“Sometimes,” Felix said, having taken a sip of his whisky, “I’m not sure it is good for me to be so comfortable.”
“It is always good for people to be comfortable,” said Tolley. “That’s the general purpose of progress. We are not supposed to suffer just for the sake of it. The idea is to get rid of suffering, surely?”
“You weren’t listening to the sermon,” said Felix, “were you?”
“He lost me halfway through. He’s a little too low for me,” said Tolley. “And I can’t say I liked the way he runs his house. That certainly wasn’t comfortable.”
“No, it was appalling,” said Felix. “That living is worth five hundred a year. That’s more than enough to keep the house warm.”
Eleanor came in.
“Here you are! Is all the drama at the Rectory over?”
“Unfortunately it is only just beginning,” said Felix. “Is lunch ready?”
“I believe so. Mr Tolley, I have just been to see Nigel and he is quite lively now. That was sound advice last night.”
“Thank you, Mrs Carswell. It was nothing more than your husband –”
“I think you have the gift of healing,” she said. Felix might have taken this amiss, as a disparagement of his own skills, but having seen Tolley in action, he could hardly dispute it.
“He will have the Queen sending for him soon enough, yes,” said Felix. “Surgeon to Her Majesty. It’s inevitable. Sir Samuel Tolley!”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Tolley blushing.
“Sir Samuel – yes, that’s most becoming,” said Eleanor.
“My brother says he will get the knighthood in our family,” Tolley said.
“The one in the Navy?” said Eleanor. “Surely, he will need a war for that? You have the great advantage of the medical man in that you are already in a constant state of war, so to speak. Or so it seems to me, with the hours that my husband keeps. I suppose yours are even more outlandish?”
“Somewhat,” said Tolley.
“Let’s go and eat,” said Felix, “for we will both have to be back at work soon enough,” he added, thinking of Miss Roper.
Over lunch, Eleanor and Lady Blanchfort continued to make the same pleasant fuss over Tolley that they had the night before, as if he were a boy home from school. In fact there was almost a touch of rivalry between them about it. Naturally enough, Tolley thrived on all the agreeable attention, and by the time they were installed in the carriage and driving back to Northminster he was pink-cheeked from wine and feminine charm.
“I shall have a lot to write in my letter home tonight,” Tolley said. “Your mother-in-law really is the kindest creature. I am surprised she has not remarried. Of course, she may not want to, but really, it is a waste of a woman like that to be a widow.”
“Do you know anyone suitable?” said Felix. It would of course be an excellent thing if she were to be courted and won by a man who could love her openly and honestly, and receive from her the love that she so clearly needed to give. Better still, he would carry her off to a distant county. Felix knew that if he had any sense at all, or indeed a conscience, he would do all he could to make this happen. But the thought of it repulsed him. However dangerous it might be, he wanted to keep her under his roof.
~
Miss Roper was not doing well. She opened her eyes with only the greatest difficulty, and despite being propped up in a chair and forcibly kept awake, the narcotic properties of the opium seemed to be gaining the upper hand. Peterson had been vigilant on her behalf and looked wrecked as a result.
“Let’s hope they have picked up this hook-nosed fellow you mentioned,” he said, handing over his notes to Felix.
“I’m still wondering how it was he got in here so easily,” said Felix. “Because there was nothing to stop him, I suppose. We should design a better system to guard ourselves.”
Peterson went off duty, and Felix spent the rest of the afternoon at the Infirmary. Miss Roper did not improve, but neither did she deteriorate. Jack Edwardes came in after evensong and announced his intention to sit with her through the night.
Felix got back to Hawksby to discover that both Eleanor and Lady Blanchfort were at White Lodge rehearsing. After eating a solitary supper, he decided he would go over to escort them home when they were done. It was sleeting again as he walked over, and he felt his conscience badly pricked when he passed by the Rectory. He decided he would go over first thing the next morning and see how Miss Martha was doing.
