The Fatal Engine

by Harriet Smart

  Eleanor was sitting up in bed, waiting for him.

  “Is it always so unpleasant?” she said, as he undressed. “So disgusting?”

  He could not answer. He was used to such scenes. There was little that shocked him now. He blew out the candles, climbed into bed beside her and lay on his back.

  “Is it?” she persisted.

  “You become accustomed to it.”

  “But how can any woman become accustomed to that – it was degrading.”

  “Not really. And that was a beautiful child. Large, though – nearly nine pounds. I think that is the largest child I have ever delivered.”

  “Beautiful?” she said. “Do you really think so?”

  “Yes. There is always something impressive about a newborn. They have a look of wisdom about them, and their characters seem clear even then, or at least to me it seems so. Perhaps I am being sentimental.”

  He was a little surprised at coming to this conclusion.

  “I never saw anything so ugly,” Eleanor said. “And she was entranced with it!”

  “Of course. She’s his mother. That is how it is – usually.” He yawned.

  “I don’t know how Mr Truro can bear it either,” said Eleanor.

  “It seems he doesn’t,” Felix said.

  “She was horrible to him.”

  “He deserves it,” Felix said. “You do realise what he and Miss Fleming have been about?”

  “No,” she said. “What?”

  That she had failed to notice or understand somewhat confounded him, and he wondered if he should tell her at all. However, he could scarcely obfuscate now.

  “I saw them the other day. They are intimate, to put it politely.”

  “You saw them?” she said. “Do you mean they were –?”

  “Yes.”

  “Having congress? Really?”

  “Yes. Energetically.”

  She giggled.

  “Goodness – goodness me! But then, she is very pretty.”

  “And that excuses it?” he said.

  “You are always telling me about natural animal passions and how we are driven by them.”

  “Yes, but he is married and he ought only to indulge them with his wife. That is the whole point of marriage, surely?”

  As he spoke, he found himself colouring, thinking of the wicked thoughts with which he had so thoroughly indulged himself about her mother. Even sitting in church he had imagined kissing her. He was scarcely in a position to preach. Truro had only done what he himself wished to do.

  “Perhaps there are other rules for our great men,” Eleanor said after a moment.

  “And who is to judge whom we excuse and whom we condemn?” Felix said. “Some committee for public morals? Appointed by whom? Self-appointed, I suppose, for that is the way things are done, the same old people deciding everything. No one would ask poor Mrs Truro to be on such a committee, would they?”

  “She has the honour of being his wife. That is no small thing,” Eleanor said. “And woman have always had to tolerate these things. I remember my mother saying so when I was younger. I suppose she said it to prepare me for the likelihood of an unfaithful husband.”

  “But you would not tolerate that, surely?” he said.

  She thought for a moment, and then lay down.

  “I suppose I could bear you taking a mistress,” she said, “if I knew you did not love her. If it were for reasons of my health, perhaps, and yours. I have heard of that.”

  “Where? What have you been reading?”

  “If I had a weak heart, perhaps,” she went on. She rolled onto her back and went on: “And when you were with her, you would be thinking only of me, lying on a sofa. That would be tolerable.” Her tone and the slight movements she made suggested this idea was a pleasant fancy that stirred her into sensual feelings. She even gave a little sigh.

  “There are easier ways to deal with that than taking a mistress,” Felix said.

  “Yes, but that – that is dreadful for a man’s health, is it not? A mistress is healthier.”

  “What have you been reading?” Felix said, again.

  “Am I not allowed to read your books?” she said.

  “I don’t agree with them all, you know,” he said. “Medical men have a wide range of opinions. It is sometimes hard to know what is harmful and what is not. In that case, I do not think the theory supports the facts. In fact, Hunter, whom I regard as a sound authority, never thought any harm could come of it. It has never harmed me, although that is a most subjective position to take.”

  “What must it be like to be a mistress?” Eleanor said. “It must be curious. What can it be like?”

  Then suddenly she rolled back on to her side and said, “What did you see?”

  “Nothing much.”

  “Were they kissing?”

  “No.”

  “So what were they doing?”

  “I don’t know, I was only in there for a moment.”

  “But you are sure that they were –?”

  “Yes, he was behind her.”

  “My! How fascinating,” she said, moving a little closer.

  “Really, do we have to talk about this now?” he said. “I’m exhausted.” He turned onto his side, facing away from her.

  “You don’t want to –?”

  “No, not really. Well, not now.”

  “Oh,” she said. “It was only that I was thinking tonight that perhaps there may be some truth in what you have said to me before about family limitation. That it does seem foolish to risk getting myself into such an unpleasant condition, and that we ought to be careful, after all.”

  In any other circumstances he would have considered this a great victory. He had got his way and yet he felt nothing but discomfort, shame and confusion.

  “So, how does one go about it?” she went on.

  “Eleanor, please, not now, I can’t,” he said. “I’m too tired, really. Please can we not go to sleep? Goodnight!”

