The Fatal Engine

by Harriet Smart

  “Certainly,” Carswell said. “Now, will you let me look at your ribs, sir?”

  Giles allowed himself to be examined.

  “And it was then you noticed your phial of atropine,” he said, as Carswell felt for the tender spots.

  “Yes,” said Carswell, “and it is there that I over-thought the matter. Now, if you would take a deep breath and then exhale slowly, and then again.”

  Giles did as he was told, and although he felt he was breathing easier, it took him a few moments to recover.

  “That is slightly better,” said Carswell. “But I cannot say you are fit for service yet, I’m afraid.”

  “But if we proceed as we discussed the other day, and you and Mrs Carswell were so kind as to take us in at Hawksby, then –”

  “I am not sure that it is at all a good idea for you to pursue a wild goose chase in your condition. I think you are better off by your own fireside, resting.”

  “Wild goose chase?” said Giles.

  “As I said, I think I was mistaken,” Carswell said. “I was somewhat the worse for wear that morning. I made a wild supposition without any real evidence. I really think the matter is best left. It would only distress Mrs Truro more, and she has suffered enough. Now, perhaps I should go and see how Mrs Vernon is doing.”

  “But you will still speak to Dr Manton?” Giles said. “I do not think you should dismiss this until you have.”

  “Yes, of course I will,” he said, picking up his bag. “Now, if you will excuse me.”

  At which he left rather abruptly, leaving Giles puzzling over it.

  ~

  Felix had no idea if he had successfully managed to close the subject. The difficulty was that since he was confined to the house, the Major’s ever-questing mind would only work more actively when he had nothing else constructive to do. He could only hope some other distraction would come along. Truro would be safely in his grave soon enough, and there the matter should end. He would have to see Manton, of course, but he would not question him aggressively. That would be easy enough. After all, Dr Manton, the distinguished practitioner, ought to be deferred to by one such as he.

  But the conclusion he had drawn about the matter was so dangerous that he could not possibly allow it to be pursued. That much he knew.

  As he walked across the Precincts he saw a carriage approaching, bearing the Rothborough Arms. It stopped at the sight of him, and Lord Rothborough leapt out.

  “Felix, my boy, thank God! This is providential,” said Lord Rothborough, “and I have never believed in that! I was going to send for you –” He indicated the carriage. “Mrs Martinez is with me and she is most unwell. We were supposed to be driving to – that is neither here nor there, but the fact is, she became unwell on the train and I thought I had better bring her here.”

  Felix went and looked in at the carriage.

  Mrs Martinez was wrapped in shawls and furs, and lying in the arms of her maid. She looked extremely unwell, but at the sight of him, she struggled to sit up, and said in a hoarse voice, “Oh, it is you!” and stretched out her hand.

  He climbed into the carriage and they drove the short distance to Lord Rothborough’s house, while his Lordship himself ran ahead, like a footman, to give directions.

  Between them they carried the lady indoors and into Lord Rothborough’s bedroom.

  Felix was able to establish soon enough that she was suffering from influenza, but since she had not been in a robust state before the disease had attacked her, it had affected her powerfully. Her maid was a sensible Swiss woman, a good nurse, and they soon got her as comfortable as they could, and Felix was able to leave her sleeping.

  “I have taken a house for her in Stanegate,” said Lord Rothborough, who was waiting on the landing for him. They went downstairs and into his book room. “At least while she recovers her health. She agreed to that much – thanks to Major Vernon’s advocacy. It is all ready for her, but the journey would have been too much for her today. I was so alarmed on the train –” He broke off. “But all is well now, as well as can be. I shall have to go and speak to Maria. I do not know what she will say viz a viz –” He made a gesture to indicate Mrs Martinez upstairs. “Charlotte is at Holbroke – with a broken heart.”

  “What happened?”

