The Fatal Engine

by Harriet Smart

  Left alone, Giles examined Oliver Truro’s first opus: ‘The Henshawes of Moorcrag’. It had come out some twenty years ago and Giles had read it then, as everyone had, for it had been the sensation of the moment, at least among avid novel readers. Giles recalled reading it, but he had little memory of the actual story. So now he settled to reading, aided in comfort considerably by Jacob’s arrangement of pillows. Holt had no such gifts with bedding.

  The story was set in the sixteenth century in the time of Bloody Mary, and concerned a pair of gentry families, formerly long allies and neighbours, who were now divided by their religious affiliations. One family were ardent supporters of the Old Religion and Queen Mary, while the other family were equally fierce Protestants, and quite prepared to die for their beliefs if necessary. The hero, for whom Giles did not much care, was given to long, holier-than-thou speeches, by which he succeeded in changing the opinion of his beloved fiancée, the daughter of the other family. As a result she was forced to face the wrath of her unpleasantly violent brothers for taking this path, and it struck Giles that the hero was not doing nearly enough to protect her from them. The details of this long torture began to return to him and he laid the book down, remembering now how much he had disliked it.

  Littleboy came in with the coffee and calf’s foot jelly. He was a stocky, solid fellow who went about his duty with meticulous care.

  “You wanted to speak to me, sir?” he said.

  “Yes, about what happened on Friday night.”

  “I supposed you might do, sir,” said Littleboy. “Given all that happened.”

  “Tell me about the punch.”

  Littleboy sighed.

  “The young mistress – she did insist upon it. It was – well, I could see Canon Fforde looking at it like it was the Devil’s own brew, and I think it was, all in all. I had to take a half glass or two myself just to test it, and that was enough for me. But Madam would –” He sighed again.

  “And do you know where this recipe came from?”

  “Madam said it was an old family recipe. She wrote it out for me.”

  “And her hand is quite clear?”

  “Oh yes, sir. Better than her Ladyship’s, which is a struggle sometimes. Excuse me, sir, I should not say that, but ladies and gentlemen, they do often have indistinct hands. But not Mrs Carswell.”

  “Would you send me up the copy she gave you?”

  “Yes, sir, of course.”

  “Now, I understand at supper Mrs Carswell asked you to fill a claret jug with the punch and put it by the lectern in the drawing room for Mr Truro?”

  “Yes, sir, she did.”

  “And did you do this, or one of the footmen?”

  “No, sir, I did.”

  “At the sideboard in the dining room?”

  “Yes.”

  “And everyone could see you do it?”

  “Yes, sir, for I filled up Mr Truro’s and Mr Hepworth’s own glasses before I did so. Oh, and a half glass for Miss Martha from the rectory,” he added with a smile. “She was having a pleasant time. As so she may, for this is a gentleman’s house and what right had her father to forbid her and her sister from coming? They are not children, after all, but ladies who may choose for themselves, I should have thought, if you don’t mind me saying, sir.”

  Giles remembered what Sir Mark had said about how Mr Lacey had scolded them when he had brought them into the house.

  “Where did you hear that he had forbidden them to come, Mr Littleboy?” he asked.

  “Mrs Clarke, who is our cook, told me. She had it from her Ladyship’s woman, Miss Stapleford. Her Ladyship was concerned about Miss Martha’s health, after she collapsed that morning after church, and sent Miss Stapleford over there with some comforts for her, and Miss Stapleford got talking to that funny old woman they keep – they don’t seem to keep any other servants, I think there is a girl who comes in – and she said that the Rector had declared this house a den of iniquity, no less!”

  This was of course all hearsay, but the curious fact remained that the ladies had come, despite their father’s command to the contrary. It was an odd act of rebellion, all in all.

  “That is quite a challenge to your honour, Mr Littleboy,” Giles said.

