The Fatal Engine

by Harriet Smart

  “Brothers don’t always think the same,” Giles said. “My brother and I – but I take his point. And that is why I must settle this for myself. Now, my plan is this. I want to talk to the Truro family in the first instance and I want you to talk to their servants. I shall go in paying condolences, and you are my manservant and de facto nurse.”

  “As you wish, sir.”

  When they came to White Lodge, Giles asked if he could speak to Mr Hepworth, and Hammond went down to the kitchen on a pretext. He was shown into the study, where, in his shirtsleeves, Hepworth was sitting on a low chair by the fire sorting papers, casting handfuls of them into the fire as he did.

  “What can I do for you, Major Vernon?” he said.

  “I hope this isn’t an awkward time,” said Giles.

  “Death is always an awkward time,” Hepworth said.

  “My condolences,” Giles said. “It must have been a great shock.”

  “Yes and no,” said Hepworth. “He was not well, but he had no wish to live as an invalid and so he lived as if he was not, with perhaps predictable results.”

  “That I can understand,” said Giles.

  “Won’t you sit down?” Hepworth said. “I heard you had been injured – it was all the conversation at the party at Mr Carswell’s, the explosion at Darnell’s Cross. What a business! Truro was determined to go and speak to you about it as soon as he could. I think he would have gone on Saturday morning. I went to his room that morning, thinking I ought to dissuade him, given the state he had been in the night before, and for your own comfort, sir. It sounded a nasty business. I’m glad to see you up and about. It is good of you to call, certainly. We are strangers here. Mrs Truro will be glad to see you.”

  Giles sat down, grateful for the bright hot fire, but he could not help wondering how much useful evidence might already have gone up the chimney.

  “You are not a stranger here, I thought, Mr Hepworth. Did not someone say you were once a Northminster man?”

  “For a little while, I was, or rather a Northminster child, and then we went to London. But my family are originally from Hurdthwaite, out on the moors, but not many of them are left there. One or two, but too old to come calling on a distant cousin in this weather. I will go and see them myself before we go away again.”

  “Mrs Truro has no wish to stay?”

  “Her family are in Kent,” he said. “It is better I take them home, especially now that Miss Fleming and I are to be married.”

  “Congratulations. I had no idea.”

  “Nobody has. We only settled it yesterday,” he said. “It has been a while coming, though, and Truro always wished us to marry. And she, poor lamb, is of course utterly broken by all this, for she adored him, as we all did.”

  Giles wondered if he had any notion of the form her adoration had taken. If he did, he had good reason to wish Truro dead.

  “I understand that he was taken ill on the evening of the party – during his reading.”

  “Not so much ill, as overtaken. Not just by drink, though that was part of it, I can’t deny that,” said Hepworth, sitting down again by the fire. “But he had a spirit that was sometimes too large for him. He would overflow with vivacity – his own brilliance would be his own worst enemy. I have seen him hysterical before, in over-stimulating company.”

  “The same symptoms?”

  “Much like it, yes,” said Hepworth, frowning. “Why do you ask, sir? Do you take a professional interest in this?”

  “It is a bad habit, excuse me.”

  “But I suppose you would,” said Hepworth. “We all run in our traces.”

  “We do indeed,” said Giles. “And, speaking of professions, what will you do now?”

  “That, Major Vernon, is a good question. I have prepared myself for this moment, or at least, I supposed I had, ever since Sir James Chicheley told him that he should be careful. I had wondered what my life would be like were he to go away from us in an untimely fashion, and now he has gone, and I am left with his papers, and –” He broke off. “I am glad you are here, sir. That question you raise, I have been raising it.”

  “Yes?”

  “It was curious, for all I had seen him in a similar state before that night. The violence of it – it did not subside easily. I had a devil of a job getting him to bed, and I went to bed myself feeling uneasy about him. It seemed worse than previously, but I suppose, being rather the worse for wear myself, I pushed that aside because I was exhausted. I should have stayed with him. Perhaps then I would have sent for Mr Carswell and something might have been done. He might have been saved.”

  “May I ask you why you did not send for Mr Carswell when you discovered he was dead?”

  “Because – and this a curious thing – it was fully my intention to do so, and I went out into the street intending to go straight over to his house, but Dr Manton was, by chance as it happened, riding along with Mr Arundell. They are old friends, it seems. But I did not know that the gentleman with him was Dr Manton until I saw Mr Arundell and spoke to him, and told him what I was about. So naturally Dr Manton came in with me. So once he was there, it seemed rather pointless to rouse Mr Carswell.”

  Giles nodded and then said, “This uneasiness you felt the night before – could you elaborate on that?”

  “I felt – perhaps it was just one of those strange moments of self-reproach which come when you lose something precious – but I cannot quite push it from my mind that there was some other force at work, and now you are here, Major Vernon, asking questions that I have been asking myself.”

  “Then let me ask you another, Mr Hepworth,” said Giles. “Did Mr Truro have enemies? Anyone you know would want to do him harm, for whatever reason?”

