“Fresh cards!” Blake called out to Giles. “And more brandy!”
“Yes, sir,” said Giles, and gathered up the empty glasses. Armstrong threw the abandoned pack onto Giles’ tray and gazed at him for a moment. Giles turned away as soon as he could.
“Who is that fellow you have there, Blake?” he heard him say as he walked to the sideboard where the wine and glasses had been set out.
“No idea. Hired him for the night. One of the confectioner’s men,” Blake said.
“Doesn’t look like a waiter to me,” Armstrong said.
“Men look for work where they can,” said another of the men at the table. “What does a waiter look like anyway?”
“Too tall,” said Armstrong.
Standing with his back to him at the sideboard, Giles could see in the looking glass hung above that Armstrong was still observing him.
“The ladies like them tall,” said Blake.
“That’s footmen,” remarked the other.
“Footmen, waiters, flunkeys, whatever,” said Blake. “That’s why I don’t keep menservants. Not with three girls in the house.”
Giles returned to the whist table, keeping his head bowed a little, and set out the glasses, the decanter and lastly the packs of cards.
“Will that be all, sir?” he said, in his best Geordie lilt.
“Where are you from, man?” said Armstrong.
“Alnwick, sir – well, a little place just by.”
“You’re a long way from home, then,” said Armstrong, getting up now and facing him, glass in hand.
“You go where there’s a wage, if you’ve any sense, sir.”
“And is this a good wage?” Armstrong said, plucking at one of the gold tassels that decorated his livery.
“Not bad, sir,” Giles said, and had the unpleasant feeling that his impersonation was not convincing Armstrong. “If you’ll excuse me, sir,” he added, and turned away.
“Get us something from the kitchen,” Blake called out as Giles was about to leave. “Lobster patties! Now, Armstrong, won’t you do the honours?”
“No, I’m done,” said Armstrong, getting up from the table.
Giles went as swiftly as he could into the safety of the pantry where Mr Hale was busy arranging large plates of pies and patties.
“Lobster patties for the gents, Mr Hale,” he said, still keeping his accent. It was just as well, for Armstrong was now at the pantry door.
“Are you the confectioner?” he said to Mr Hale.
“Yes, sir, I am indeed. May I help you with anything?”
“This man here,” he said, indicating Giles.
“Holt, yes, sir, what about him?”
“Do you often employ him?”
“Oh yes, often,” said Mr Hale. There was only a slight quaver in the confectioner’s voice as he continued to arrange the pies to his liking. Armstrong seemed satisfied and walked away. “Go and clear the ices from the drawing room.”
“Yes, sir,” said Giles.
Giles left the pantry and found Armstrong still standing in the hall. He watched him as he crossed into the drawing room. As he busied himself clearing away the empty dishes, Giles wondered how he ought to proceed. As he returned, Armstrong was still there.
“May I get you anything, sir?” he said, deciding it was best to seem unconcerned.
Armstrong looked him over again for a long moment, and then said, “Brandy,” and walked back into the gaming room.
~
“Do you want some?” the kitchen maid said to Felix. She was leaning against the scullery door, holding a bowl of half-melted water ice. He had just put down a tray of dirty plates for washing. “It can’t go up again. We might as well, while we have a minute.” She dug a spoon in and took a mouthful. “You look right hot, you do.”
“I’m not used to the wig,” said Felix, trying to ignore the carelessly sensual way with which she licked the spoon.
“You’re not used to any of this, are you?” she said, smiling, and now offered the dripping spoon to him. “Go on, it will cool you down. It’s pineapple. When else are the likes of us going to get pineapple ice cream?” She thrust the spoon into his face now, and there was little he could do but oblige her and take the spoon. He was thirsty and he could still remember a time when such a thing as pineapple ice cream was a fantastical luxury. She smiled, pleased that he had consented, and he could not help noticing how pretty she was, despite being red-faced and dishevelled from work.
“Go on, have some more. I’ve had my fill,” she said, as he offered the spoon back to her. “And then I can set you straight.”
“What?”
“Your wig.”
“Oh, is it not...?”
“No, you’re all crooked,” she said, laughing now. “You are new to this, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he admitted, putting down the bowl and searching about for a napkin to wipe his hands and mouth.
“Quick,” she said, coming close and deftly wiping his chin with her apron skirt. “Mustn’t get it on your livery or your Mr Hale will dock your wages. And we mustn’t have that!” She did not move away, however, but remained close, looking into his eyes as if she meant to have his soul. Then she reached up and adjusted his wig. “There. Say thank you.”
“Thank you,” he managed to say.
“Not like that,” she said. “It is Christmas, after all!” She inclined her head for a kiss.
“Katie!” shouted the cook, who was coming down the passageway. “I need those pans, scrubbed now!”
Katie muttered a curse under her breath and bolted away into the scullery, but not without a last provocative glance at Felix, who now found himself face-to-face with the cook.
“And you, go and make yourself useful, you lazy lummock!” she said to him, with an exasperated gesture. “There are hot patties to go upstairs to the gentlemen. Snap to it!”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Felix, and hurried off, his hands still sticky and his nerves unsettled. The girl had the drawing force of a magnet, and he felt ashamed of himself.