  “Exactly so, sir! What right has he to say such things? And what an insult to my ladies and Mr Carswell! The Rector is not a gentleman born, sir, that is the long and short of it, even if he is a man of the cloth! No gentleman would have said such a thing. Now, will you take some more coffee, sir? I made it myself, for I have heard you are particular about it.”

  “Thank you, it was excellent, Littleboy, but I had better refrain and attempt the calf’s foot jelly.”

  “Ah, I think you will find that tastier than usual, sir, for it has a good bit of Madeira in it, and Mrs Clarke is always clever with her seasonings.”

  Giles took a spoonful and found it better than he could have imagined.

  “So when the jug was filled, you took it straight into the drawing room?”

  “Yes, straight away, sir. And I put it next to the lectern, with a fresh glass and a napkin. It was on a tray, of course.”

  “And when you saw it again it was empty?”

  “Yes, I took it myself into my pantry and washed it up, because I do not trust anyone else with those claret jugs.”

  “And there was nothing odd about it? No residue at the bottom that was hard to wash out, or anything like that?”

  “No, sir. Not that I noticed,” Littleboy said. “Why, sir – do you think that there was something put in there? Something that may have killed him? For he was the only person who drank from it. But Mr Carswell said he had died of a weak heart.”

  “The case is unclear,” Giles said. “When you took the jug into the drawing room, you did not see any of the guests in there?”

  “No, sir, there was no one there, which was just as well, so I could set the room straight. The whole party was still at supper, and then, of course, I went straight back into the dining room, to see what was needed.”

  “And I can take it, Mr Littleboy, that you wished no harm to Mr Truro and are not lying to me now about it?”

  “Dear Lord, no, sir!” exclaimed Mr Littleboy. “I only pray he may rest in peace!”

  Giles dismissed him and told him not to mention what they had discussed downstairs. Then, instead of resuming Truro’s torrid tale, he ate a little more calf’s foot jelly and turned the manner of the man’s death over again in his mind. If he had been well, he would have gone down to the servant’s hall and asked them all the same questions, and pressed the final point firmly: for if the phial of atropine had been taken from Carswell’s bag while it lay in his study, any of them could have removed it, as for that matter could Lady Blanchfort or Mrs Carswell. Carswell had spoken of his medicine roll being taken out when he was making calls, but he had not mentioned where it was kept when he was in his own house. Surely the phial could have been taken out on the evening of the party, the contents put into the jug while everyone else was at supper, and then returned to its place without anyone being any the wiser? Parties at Hawksby were often quite lively and this one, with the Devil’s own brew in the punch bowl sending everyone into a state of drunken confusion, sounded even more boisterous than usual. Anyone could have slipped out of the supper room and doctored the punch. They were standing up to eat – Lady Maria had mentioned that – so there would be no empty chair to betray anyone’s absence. It was the perfect situation for such a subterfuge.

  The question remained: who, then, might have wished to murder Truro?

  He wanted paper and he wanted to be on his feet in order to think clearly. But he was a captive invalid, and for his own good he had to stay calm. He closed his eyes and tried to steady himself.

  There was a knock at the door and Lady Blanchfort came in.

  “I hope I am not disturbing you,” she said, approaching the bedside.

  “No, of course not.”

  “Is there anything you n
eed?”

  “I’m very comfortable.”

  “As comfortable as you can be in such a state,” she said. “The price of duty is a high one, I think.”

  “It would have been better if he had not been wearing hob nail boots, certainly,” said Giles.

  “I understand that was the least of his sins,” said Lady Blanchfort. “What an extraordinary adventure you seem to have had. A cellar full of blasting powder! It is almost beyond imagining.”

  “You did not feel the blast here? I know it was felt in Northminster,” Giles said. “Mrs O’Brien said the crockery on their dresser rattled.”

  “No, I do not think so,” said Lady Blanchfort.

  “Please, won’t you sit down? I wanted to ask you something, if you have a moment?”

  “Of course,” she said, drawing a chair closer to the bed and sitting down so that she was within comfortable sight of him. There was a lamp burning near her, and it cast a most flattering light on her.