  “Any successful man has enemies, especially in the literary world, but we left them all in London. That was one of the reasons we came here. The atmosphere in town was poisonous. I have borne a great many insults on his behalf – and I know, to my own personal cost, he was not always an easy man. His charms were often kept in hiding, even from those who loved him. And, dear Lord, he had a knack of offending strangers –” He broke off and pressed his hands to his face. “Which we have done here.”

  “Perhaps you could give me an account of what happened at the party?”

  Hepworth gave a brief account of the party games and the general boisterousness that others had observed.

  “You didn’t think that Mr Truro behaved inappropriately towards Mrs Carswell during the course of the games?”

  Hepworth hesitated for a moment.

  “It’s certainly true he was taken with her. But there was nothing in it beyond a kind of dazzled admiration, for she is – well, sir, you know the lady better than I, but you must know how powerful an effect she would have on the imagination of a man like Truro. She inspired him, yes, but he would not have presumed in any way.”

  “But others, who did not know him, might have considered he overstepped the mark that evening?”

  “That may be the case,” said Hepworth.

  “And you are not aware of Mr Truro letting his feelings run away with him with any other woman who might have inspired him?”

  “Certainly not,” said Hepworth.

  This was said so definitely that Giles wondered if it was a lie. For if Carswell, a chance visitor at the house, had managed to catch Truro in flagrante, then surely Hepworth would be aware of the relationship between his fiancée and his friend? It was enough of a betrayal, after all, to provoke him to murder. Yet he was also deeply uneasy about the manner of his friend’s death. He had not concealed that as a guilty man might have done. Perhaps he was simply too well-meaning, too much in love with Miss Fleming and too much in awe of Truro to take notice of what must have been under his nose. It would certainly be interesting to hear what Hammond got out of the servants on this matter.

  “Tell me what happened at the reading,” said Giles. “Was there a jug of water by the lectern?”

  “No, it was punch. He ins
isted on it, and Mrs Carswell ordered her butler to put it there.”

  “You heard her give the order?”

  “Yes, it was when we were at supper, and they brought a new bowl in. It was potent stuff and exactly to Truro’s taste. He drank the whole jug.”

  “But that didn’t surprise you?”

  “Not really,” said Hepworth. “He had a great capacity for drink, but I do remember thinking I wished I could persuade him to be more careful. And then it was too late to do anything about it.”

  At this moment, Miss Fleming came into the room. She looked startled to see Giles there.

  “Oh, excuse me,” she said, and was about to leave again.

  “My condolences, Miss Fleming,” Giles said.

  “Thank you,” she said. “John, can you come away for a minute? Bessie wants you.”

  “Yes, of course. If you’ll excuse me, sir,” Hepworth said, and left the room. Miss Fleming went to follow him but without much haste. He wondered if she wanted to speak to him.

  “Might I have a word, ma’am?”

  “Yes?” she said, turning back to him.

  Giles went and closed the door.

  “Perhaps we should sit down?” he went on.

  She assented.

  “Why are you here, sir?” she said. “Is it something to do with my brother-in-law’s death?”

  “I’m settling a few questions, that is all.”

  “I’m glad,” she said. “Because I think there is something wrong, very wrong!”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because he did not have a weak heart. That was a lie – well, not a lie. It is just something that Oliver contrived so that – so that he did not have to have to –” She leant forward a little and said in a whisper, “be a husband to my sister.”

  “I see,” said Giles. “And so you dispute Dr Manton’s diagnosis?”

  “Yes. He was perfectly well – until that night!” At which she burst into tears.

  When this burst of emotion had subsided a little, Giles asked, “You were fond of each other, I think, Miss Fleming?”

  She nodded and attempted to dry her eyes.

  “More than fond,” she said after a moment, in a husky voice. “We were – oh, you may judge me as you like, sir, I do not care! What does anything matter now he is dead?”

  “Justice matters,” Giles said. “Now this ruse about the weak heart, who knew of this?”

  “I did.”

  “And your fiancé?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “And did he see Sir James Chicheley?”

  “No. It was all my idea, in fact. A white lie to spare her feelings. They were no longer anything to each other. In fact...” She shook her head and whispered, “She repulsed him. She has let herself go horribly, you see.”

  “And your sister had no suspicion that this was a ruse?” Giles said after a moment, a little repulsed himself by her casual cruelty.

  “No, I don’t think so. She is not clever.”

  “She might surprise you yet, Miss Fleming,” Giles said, getting up. He was aching now and wondered at his folly in coming. He wished himself at home and being roundly scolded by Emma. But, in the light of this distinctly sordid revelation by Miss Fleming, the circumstances of Truro’s death would have to be formally examined. There was no avoiding it.

  “Might I ask you where his remains are at present?” he said. “Is he still in the house?”

  “No,” said Miss Fleming, with a sob. “Mr Hepworth and the Rector thought it best he was taken to the church. They will bury him the day after tomorrow.”

  Chapter Forty

  “But you must come back,” Eleanor said, after Felix had broken the news of his likely absences over the next few days. “For the funeral, if nothing else.”

  “I don’t think it is my place to go to –”

  “Of course it is. You must go! It will look strange if no one goes from this house.”

  “I will most likely be busy.”

  “You must, must go,” she said. “And if you will not, then, I shall!”

