, Sal. You are not so shabby yourself.”

  “There are no good parts for women of my age, and the days are long gone when I could play anything in breeches.”

  “Really?” said Emma. “You dressed as a boy? How daring.”

  “It was desperation,” said Sally.

  “You made an excellent boy,” Giles said. “Will Scarlet, no less, to my Robin Hood.”

  Emma burst out laughing. “That would have been wonderful.”

  “It was dreadful,” said Sally. “And you will not mention it to my children, Emma, I beg you.”

  “No, no, I promise,” said Emma. “I wonder what they will choose to do.”

  “Do you want to be part of the company?” said Giles.

  “No, no, I blush and stutter if I have to recite something,” Emma said. “And, as Sally points out, I am too old. This is the moment for the young ladies. Look at Miss Fleming. She looks made to play the long-suffering meek and mild heroine. Such a pretty young woman.”

  “Certainly she is,” Giles said. “Do we imagine that she and Hepworth are perhaps...?”

  “I was wondering that,” said Sally. “He has quite a protective air in regard to her. But it may all be aspiration rather than reality.”

  “Will not Mrs Carswell have to be the heroine,” Emma said, “as it is her house that will be thrown into utter chaos?”

  “I do not think she will mind the slightest about that,” Sally said. “And since they seem to have taken on quite a few new servants, it will probably make little difference.”

  “We can only hope that Mr Carswell is not too disturbed by it,” Emma said. “Or perhaps he is a keen actor?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Giles.

  “I do hope Lord Rothborough will indulge us,” said Sally. “I had heard that he was magnificent. It would be something to see, don’t you think?”

  “But who could he play? Certainly not some fool in a silly farce,” said Emma.

  “Truro would not dare reduce him to that, I trust,” said Sally.

  “It will be interesting to see how all this plays out,” said Giles. “But I think we shall have to take our leave shortly. The carriage will be back from the Rectory soon and we cannot keep your new horses waiting, Sally.”

  “Before the end of the first act! We should all move to this village,” said Emma.

  “Oh, those horses!” said Sally. “They may be very fine, but sometimes I think they are a little too fine. Lamb lost his head over them, I think.”

  “But they are pretty,” said Emma. “We are all jealous. Hamish was only singing their praises to me this morning.”

  “Praise indeed!”

  “The best sort,” said Emma. “I will just go and speak to Maria before we leave. I have asked her to come for a few nights to us, if her Papa can spare her. She is rather downcast, all in all.”

  She left, and Sally said, “Is that because of Lady Rothborough?”

  “Yes, she absolutely will not consent to the marriage. So they must wait until she comes of age,” Giles said.

  “She is a strange woman,” Sally said. “I know that Sir Mark is not to everyone’s taste – but he seems to have got himself well in hand, and if Lord Rothborough approves, then – oh, but of course, that is the real difficulty.”

  “I suspect so. If he disapproved of him, then Lady Maria’s chances would be much improved.”

  “How unpleasant,” she said. “Oh, how lucky we are, Giles, to have such splendid spouses!”

  Giles could not disagree with this in the slightest.

  ~

  After the last of the guests had departed and Eleanor and Lady Blanchfort had gone upstairs, instead of going to his study as he usually did, Felix put on his coat and went outside to smoke a cheroot. Having finished it, he was about to turn back into the house, but decided instead to go the stables so that he would at least be able to give Eleanor a report on Nigel’s condition.

  He saw at once that there would be no need for this. She was already there, wrapped in a dark cloak, leaning over the door into one of the stalls. He joined her and saw that the fox was curled up in a nest of straw.

  “He looks comfortable enough,” Felix said. “And he’s better off not being in that cage, surely?”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” she said.

  “He will be less likely to bite now he has some space to himself,” Felix said.

  “How is Jacob?” she said after a moment.

  “I had to give him two stitches. But he will be all right.”

  “I’m sure he only bit him because he was in pain,” Eleanor said.

  “Yes, that’s probably true. Poor creature.”

  She edged a little closer to Felix.

  “So you do not mind about the theatricals?” she said.

  “No, of course not. Did you think I would?”

  “I never know with you,” she said.

  “Well, Truro is supposed to be quite the actor. It will be interesting to see him.”