  He remembered Emma’s teasing. It was true that she was most alluring. She had all her daughter’s exquisite beauty: the red hair and the pale freckled skin that seemed to invite the touch. Over the last few months, as he had come to know her, she seemed to have softened. When they had first met he could not have imagined her smiling, nor throwing away a light remark, but now, as she sat there, she seemed tender and appealing. Emma was perfectly correct in what she had said: he might well have been tempted if their circumstances had been different.

  “I’m curious about Friday night,” he said.

  “I suppose you would be,” she said.

  “Are you?”

  “I understand he had a weak heart and that punch –” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m ashamed that such a concoction was served under this roof. I ought to have been more vigilant.”

  “The Devil’s own brew,” Giles said. “That is what Mr Littleboy called it.”

  “It is difficult for a man to serve two mistresses,” she said after a moment. “Naturally, Littleboy did as he was told by my daughter and the result would have been extremely regrettable, even if Mr Truro had not died. I hope our friends and neighbours will forgive us.”

  “I’m sure they don’t see it in that light,” said Giles. “These things happen. It’s certainly none of your doing that Mr Truro was unable to moderate himself. If he had drunk less, if he had taken water while he was reading, then he might not have died.”

  “No, perhaps not,” she said. “But he is dead, Major Vernon, and that –” Suddenly she got up from her seat and went across the room, where she seemed determined to rearrange various objects on a side table. “His poor wife – and all those children! One can only pray that his affairs were in order and that they will not suffer too much. I understand he had made a fortune. Is that the case, do you know?”

  “That is the on dit, but I have no evidence. But I think Mr Hepworth would have that all in hand. He seems a sensible sort of man, and honourable. He is to marry Miss Fleming.”

  “He is?” she said, turning back to him. “Does he know, do you suppose?”

  “Know what?” Giles said.

  “That the young lady and Mr Truro were –”

  “Oh, that – no, I don’t think so,” said Giles. “Mr Carswell mentioned that to you?” he added.

  “Yes. He was anxious that Eleanor should not be exposed to such an intrigue, as you might imagine.”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s all so sad,” she said, turning away again. “But Miss Fleming is lucky, at least, that a good man will marry her. Yet she will no doubt be a broken-hearted bride and full of shame, and that is wretched for both her and her husband. But for her sake, it’s for the best that he is dead and their affair cannot go on, however painful that will be for her. Death can be both a scourge and a liberation.”

  Giles could not quite think how to answer this. The mixture of sympathy and condemnation was curious.

  “I suspect,” he said, “that Truro is the sort of man who will not be mourned universally. Hepworth mentioned he had a great many enemies in London.”

  “Of course he did!” she said, coming back to the bedside. “Can you imagine that he did not? You saw how he behaved! How does a man like that not make enemies? Even if he was a purported genius, he was scarcely a gentleman.” She shook her head. “My daughter may be weeping over him, but I am not, Major Vernon. Certainly not! Now, I have tired you enough, I think. Mr Carswell was explicit about allowing you to rest. If there is nothing else I can do for you, I shall leave you to sleep.”

  He might have pressed her then for a more detailed account of Friday evening, but he decided it would have to wait. She had left him with enough to think about as it was.

  Chapter Forty-one

  “When will I be well enough to travel?” Mrs Martinez asked.

  “Not until after Christmas, and then only if the weather improves,” said Felix. “You are far better here, and no one will disturb you.”

  “I shall be easier when I am in my own house. As far as I may call it that, when it is only from your kindness that I have it. I am truly ashamed that my financial affairs have led me to such a dependent state.”

  “From what Lord Rothborough tells me, you were swindled by a pack of rogues in Santa Magdalena –”

  “My late husband’s enemies certainly did not help me,” she said.

  “We may get your pension for you yet,” said Felix. “Lord Rothborough will see to it. And for now, you must consider yourself at home and among friends.”

  “And it seems we will be spending Christmas in each other’s company, which is both wonderful and curious,” she said.