  “Dunbar. They had some violent quarrel – another one – and I am not sure it can be mended this time. She was staying at the Addisons, and he had been invited too, but after the quarrel, apparently she could not bear to stay under the same roof as him, so she invented a pretext and went back to Holbroke. I will send Maria to her tomorrow. I would go myself if I were sure that Mrs Martinez was safe, but –”

  “You had better go with Maria,” said Felix. “I’m on duty at the Infirmary until after Christmas so I will be able to keep a close eye on her.”

  “Over Christmas?” said Lord Rothborough. “What does Eleanor say to that?”

  “She is getting used to my uncivil hours.” As he said this, he realised he had not mentioned to either Eleanor or Lady Blanchfort that he would be absent over Christmas. How Eleanor would take this news, he was not at all sure. “It’s just a question of luck, or rather my lack of it, in this case. We all have to take our turn. And if I can sleep here a couple of nights, so much the better. It will be more comfortable.”

  “Then I must confess that I’m glad of your bad luck, for my own selfish ends. There is no one I would rather entrust her to than you, of course! But it will be hard on Eleanor, I think, not to have you at home on Christmas Day.”

  “There will be plenty more Christmases to come, and we were not going to make much of the feast. Especially not now. I don’t suppose you have heard – Truro is dead.”

  “What?”

  “On Friday night. After a party Eleanor threw for him. He collapsed while reading from his latest manuscript, and then went home and died in his bed.”

  “Of what?”

  “Heart failure,” said Felix. “Apparently he had been a patient of Sir James Chicheley and a marked man.”

  “Dear God!” said Lord Rothborough. “And he collapsed in your house?”

  “He had some sort of fit. It was quite disturbing in the moment, but a weak heart pretty much explains it. A shock though, nonetheless. Eleanor is –”

  “Yes?”

  “Upset, very upset, in fact.”

  “Yes, of course she would be,” said Lord Rothborough. “But you must be a little relieved at it, I imagine, even though that sounds a thoroughly unpleasant manner of departure?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It is not agreeable to see a man like that take advantage of a young woman’s enthusiasm. His manner was not something anyone could be comfortable with, let alone a husband. You can’t tell me it did not rile you, Felix. You seemed riled when he was about. I felt irritated myself.”

  “I did find him extremely annoying,” Felix had to admit. “And there is a great deal about him that was utterly deplorable. But I should rather he were still strutting about, if only for the sake of his wife and all those children. I do not know how they will be placed now he is dead.”

  “You are right,” said Lord Rothborough. “One can only hope that some provision was made. But I suppose his books will continue to sell, and if the copyrights are in his name, his children will benefit. Of course, it may be that his death will make his work even more popular. That is sometimes the case. Ah well, we shall have to accept this Christmas will have a strange cast to it for us all! And there will be others, God willing, just as you say.”

  “I will tell Eleanor about Mrs Martinez, if you do not mind, sir,” Felix said. “After all, it is time she knew. The truth will not kill her, especially given the circumstances of her own parentage.”

  Lord Rothborough was silent for a moment, and said, “How do you know about that?”

  “Lady Blanchfort told me.”

  “She did? Good God – I should never have expected that. But I am glad to hear you have got her t
rust. How did you manage it?”

  “I don’t know,” Felix said. “We have become – when you live in a house with someone, then –”

  “You can remain the greatest strangers,” Lord Rothborough. “You can be married to someone and they remain a stranger. I know that well enough. And Anne Blanchfort is a quiet, quiet creature, who keeps her heart locked up. She has certainly never unlocked it to me!”

  “And why would she?” Felix could not help saying. “Given that you seemed to be one of the few people who knew the secret that had caused her so much pain. She would have been afraid to speak to you about it. She would think you might use it as a stick to beat her with!”

  “That is unjust,” said Lord Rothborough.

  “But you did use it to get her to consent to my marriage, I suspect?”

  “It was on the table, yes,” said Lord Rothborough. “And I did not berate her. I am in no position to do that, am I?”