He hurried up to the pantry with the heavy tray of steaming little pastries, arranged in regiments and decorated with heaps of parsley. He found Major Vernon there efficiently opening champagne bottles and looking quite born to the life.
“Be on guard,” he said. “Armstrong is looking askance at me.”
As he carried the tray into the gaming room, Felix could not help wondering whether, in his enthusiasm for this impersonation, Major Vernon had let the possible benefits of the venture outweigh the risks. Armstrong – his name seemed unpleasantly appropriate to Felix, especially when he thought of the damage he had inflicted on poor Coxe in such a short space of time.
Did he always carry his knuckle dusters, Felix wondered, as he carried his tray about the room, offering it to the gamblers. Armstrong was not at play, but was standing with his back to the fire, a glass in his hand, surveying the room, his expression distinctly hawkish. Fortunately he seemed to take no interest in Felix or what he had to offer. Having completed his own circuit of the room, Felix was just about to leave when the Major entered bearing a tray of champagne glasses. He noticed Armstrong frown and cross the room before murmuring something to Mr Blake. Blake, who was shuffling cards, laid down the pack and got up from the table.
Felix, who could not linger any further, went into the hall and laid down his tray on the serving table. As he did so, Blake and Armstrong crossed the hall together and went off down a passageway. Glancing up the stairs, Felix realised that if he went up to the half-landing, he would get a better view of where they were going. So he went up, and by dint of carefully pressing himself to the wall and into the shadows, he could see through the fancy balustrade that they had only gone as far as the back lobby.
“That tall fellow,” he heard Armstrong say, “I don’t like the look of him.”
“He’s just a waiter,” said Blake. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
“He has a look about him
that I don’t like. I know these things. Get Hale to send him home. Tell him – tell him he goosed one of the women or some such. One of your girls can set off the waterworks to order, I’m sure.”
“I shall not,” said Blake. “I shall not ruin a perfectly agreeable evening because of your suspicions. Go and make yourself agreeable to the ladies if you are bored with the stakes. You are beginning to try my patience, Armstrong. Remember who you are – or rather: who you are not!”
At which Blake left Armstrong and returned to the main hall, and then back to the gambling room. Felix remained in his hiding place for some minutes, and heard the sound of a door opening and closing. Had Armstrong gone out of the house or into another room?
When Felix judged it was safe, he came downstairs again and went into the back hall. There was no sign of Armstrong, but there were two likely doors. One was slightly ajar and led to a dark sitting room, but the other one was set under the staircase and was firmly closed. Was this the door he had heard closing? It looked as if it led to a basement.
He hesitated a moment and then saw the handle turn, and at once retreated into the darkness of the nearby sitting room. As he had guessed, Armstrong emerged and this time he locked the door behind him. This was extremely curious behaviour for a guest in a house. He pocketed the key and then headed upstairs.
Felix emerged and was glad to see Major Vernon coming out of the gaming room with his empty tray. He hurried him into the safety of the pantry and told him what he had seen and heard.
“That’s extremely interesting. Obviously there is something in there of value to Armstrong.”
“And you have rattled him,” said Felix.
“Yes, I’m clearly not the actor I thought I was,” said Major Vernon. At this moment, Katie the maid came into the pantry with some dishes of sweets.
“Hiding from me, are you?” she said, with a wink at Felix. “These are for the drawing room,” she added, handing them to Major Vernon. “And the coffee is to go in now as well, Mr Hale says.”
“Do you know where that door under the stairs leads?” said the Major.
“Why do you want to know?” she asked.
“Looked like a quiet spot,” said Major Vernon.
“It’s a nasty cold spot,” she said. “Just the cellars.”
“Does the master keep his wine down there?”
“Yes.”
“And who has a key?”
“I don’t know,” she said, unhelpfully. “The master, I suppose. But Mrs Wilson, she’s the cook, she may have one.”
“Take me to her, would you?” said Major Vernon.
“You’ve got to do the sweets and the coffee,” she said.
At which Major Vernon thrust the dishes at Felix.
“I need to speak to her at once,” he said. “Take me to her, please.”
Katie looked a little startled at his abrupt change of tone and manner, but she did not hesitate to obey.
Felix took the sweets into the drawing room as requested, and then the coffee. As he was coming out to fetch some more cream, Armstrong came downstairs dressed in his green overcoat and carrying a small travelling bag. He saw Felix and beckoned him over.
“Give this to Mr Blake,” he said, and handed him a note. He then left the building.
Felix read the note, for it had not been sealed, only folded.
IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIFE, GET OUT OF THE HOUSE.
Chapter Twenty-nine
“And he went that way?” Giles said.
“About three minutes ago,” Carswell said.
“He won’t have got too far, even with those long legs of his,” said Giles. He looked at the note again.
IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIFE, GET OUT OF THE HOUSE.
“That strikes me as somewhat urgent,” said Carswell.
“Yes,” he said. “And given that the cook could not find the key – it had been taken from its usual place – we might assume that was the key Armstrong used and took with him. We need to get into the cellar.”
“Do you have your –” Carswell began, but did not finish as Giles had already got his set of lock-picking tools from his pocket and was at the door.