  It certainly was remarkable to be sitting with her by the fire in Lord Rothborough’s house in the Minster Precincts. She had made a good recovery, somewhat to his surprise, for at first he had been anxious, but she had rallied. “It is thanks to you,” she had said with touching frankness. “Not because you are my medical attendant. It is because it is you.” And he could only nod and perfectly understand. To be with her, this stranger who was anything but a stranger, was a novel but extremely agreeable sensation. He felt steadied by it. Even coming into the house, he felt a sense of return to something he did not know he had left.

  “I have been watching some children playing outside. Major Vernon’s nephew and niece, I think?”

  “You must not let that disturb you,” he said.

  “It does not. I’m glad he took my advice. I think their mother is not ready to know what is best for her, unfortunately, and they should not be made to suffer for her folly.”

  “But now we are here,” Felix said, “and I can’t help but wonder –”

  “Let me tell you,” she said. “For years and years, after you were gone, I had the most awful nightmares. I imagined that I had completely forgotten about you, and then I would come and find you, eventually, after some great struggle, and you were nothing but a bag of bones lying alone in a horrible garret, and crying piteously. And then I would wake up and remember that you were safe in Pitfeldry and that comforted me, even if I was crying out my heart.”

  “Oh dear Lord,” Felix could not help saying. “That would make my mother weep as well!”

  “And make you finish your portion,” Mrs Martinez added, smiling now, and pointing at the muffin on Felix’s plate of which he had only taken a bite. “You are so thin. Marriage is supposed to make a man fatten up.”

  “That is what my now-deceased tailor said,” Felix said. “Perhaps I will in time. At the moment, I don’t seem to have much appetite.”

  “Because you have a great deal too much to worry about. This man who died in your house –”

  “Not in the house. After our party,” Felix said. “Lord Rothborough told you about him? You haven’t read his books?”

  “No,” she said. “But he did say he might have admired your wife a little too much. That he was rather boisterous in his attentions.”

  “He was,” said Felix, “but
I don’t care about that.”

  “You don’t?” she said. “Should you not?”

  “I think it will happen a great deal, so to be offended would be foolish. If you had seen her, you would understand what I mean.”

  “So what concerns you?”

  “I think he offended someone else, and on another matter,” said Felix, “and that is why he is dead.” He hesitated, for he did not want to have any of his tormenting suspicions confirmed. Yet at the same time, he began to wonder if he should be doing all he could to dismiss them, and that meant a thorough interrogation of the facts. The conclusions drawn might be painful ones, but he knew he had to pursue it.

  “Yes?” she prompted him.

  “Has Lord Rothborough ever told you anything about my wife’s family? His friendship with Hal Blanchfort, for example?”

  “I knew him,” Mrs Martinez said. “He was with us in Paris at one time. He dandled you on his knee and there was talk of his being made your godfather, but he refused. Lord Rothborough was devoted to him.”

  “What did you make of him?”

  “I didn’t like him. It was clear he thought little of me. He tolerated me, but that was the limit of it. Who was I to expect anything else, given what I was? But I felt a slight and could not warm to him. I was glad when he left. Have you spoken to Lord Rothborough about him?”

  “A little. It is just that my mother-in-law... she told me that she and he were lovers, and that my wife is –”

  “His daughter?” said Mrs Martinez. “No, I did not know that. But that must have happened long after I parted from your father, for I think she is not twenty – Mrs Carswell, I mean.”

  “No,” said Felix.

  “And Lady Blanchfort told you this?”

  “I wish she had not!” Felix said. “It is too much to know, especially now Truro is dead. Because I think he may have known it and that she was frightened that he might expose her.”

  “Have you spoken to Major Vernon about this?” said Mrs Martinez.

  “I told him that I had my doubts about it being a natural death, because there are clear signs that it was not,” said Felix, “but that was before I had any suspicion of her, and now, of course, he is like a hound on the scent and if it is the case that she is involved then he will find it out, and then...”