For a Sunday evening, the atmosphere at White Lodge was decidedly cheerful. Mrs Truro herself came out of the drawing room to greet him in the hall. When he remonstrated at this unnecessary exertion, she said, “In truth, I am happier on my feet at the moment. I lean on the wall by the fire and it is easier than getting up and down! Now, do come in. We are deep in Act Two. Your wife is quite brilliant, Mr Carswell, but then my husband has an eye for talent! And as for my lady – well!”
They went into the drawing room, one end of which had become a makeshift stage. The room was brilliantly lit and deliciously warm, with large fires in both fireplaces. Eleanor, Lady Blanchfort and Miss Fleming were reading from their parts, while Mr Truro was sitting on a low stool in front of them, directing operations.
“Step forward a little at this point, if you would, my lady,” he was saying, beckoning Lady Blanchfort forward. “Ah yes, perfect! Now, Mrs Carswell, if you would move stage left – yes, stage left, and show us all that you are perplexed at what the Countess is saying.”
Both ladies obeyed and Felix could not help smiling at Eleanor’s exaggerated expression of perplexity, which lasted only a moment before she caught sight of him and burst out laughing.
Truro turned to see what had caused this, and glared at Felix. Mrs Truro then quickly showed Felix to a seat, her finger pressed to her lips.
“If we might continue. From your cue, if you please, ma’am,” Truro said, indicating Lady Blanchfort.
Lady Blanchfort, reading, began to address Miss Fleming: “The marriage day is now fixed, my dear, and all shall be well!”
“Oh, I cannot contain my joy!” said Miss Fleming, clapping her hands. “That my love and I shall be wed at last! Oh Mother, thank you!”
“Do I hear right?” said Eleanor. “Am I betrayed? Oh, woe...”
“Oh, Margaret, why do you turn away?” said Miss Fleming. “Are you not happy for your mistress?”
It went on in this vein for some minutes and Felix found himself wishing he had called at the Rectory instead. There it would have been easy to keep a straight face.
At last Mr Truro was satisfied, the rehearsal finished and tea brought in. Mrs Truro and her sister busied themselves with the pot while Lady Blanchfort came and sat down by Felix. Eleanor was kept by Mr Truro, who evidently wanted to give her more directions.
“It is a great piece of nonsense,” said Lady Blanchfort quietly. “But perfectly harmless.”
“It is not harmless when you are trying not to laugh,” said Felix.
“True,” she said. “Oh dear, Eleanor is getting a lecture from Mr Truro. He is quite a harsh master, and I’m surprised at her patience. I had to bite my own tongue once or twice.”
Felix frowned, not at all liking the idea that Truro should presume in this way with Lady Blanchfort, let alone Eleanor. However, as far as Felix could tell, Eleanor did not seem to object at all. She was listening intently to what he was saying, and if there were criticisms she was taking them in good part.
“Eleanor and I went down to the Rectory before we came here,” Lady Blanchfort went on. “Miss Martha was a little better, I think.”
“I shall call there first thing tomorrow,” Felix said.
“They are an odd family,” Lady Blanchfort said. “And I have learnt a curious fact: they have changed their name. From Lousey to Lacey, which is understandable.”
“How did you find that out?” Felix said.
“The old servant Tabby kept referring to Miss Lousey and Mr Lousey. It to
ok a minute to realise what she meant by it, and she told me it had been changed. It was to sound more refined, I suppose, but one would not have thought the Rector guilty of anything so worldly.”
“I can imagine him guilty of plenty,” said Felix. “Making such a show of self-denial that his own child suffers, for instance!”
“The house is not comfortable, certainly.”
“It is inexplicable – it is a perfectly adequate living,” Felix said. “He is a miser, that is the long and the short of it.” He might have gone on, but Miss Fleming now appeared with a cup of tea for Lady Blanchfort.
“You must be so proud of your daughter, my lady,” she said. “Mrs Carswell has such a natural skill. Mr Truro will be talking of nothing else, I’m sure!” she added. “He is always extremely susceptible to talent! Now, will you take a cup of tea, Mr Carswell?”