  “I’m worried I won’t be good enough. Mr Hepworth said that Miss Fleming was as good as a professional actress, and that Mr Truro always makes her the leading lady, but in this case, of course, I would have the pick of the roles.”

  “Then perhaps you should choose what you think you can manage without too much trouble and let Miss Fleming do the work.”

  “Is that what you would do?”

  “I would take the part with no lines. But I am a coward when it comes to these things.”

  She gave a little shudder at that and said, “Perhaps you are right. I don’t want him to think I am useless when obviously all the women he knows are extremely competent.”

  “Small parts are often better,” said Felix. “You will be able to enjoy everything.”

  Now he ventured to put his arm about her shoulders. “And I can’t imagine he is comparing you with the women he knows already. He will not have met anyone like you before. He is probably already casting you as the heroine of his new book.”

  “Do you think that is possible? Truly?”

  “I think you can act as badly as you like and he will not care,” Felix said, and decided as her head inclined on his shoulder, and her hand clasped his own, that he would take Major Vernon’s excellent advice. “How can he not be in awe of the delicious, young Mrs Carswell? When you came downstairs tonight –”

  He kissed her, and felt pleased to be able to give expression to his feelings. For all her waywardness, he still felt dazzled and enchanted by her. There was also the matter of what Lady Blanchfort had told him about her birth. She was like him in that respect, the product of passion and recklessness. He felt that same drive in himself so often, and he felt it now. All his careful plans seem to dissolve in the moment as she returned each kiss.

  “I thought you might be jealous.”

  “Why should I be? You’re not his wife. He does not get to kiss you.”

  “I think I wanted to make you jealous.”

  “Perhaps you have, but in the best way. You have reminded me how much I love you.”

  He had now got his hands under her skirt and he knew he no longer cared about precautions.

  “Here?” she said, giggling and shivering with pleasure. “Felix, vraiment –”

  “I have always wondered how it would be in a stable. A friend of mine from Edinburgh once saw two servants ‘at it’ in the byre and he said –”

  “You want to pretend we are servants?”

  “If you are playing a maid in these theatricals, then you should practice,” he said, taking her hand and leading her into an empty stall.

  She made no further objections and allowed him every liberty that their circumstances permitted. However, the charmingly lewd fantasy, put in his mind all those years ago by his friend, proved too cold and uncomfortable, and they
ran upstairs and threw themselves into bed, conducting themselves with all the abandon of the first days of their honeymoon.

  Full of the thirst of a long journey through the desert, Felix wondered as he embraced her why on earth he had made such a foolish stand at this particular barricade. This sweet entanglement of limbs, this fever of kisses felt so pleasant, so natural and indeed so correct that he began to wonder if his arguments were a foolish delusion born of puritanism rather than of reason.

  He decided he no longer cared if she became pregnant. He could not bear to be alienated from her as he had been these past months. It was far more dangerous for both of them to be divided than to face the challenge of parenthood – a fate that was by no mean certain. Better to face that risk than fall into indifference.

  “Are you sure?” she said, as if reading his mind as he crouched over her. “I know that you have –”

  “And you must forgive me for it,” he said. “Can you? I’ve been a fool.”

  He pushed back the hair from her face and kissed her before she could answer with words. Her actions forgave him instead, and they fell asleep in each other’s embrace.

  ~

  Dreaming, Felix found himself wandering about the great gilded rooms at Holbroke, or at least an insubstantial version of Holbroke. There seemed to be too many doors in some rooms and strange corners that he could not understand. Then he turned and found himself in Lady Blanchfort’s bedroom at Hawksby and sitting on her bed in his nightshirt, while she sat up on the pillows, smiling, with the same smile he had just seen in real life on the lips of her daughter. She stretched her hand out to him and he found himself full of frank and straightforward desire for her, as if she were his wife as well.

  When he woke, this feeling remained with him, as vivid as a streak of paint freshly applied to a canvas, even as Eleanor lay nestled in his arms. Afraid of himself, he pulled her closer, making her wake.

  “Is it morning?” she said.

  “Not yet.”

  “Good,” she murmured. “I don’t want tonight to end yet.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Fortunately Mrs Gordon had gone to bed when they returned, and they slipped upstairs, leaving Holt to lock the door and seek the comfort of his own bed. Giles helped Emma to undress, which was not strictly necessary, but made for a pleasant prelude to a most satisfactory episode between them.