“Fortunately,” he said. “I thought of leaving them at the Inn.”
Mercifully, it was not a difficult matter to get the lock to yield, and the door opened to a flight of descending stairs. Giles found a candle and signalled to Carswell to follow him.
The stairs led to an ice-cold passageway with various storerooms opening off it. At the far end was a door that looked as if it might lead outside. Some of the rooms contained wine, as might have been expected, but in one room there was an array of trunks that had an oddly industrial look about them. He opened one and found that it contained four small wooden casks, carefully surrounded by straw. What this precious cargo might be, he could not at once guess.
“Why are these boxes unlocked?” he said. “And arranged so methodically?” For they had been put end to end, with some deliberation, and all contained the same number of kegs.
“Because he has unlocked them,” said Carswell. “And there is smoke coming from that one.”
Giles saw it and knew what those kegs contained. He had seen a diagram of how to lay out such kegs in a textbook of military science.
“Gunpowder,” he said. “We must clear the house at once,” he said, backing away. “You do the servants. I will do the gentry. Tell them there’s a fire.”
They ran back upstairs. Giles went first into the drawing room, pulling off his wig and losing his accent at the same moment.
He drew back the curtains, and opening the window to the terrace, announced: “Ladies, your attention please! Will you follow me at once! The house is on fire and I must get you all to safety. Mrs Jenkins, ma’am – this way. Will you take the lead?” he added, going to help her from her chair. “Mrs Blake. Young ladies, will you please help your elders?” He began to shepherd them out of the room. “Cross the garden and keep going. The further away you can go, the better! Do not mind your dresses. Your lives are stake!”
Of course there were many exclamations and protestations, but they did as he bid, and as he crossed the garden with them, the servants led by Carswell began to appear.
He then ran back into the house and into the gaming room.
“Gentlemen, we must evacuate! The house is on fire. Mr Blake, is there anyone upstairs?”
“On fire?” exclaimed Blake. “What do you mean?”
“There is a serious fire. Please join the ladies in the garden – there is very little time.”
“Who the devil are you?” said Blake, staring at him. “I do know you, sir, don’t I? We’ve met before.”
“Major Vernon of the Constabulary,” said Giles.
“Ha!” said another of the men. “That Armstrong fellow was right. What business is this, Blake?”
“Later!” said Giles. “Into the garden, gentlemen, at once!”
They went, a staggering, straggling party, out into the freezing night.
Carswell, assisted by Mr Hale, had done an excellent job. The grooms had got the horses out from the stables, and one of the maids was clutching the house cat, as if her life depended on it. Together they managed to herd their unlikely charges, some thirty people and assorted animals, into the far corner of a paddock that adjoined the garden.
“I need to check the house,” said Giles. “There maybe someone upstairs that we have not accounted for.”
“Are you sure that’s wise, sir?” said Carswell.
“Keep them calm if you can. I shall be as quick as I can.”
And he ran back to the house, went upstairs, and tore round the upstairs bedrooms and the attics, all the time aware that those smouldering kegs, tightly packed with their black powder, were on the way to doing their dreadful work. He wondered if he should attempt to douse them, but there was no obvious source of water nearby, at least not in the quantities required. It was best to keep everyone clear of the place. It was all that could be done
.
He left by the drawing room window, taking a handful of spare candles with him, so at least they should have light.
But even as he fled across the lawn to join the evacuees in the paddock, he had the sense there would be plenty of light soon enough.
~
When it came, the explosion was pitiless. It broke the still, starry, freezing night: a great, earth-shaking blast that ripped the house in two and sent flames up into the sky. Some screamed, others were silent, shocked into it by the sheer force of what they witnessed. Oaths and prayers were uttered, and then everyone began to talk, full of agitation and questions.
Giles addressed them and told them that they were going to take shelter at The Greyhound Inn. It struck him that everyone in the neighbourhood would have been awakened by the blast and that in the village, he would be able to find the reinforcements required. He commandeered one of the horses from the grooms – an understandably nervous mount, but it would have to suffice – and led the straggling party down to the village.
The house was now burning fast. Whether it was safe to try and douse the blaze yet, he could not tell. The quantity of gunpowder was still unknown, and there might be further explosions to come. It was lucky that the house lay in an isolated pocket and that there was no wind to fan the flames into neighbouring properties. However, if anyone inside had failed to heed the warnings, they would probably be dead, either from the initial explosion or the subsequent fire. Giles gave a silent prayer that no souls had been left behind.
At the inn, Mr and Mrs Abbott were soon doing all that they could, and Giles was able to catch Mr Blake by the arm and draw him aside.
“How much gunpowder have you stored down there, Mr Blake?”
“I have not been storing gunpowder. This is –” He broke off. “What the devil –?”
“You deny your basement was full of gunpowder?”
“Yes! Absolutely!”
“But I think you have an idea who put it there.” Blake swallowed hard and shook his head. Giles was unconvinced. “We will talk later, Mr Blake, and at some length,” he said. “In the meantime, I am going to consign you to the care of the village constable and he will put you in the lock-up for the night.”
The Fatal Engine Page 27