“Yes, thank you,” said Felix, getting up. “But I can fetch it myself. Can I get you some?”
“No, I never drink tea at this time of night. It makes one fat, I understand. A famous medical man in London told me so.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” said Felix.
“Look at my sister,” said Miss Fleming. “She drinks tea constantly and she used to have a figure. It’s a bad habit, and you shan’t convince me otherwise.”
“Everything in moderation,” said Lady Blanchfort, sipping her own tea. “Surely?”
Felix went to Mrs Truro to get his own tea and asked for a cup to take to Eleanor. She was still being lectured by Truro, diligently scribbling his observations on her part. It was of course not at all surprising that Eleanor should be admired by other men. Dressed in her dark-green Sunday silk, her earnest expression was peculiarly charming. For a man like Truro, whose clutch of closely-spaced children surely indicated a warmly amorous temperament, it would have been a great pleasure to play the schoolmaster with a woman like Eleanor, who sometimes still had the air of the schoolgirl about her.
“Yes, she will be tired of being talked at,” said Mrs Truro, handing him a cup. “Mr Truro sometimes forgets himself – he always has so much to say.”
Felix stared at her for a moment. It was as if she had read his thoughts, but then he realised she was only remarking on something she had seen many times before. Truro was a common flirt.
He crossed the room, and seeing him approach, Truro had the decency to break off talking to her.
“I think we have covered everything for now,” he said. “Please excuse me.” And he left the room by the far door.
“Oh tea, yes please!” Eleanor said, taking the cup from him and draining it. “This room is rather warm!”
“I can send you to the Rectory to cool down,” Felix said. Miss Fleming now crossed the room behind them and slipped from the room.
“Goodness, how shall I manage to do all this!” Eleanor said, holding up her script. “He has so many ideas about how it all should be done! I’m terrified!”
“If you are going to work so hard, you should ask for wages,” Felix said.
“I wonder how much actresses get paid,” said Eleanor. “I should ask Miss Fleming. I think she considered making a profession of it. But her parents would not let her.” Eleanor yawned. “Oh excuse me, I am sleepy.”
“Let’s go home,” said Felix. “We need to see how Nigel is getting on.”
“Your friend Mr Tolley was so clever with him,” Eleanor said.
“Nigel is the only patient I have who is improving,” said Felix. “And it is because of another man’s talent!”
“Nonsense. You know we called in at the Rectory?”
“Yes, your mother said.”
“You are quite the hero there. I was blushing for you.”
“You are blushing now,” he said, touching her scarlet cheek.
“It’s ridiculously hot in here!” Eleanor said. “Look, Mama is crimson too. But she has been high-coloured for the last day or two.”
“I’ll go and find your wraps,” said Felix. “Go and tell your mother we are leaving. She will be glad to go home, I think.”
Hoping to find a servant, Felix left by the door in the far corner of the room, crossed the back hall and opened a door, thinking it might lead to the kitchen or the servant’s hall. Instead, he found himself looking into a small room, lit by a solitary candle. Here, to his absolute horror, Mr Truro and Miss Fleming were engaged in vigorous congress, their backs to him. Leaning over a creaking table, Miss Fleming was trying – not very successfully – to suppress the sounds of her considerable pleasure, while the celebrated novelist was grunting like a pig hunting for windfalls.
Felix stole away, hoping desperately that they had not seen or heard anything of his intrusion. He shut the door carefully, and went back to the drawing room where mercifully a maid had come in with Eleanor and Lady Blanchfort’s wraps, and they were able to make an efficient departure.
Chapter Twenty-two
Giles had written a long letter to Emma, burnt it and then written another. This effort he judged a little better, but he could not quite bring himself to sign and seal it. The next morning he put it in his pocket and went down to breakfast with Lord Rothborough.