  “Oh, very well then, goodnight to you!” she said, and turned, pointedly and noisily, so that they lay back to back, with a nasty draught between them.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  At breakfast the next day, with Sandro on his knee, Giles watched Sophy and Hamish pushing around their porridge spoons in a highly dissatisfied manner. The rain was lashing the casements and an atmosphere of sullen resentment filled the room. Patton had already been in and given them a lecture on the necessity of eating every last scrap, and it had not gone down well.

  “Why can’t we have cream on it?” said Sophy.

  “Only on Sundays,” said Giles.

  “It’s horrible,” she said.

  He wondered if he should tell them about the gruel at the workhouse, but decided to restrain himself. Instead he said, “Now, you know that your aunt is not well and will not be able to give you lessons today. So will you try and be quiet, for her sake, and do everything Lady Maria tells you?”

  “Is Aunt Emma unwell with a baby?” said Sophy, laying down her spoon. “There, finished. May I have some toast now, Uncle Giles?”

  “That’s not finished,” said Hamish. “You have to see the pattern. Like this. That’s finished, yes, sir?”

  He held up his bowl for inspection.

  “You may both have toast now,” said Giles.

  “But she hasn’t finished properly,” said Hamish. “That’s not fair. There’s at least a spoonful and a half left in there.”

  “She, Hamish?” Giles said. “Who is she? And don’t quibble. It isn’t gentlemanly.”

  “Sorry, sir,” Hamish said, and reached for the toast.

  “And offer the dish to Sophy first, if you please,” Giles said.

  Hamish did this with ill-grace but it was done nonetheless. Sophy, heaping her toast with plum jam, said, “So, is it a baby, Uncle Giles? When Sandro was born I saw everything. And Hamish missed it.”

  Giles had to wonder at how disorganised the Gordon establishment must have been that Sophy ha
d been allowed to witness such an event.

  “I was trapping quail with Sanjay,” said Hamish. “That was much better.”

  “And Papa was giddy and drank a whole bottle of usquebaugh,” Sophy went on, her mouth full of toast.

  “Please Sophy, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Giles said. “In fact, you ought not repeat such stories.”

  “It is not a story,” said Sophy. “He did.”

  “He did not drink it all,” said Hamish. “Some of it he blessed Sandro with. He put his thumb in his glass and marked him on the forehead with a cross, so he would be a true Scotsman.”

  “I wish Papa were here now,” said Sophy. “Do you think he will ever find us here and take us home?”

  “To India?” Giles said.

  “No, to Auchnaree,” said Hamish.

  “Is that where your father was born?” said Giles. Hamish nodded.

  “It is in the High Lands,” said Sophy, pronouncing each word with great care. “It is the most beautiful place in the world.”

  At this moment Lady Maria came in.

  “Good morning!” she said. “What horrible weather! Still, we shall find something to do, I am sure.”

  “And I really must go,” said Giles. “Now Sandro, I am afraid I must let go of you.”

  “I did not hear him cry at all last night,” said Maria.

  “He was with me,” said Giles, who had gone to sleep with Hamish and Sandro so as not to disturb Emma. Sophy had been removed to a little room of her own. “Now,” he said to Sandro, “my fine one, will you sit with my lady instead? I have to go to work but I shall be back as soon as I may, when I have got Billy Armstrong in my sights.”

  “Who is Billy Armstrong?” said Sophy.

  “A devil,” said Hamish, who had quizzed Giles on the subject previously. “Who wants to smash up a manufactory.”

  By some miracle Sandro was in the mood to practise walking, and Sophy, still sticky with jam, was recruited to play with him. He was so absorbed in toddling that he forgot his misery. Giles said his goodbyes and ran upstairs to see Emma before he left.

  “I shall probably get bored with this seclusion quite soon,” she said after he had recounted the breakfast table conversation to her. “But not yet!”

  “Have you managed to eat anything today?”

  “I had half a cup of tea,” said Emma. “And a quarter piece of toast. I’m quite pleased with myself.”

  “That’s excellent. Let’s hope you are more settled than yesterday. I wish I could stay and tend you.”

  “What a waste of your talents that would be,” she said. “Not that you are not an excellent nurse, Giles, but rats must be caught. That is more to the point.”

  He kissed her goodbye, and set off through the driving rain to the Northern Office.

  ~

  Carswell was waiting for him in his office, a sheaf of paperwork in his hand relating to Sarah Roper’s death.

  “How is Mrs Vernon?” he said.

  “Braving it out,” said Giles.

  “I gather the children will be staying with you for some time,” Carswell said.

  “What did Mrs Vernon say to you?”

  “Something about you rescuing kittens about to be drowned. She chided herself for saying so, though. And speaking as an almost drowned kitten myself –”

  “Yes?”

  “It sounds commendable.”

  “But it may not be the right thing if Mrs Vernon’s health is perilous. I did not think of that. In fact, it never crossed my mind that she might be – well, it did, but it was not a fully-formed intention, so to speak.”

  Carswell frowned.

  “It is the usual consequence of marriage unless steps are taken otherwise,” he said.