  “No, I suppose not,” said Felix. “But she’s so terribly afraid that anyone should know it.” He found himself remembering again how miserable she had seemed when Truro had alluded to Hal Blanchfort. “Your knowing was bad enough, I think. If anyone else had known, then –”

  “And yet she admitted it to you,” said Lord Rothborough, looking at him quizzically. “That cannot have been done lightly. She cannot tell her own daughter, yet she tells you?”

  Felix felt himself blush.

  “It was something of a surprise.”

  “You got her trust,” Lord Rothborough said. “That is a great sign of regard, when a woman trusts a man. It is a half step from that to –”

  “No!” Felix said. “Do not –”

  “According to Hal, she was a hot-blooded creature. And God, how he loved her! I never knew him love anyone as he had loved her, and he had no lack of experience, as I’m sure you have gathered. But she got him, got him good and firm and he adored her. Had the circumstances been different, he would have married her and she would have redeemed him. In fact I think she did, for he went to his death heartbroken at having to leave her. And no one, no one could ever get close to her. Except you, my boy – you seem to have turned the key.”

  “No,” said Felix, “no. There has been nothing. I did not –”

  “I’m not saying you did,” said Lord Rothborough. “But the circumstances –” He gave a shrug.

  “Well, she is going away from us in the New Year! So there is nothing further to be said about it,” Felix said.

  “As you like,” said Lord Rothborough, putting up his hands. “But that in itself speaks volumes.”

  “Dear God, I did not do anything! I swear it. It was simply –”

  Lord Rothborough laid his hand on Felix’s arm.

  “I know, I know. But she is a beautiful woman and we are all made of weak and mortal flesh. It is not to be wondered much at.” He got up and said, “Now, I must go and speak to Maria.”

  “You will find Major Vernon at home as well,” Felix said, heartily glad that this conversation had been closed. “He has been injured. There was an explosion – not that that was the cause of his injury, but –”

  “Good grief, no,” said Lord Rothborough. “An explosion? Where? What on earth happened? Were you involved?”

  “Only after a fashion,” said Felix. “And no one was hurt, except Major Vernon – and he is mending fast. Perhaps too fast.”

  “That’s a curious thing to say.”

  “He must not overwork, that’s all,” said Felix. “And if you do see him, my lord, perhaps you would not mention Truro’s death to him? He needs to be discouraged from taking it up.”

  “And why would he do that? Was there something questionable about it?”

  “No, not at all. Dr Manton said it was heart failure, and given Chicheley’s diagnosis, that seems quite conclusive. But Major Vernon cannot let his mind be idle. He showed an inclination to work the problem over – not that there is a problem – but as if there was one. You know how he is.”

  “Yes, certainly. He must be discouraged, then.”

  “Quite,” said Felix. “He will make himself seriously ill if he does not rest.”

  “I will not mention it,” said Rothborough. “Unless he mentions it to me, of course!”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Giles came into the schoolroom and found Sergeant Hammond and Hamish arranging a battle between toy soldiers on the table, while Greene sat by the fire with her mending. Behind the First Battalion, set up in semi-circular formation, there was a constabulary dispatch case bulging with papers.

  “For me, Sergeant?” Giles said, picking up the case.

  “Oh yes, sir, of course, sir,” said Hammond, remembering himself and toppling a few soldiers in the process.

  “Chief Inspector Rollins could spare you this morning, then?” said Giles, glancing through the contents.

  “Yes, sir. Jones was supposed to bring that over, but I thought you might want me for something, sir.” Jones was the probationer uniformed constable attached to the Northern Office, whose fate, at least in the short term, was to run a great many messages. “In case there is anything in there that was urgent. Or needed your signature or –”

  “Of course,” said Giles, noticing how Greene seemed to have turned away from him a little, hiding her face. She was, he suspected, blushing. He knew that Hammond had taken her out on Sunday afternoon, and it had apparently been a successful outing. Hamish, oblivious to any of this, continued to set up the soldiers.

  “Is this any battle in particular?” Giles said.

  “No,” said Hamish. “Just field exercises.”

  “Then you won’t need Sergeant Hammond,” said Giles. “He and I have work to do, after all.”