  “Dear God, no!” he exclaimed. “What the devil will that look like? Especially after he chased you about the room and stole the shoe from your foot, and half the neighbours saw it!”

  “Quite,” she said, and tapped his chest with a reproving finger. “So you must go, or –”

  “You are not serious, Nell. You will not go! I forbid it.”

  “Forbid me! No, you shall not forbid me anything!”

  “I may – and I shall have to, if you are so lost to any sense of what is proper.”

  “I happen to think the custom, as it stands, is decidedly improper!” she said. “I have always thought it ridiculous! Women have just as much need to mourn as men and there is nothing on earth to suggest that they cannot conduct themselves decently at a graveside. It is about time that changed, I think. Why should I not go? If I were to go, then other women might.”

  “I doubt it,” said Felix. “They would have more sense.”

  “Do you not think it a ridiculous custom?”

  “I don’t know or care, to be honest,” Felix said. “I only wish you would consider sensibly for a minute about how people will think about you if you do such a thing.”

  “I don’t care about that,” she said.

  “But I do. I don’t want people saying hateful things about you – about us, for that matter!”

  “Then you had better go, hadn’t you?” she said. “Or do you not like to because you are feeling guilty about it? As you should!” she added.

  He might have made a most unpleasant retort but was saved from it by Littleboy’s arrival. He informed them that Major Vernon was asking if he was at home. Felix went into the hall; through the open door he saw that the Major was sitting in his carriage, and so went out to him at once.

  “What are you doing here?” he could not help exclaiming. “You are not fit, sir!”

  “No, I’m not,” said the Major with some humility and in a laboured, breathy tone that Felix did not like. “May I come in?”

  “Of course, of course,” said Felix, and helped him out of the carriage. “You are lucky to have found me. I was on the verge of leaving.”

  “Thank God, then,” said Major Vernon with real feeling.

  It did not take long to establish that the Major had managed to undo much of the good progress he had made in recovering by his recklessness in venturing out. Felix did not spare him the reproaches, and then, feeling he had dealt out far more than was deserved, stopped short and said, “Forgive me! But what are you doing here?”

  Major Vernon struggled for breath.

  “A wild goose chase. Except that it is not. You were correct –”

  “No, no,” said Felix. “That is – you did not come because of that? I thought I was clear enough on that point.” Major Vernon looked as if he were about to speak again, so Felix said, “Whatever, that cannot matter just now. What matters now is that you rest and are perfectly still and silent. Can you accept that? For your own safety?”

  Major Vernon nodded.

  “Let us get you somewhere comfortable, then.”

  With a little struggle they went upstairs and into one of the spare bedrooms that Lady Blanchfort had had readied, and Felix went on with his ministrations. It was necessary to apply a poultice to reduce the renewed inflammation, and then replace the bandages. The latter he fixed more firmly and restrictively than previously, feeling a little as he did it that he was short-tethering a mischievous dog in the yard. But the Major did not object. He was grateful and drowsy with laudanum, and Felix was able to leave him without too much anxiety.

  ~

  Giles woke, and for a while had to struggle to remember where he was and what had befallen him. Carswell’s manservant Jacob had been set to watch him. He was sitting by the fire reading, but sprang to attention with such alacrity when Giles said, “Hello?” that he dropped his book. He ran over to the bedside.

 
“Yes, sir?”

  “You’ll have lost your place,” said Giles.

  “Oh, that doesn’t matter, sir. I shouldn’t have been reading, I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Never apologise for reading,” said Giles.

  “As you like, sir,” said Jacob, looking puzzled. “Is there anything I can get you, sir? Are you quite comfortable? Mr Carswell said that you were to have some calf’s foot jelly, if you were hungry.”

  “Oh, then I am not hungry,” said Giles. “What were you reading?”

  “It was one of Mr Truro’s tales, sir,” said Jacob. “Do you need the pillows setting right? Mr Bodley – I think you know him, sir – taught me a clever way with pillows for when a gentleman is indisposed.”

  “Of course, please do,” said Giles, and allowed Jacob to do as he wished, for the meticulous, luxurious standards of Bodley were not to be sneezed at in such circumstances.

  “So what did you think of Mr Truro, Jacob?”

  “I don’t really know, sir. I didn’t see much of him.”

  “Has there been any talk going on downstairs about the way he died?”

  “Talk, sir? It isn’t really my place to say, sir, is it?”

  “But something has been said? Perhaps Mr Littleboy said something?”

  Jacob looked uncomfortable at that and went to retrieve the fallen book. “Shouldn’t leave a book on the floor like that, sir, should I?” he said. “That’s a bad habit.”

  “Yes, it is,” said Giles. “Perhaps you could fetch Mr Littleboy for me? Perhaps you might get him to bring me some coffee. Mr Carswell did not say I was not to have coffee, I hope?”

  “No, sir, he did not. But perhaps you should have the calf’s foot jelly as well, sir.”

  “Very well, Jacob. Oh, and may I look at your book?”

  “Yes, sir, of course,” he said, and brought over the book. “It is a rattling good tale. I think it is his first one. It is not my book, though, sir. I think Mrs Carswell put it here.”