The breakfast room was situated to one side of Rothborough House, overlooking the gardens, which were for a London house remarkably generous, and caught what morning sun there was on a dreary December day. The table was set in a bow window and Lord Rothborough was already installed with his newspapers and correspondence.
“How did you sleep?” said Lord Rothborough.
“Well, thank you,” said Giles.
“What will you eat?” said Lord Rothborough, signalling to the footman. Coffee and delicious-looking rolls and butter were already on the table.
“This will be quite sufficient, thank you.”
The servant left them and Rothborough said, “I have had an answer from Mrs Martinez. She will be happy to receive you. I think she has the same faith in your probity as Mrs Gordon.” He sighed. “I did not sleep, I must confess. That business yesterday brought back some rather uncomfortable memories.”
“I wonder if I should not go back to Mrs Gordon and try and persuade her –”
“I don’t think you will succeed.”
“Because I don’t wish to?” said Giles.
“That, yes, to an extent, but I think her mind is made up. It is just as it was with Mrs Martinez, all those years ago in Paris. She ran away to allow me to take responsibility for Felix. She did not do it lightly. That much I understand now.”
“But there seems a great deal of lightness in Mrs Gordon.”
“Bravado, perhaps?” said Rothborough. “She has done the right thing, but she has done it badly. It is a question of execution rather than intent. Just as with Blanche.”
Giles stirred his coffee and gazed out at the gardens.
“When should I go and see her?”
“This morning? You will be anxious to be home, I think. There is a train down at one.”
“Yes,” said Giles. “I have written a letter to Mrs Vernon, but it is a poor one. I would rather get home and talk it out with her.”
“She won’t object, surely?” said Lord Rothborough.
“That is what worries me,” said Giles. “She submits to me too much already. This is a great thing to ask of her, and I have not asked. I simply did as I wanted without consulting her.”
“Have a little faith, man,” said Rothborough. “I’m sure she will feel as you do. In fact,” he said, getting up from the table, “I have never seen a man and wife so nicely tuned as you and Mrs Vernon. Shall I order the carriage for you? Mrs Martinez lives in Chelsea.”
“No, thank you. I’ll walk there. It is not so far from here, I think,” said Giles. “It is mild enough and I need to stretch my legs.”
An hour later found him in a quiet side street in Chelsea. A maid who was scarcely more than a child showed him to her quarters.
Dona Blanca, or Mrs Martinez as she now called herself, was living in one r
oom at the back of the house, on the ground floor. The chamber was neither large nor comfortably furnished. A few meagre coals flickered in a small grate, but the room could not be considered warm. Mrs Martinez herself seemed older than he remembered, and looked uncomfortably thin.
He offered her the posy of Christmas roses he had bought on the way.
“I could not resist them. We rarely see such things in Northminster at this time of year. I shall take some back to my wife.”
“Ah yes, Lord Rothborough told me that happy news!” Mrs Martinez said, taking them from him. “Thank you for these, Major Vernon. They will brighten a corner.”
He did not like to point out that it would need more than a few hellebores to brighten her dismal room. It was, in fact, difficult not to come straight to the point on her apparently wilful incarceration there, so shocking did it seem. It was no wonder that Lord Rothborough was distressed.
They sat down opposite each other on a pair of plain deal chairs that looked as if they had strayed from a kitchen.
“Much has happened since we last met,” he said.
“Yes,” she said, “although it seems as if it were yesterday. That summer was momentous for both of us, in different ways.”
“I’m honoured you consented to see me,” he said.
“How could I not wish to see you? After all that happened.”
“But you don’t suspect me of a motive in coming?”
“I know that you are here because Lord Rothborough wishes it. I know he wants to persuade me to accept his help.” She spread out her hands to him. “But it is impossible.”
“I cannot understand why,” Giles said. “There would be nothing improper in it. He is not suggesting anything like that. You know that, surely.”
“Yes, yes, but it is still impossible.”
“Because you must punish yourself?” he said.
“You come to the point quickly,” she said.
The Fatal Engine Page 20