  “We do, sir?” said Hammond, slightly surprised.

  Giles did not answer but went to the door, indicating that Hammond should follow him. When they were in the hall and alone together, he said, “Yes, but I need you to be discreet.”

  “Yes, of course, sir.”

  “We are going on a wild goose chase,” he went on, “in all probability, but there is something I must settle in my mind. So will you go and hire a carriage, and wait for me at the East Precinct Gate? I have to make a clandestine escape, as I am supposed to be in my bed, as you know.”

  “Are you sure you should go out, sir?” said Hammond.

  “Not at all,” said Giles. “But I must settle this matter one way or another. I will tell you the rest when we are en route.”

  “Good, sir,” said Hammond. “Are you sure you don’t want to take Mr Carswell with you, just in case?”

  “No, certainly not,” said Giles. “Now, I will see you in about a quarter of an hour.”

  Hammond left, and Giles went upstairs and told Holt what he was about. Holt was as doubtful as Hammond as to the wisdom of the exercise and was even more forthright on the matter, but Giles stayed his ground and promised to take extreme care. He even consented to wear a flannel waistcoat, which was not at all comfortable given the mass of bandages about his chest, but it would keep them nicely in place, as Holt observed as he fixed him into it.

  And so, trussed up in his many layers and somewhat short-breathed, he stiffly ventured out into the Precincts, having left a note for Emma which he knew would drive her utterly to distraction; but he could not risk her talking him out of it.

  He had already spent a sleepless night turning the problem over and over in his mind and could not come to any satisfactory conclusion except that Carswell had deliberately attempted to deflect him from looking further into Truro’s death, and it was not because he thought there was no need to. Lord Rothborough’s visit the previous afternoon had only made the issue seem more pressing. The subject had been touched on, but only briefly. Lord Rothborough had neatly turned the subject away when he might have been expected to dwell on it. The unexpected death of a famous author was just the sort of topic that Giles would have expected Rothborough to quiz him over, but he had not. Given that he had jus
t been talking to Carswell – on his own admission – Giles could not help thinking there had been some sort of collusion in the matter. This idea lingered with him long after the teacups had been cleared away and the afternoon had turned into evening. By bedtime, although he was physically exhausted, the idea of something not being at all right was still nipping, terrier-like, at his heels, and he had got no sleep, and Emma had, he suspected, got precious little either as a result.

  Therefore it was, he told himself, out of kindness – of a perverse sort – that he was walking across the Precincts, trying not to wince, and climbing into the carriage; that he was endeavouring to settle the matter, sooner rather than later. God forbid it should hang over them at Christmas!

  “So where are we going, sir?” said Hammond, as they started off.

  “Hawksby. You have heard about Mr Truro’s death, I imagine?”

  “Yes. Is there something bothering you about it, sir?”

  “This is in the strictest confidence, Hammond,” said Giles. “As far as the world is concerned, he died of heart failure. Dr Manton declared it so and that is enough for the world – at least at present.”

  “But not for you, sir, nor I suppose for Mr Carswell?” Hammond said.

  “That is the difficulty,” said Giles. “Mr Carswell set off a flare and then promptly damped it down again. He said he was mistaken.”

  “And you don’t think he was, sir?”

  “I cannot quite let the matter go, no,” said Giles. “And I should like to talk to the principal players, just to see if there is anything that may be teased out to support his first supposition that foul play may have been involved. I may well be entirely wrong and Mr Carswell’s second reading of the situation may be perfectly correct, and yet... However, you need a little more information, I think.” He proceeded to give Hammond an account of what Carswell had said to him on both occasions, including the business of the empty phial of atropine, and then he told him what he had garnered from the various witnesses at the party.

  “It does all seem a curious turnabout, sir,” said Hammond after a moment. “From Mr Carswell, that is. For he and you, if you don’t mind me saying so, are usually as like as a pair of pins, in pushing a thing to the right end. Or, as close as a pair of brothers, Chief Inspector Rollins said, in the way of thinking the same about a thing.”