  “Yes, but we are old people.”

  “Hardly,” said Carswell.

  “Then I suppose it didn’t seem likely, and a case of crossing that bridge when we came to it. That we have got there, and at the same time as the children needing us – it’s all rather unfortunate, but I dare say –” He broke off and began to study the papers he had been given with more care. “There was no difficulty about a post-mortem, then?”

  “None,” said Carswell. “And the fact of its necessity has obviously made Amy Roper think hard. She contrived to fall violently ill at the sight of the coroner, and the threat of an inquest. In fact, because of it I was able to keep her at the Infirmary last night and have her ready for you. She will talk now, I hope.”

  “That’s excellent. And you are sure she was play-acting?”

  “Yes, it was too convenient. She’s in perfect health.”

  “And she’s still at the Infirmary?”

  “No, I sent them to bring her here along with her sister’s body. I thought you would want to get on to it first thing.”

  “Excellent. Thank you. You must have got here early.”

  “I wanted to get on with the post-mortem, and I had to make an early call. Mrs Truro was delivered last night.”

  “By you?”

  “She did most of the work. Poor woman. That man –”

  “Truro?”

  Carswell nodded.

  “He’s a dirty scoundrel. He was rogering his sister-in-law while his wife was giving birth.”

  “Goodness.”

  “I saw them about it the other day as well,” said Carswell.

  “That would be Miss Fleming?”

  “Yes,” said Carswell, shaking his head. “Ye gods! Yes, I know these things happen, I’m not so naive, and I know we are all subject to temptation, to provocation, to all that sort of thing, but you think he might wish to take such business elsewhere! It was so blatant. Even the servants knew.”

  “Servants always know,” said Giles.

  “And Eleanor,” Carswell went on, “she is in this wretched play of his, as is my mother-in-law for that matter! How are we supposed to go on, when we know that is going on, so to speak?”

  “That’s difficult, certainly. Mrs Carswell is aware of it?”

  “Yes, because foolishly I told her. But I can’t imagine that she will be dissuaded from the theatricals because of that. She has far too high an opinion of the man.”

  “Even now?” said Giles.

  “She made light of it,” Carswell said. “I wonder if she is not –” He broke off, and pointing to the papers, said, “Might you sign that one now, sir, so I can get on?”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” said Giles, taking up his pen and signing. “You know, we should go and dine together one night, Carswell. I miss those dinners we used to have.”

  “Yes, I should like that,” said Carswell, taking the newly-signed chit and blowing dry Giles’ signature. “At The Blue Boar? As we did that first night I was here, before we went on to your sister’s house.”

  Giles nodded, remembering the occasion well.

  “We shall have to see what we can arrange. I am sure our wives will indulge us.”

  ~

  Giles went into the room where Amy Roper had been put to wait. She was sitting with Hammond.

  “Are you feeling better this morning?” he said.

  “No, no, not at all,” she said, pulling her bright shawl about her and swaying in her chair. “I feel as sick and weak as anything, and I cannot stop shaking.”

  “Let us keep this brief, and then you may see Mr Carswell again.”

  “I think I should see him now,” she said, with a whine that was not convincing.

  “He is busy at the moment, but later, I promise. First, I do think we should talk.”

  He sat down at the table opposite her and went on: “As I’m sure you are aware, we are treating the death of your sister as suspicious.” She nodded. “Mr Carswell is of the opinion that she had been given quantities of opiates, but that the dose had become so high her body could no longer sustain itself. In effect, she was poisoned. Do you understand?”

  She nodded again, and then reached for her handkerchief and sniffed. He let her consider his words a litt
le longer, and then asked, “Can you think of any reason why she would have been given the drug in the first place against her will? We know that she was opposed to taking such things. Was it to help her sleep?”

  “She was a light sleeper,” Amy said.

  “And that worried you?”

  “Of course.”

  “For your sake or hers?”

  “For hers, of course,” she said.

  “But there was an advantage to you in it?” he went on. “That she slept soundly.”

  “She was better tempered for it.”

  “I can see that. And it helped you in the evenings, didn’t it? Or should I say, at night? That she was sleeping soundly always and could not easily be woken.”

  Amy thought for a while, tracing her finger on the table top. Then she looked him in the face.

  “It wasn’t my idea.”

  “Then whose was it?”

  “If I tell you then I shall want something for it.”

  “I see.”

  “I can’t tell you anything unless I know that I’m going to be all right.”

  “And you think I can guarantee you that?”

  “You will when I’ve told you what I know. It’s worth knowing.”

  “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t,” Giles said. “I shall judge its worth.”

  “Oh, it’s worth plenty. Plenty,” she added, leaning forward.

  “We shall see about that,” said Giles. “First of all, I want you to tell me how you went about doctoring your sister’s cordial.”

  “I didn’t say that I did.”

  “No, but you just said it wasn’t your idea to do it, which is saying it was done, yes?” She made a little noise of assent and looked away. “Now I want to know how it was done, not whose idea it might be.”