The Fatal Engine

by Harriet Smart

  “You do not want to see her hanged,” said Mrs Martinez, after a moment.

  Felix shook his head. She reached out and took his hands.

  “Can you not believe she is innocent? For your own sake?”

  “No,” said Felix. “That is the worst of it. Everything points to it, no matter how I turn it about.”

  “You must tell Major Vernon,” she said.

  “No,” said Felix. “That I will not do.”

  “Why not? You must, you know that.”

  “I cannot,” he said. “I have to protect her for as long as possible. I must at least do that, surely?”

  ~

  Mrs Vernon received Felix with a mixture of relief and annoyance.

  “Are you sure I should not go to him?” she said.

  “You are better staying at home,” said Felix. “He will be well looked after.”

  “I have no doubt of that, but I want to lecture him on his stupidity. How he could have thought... I can only thank God you were there to stop him in his tracks. And there will be no lasting damage, will there?”

  “Hopefully not,” said Felix. “As you know, he has an excellent constitution.”

  “Yes, but that should not make him foolhardy. I had thought, now that we have these additional responsibilities, he would realise that –” She gave a sigh and then forced herself to smile.

  “How are they?”

  “Noisy, constantly hungry and entirely disinclined to listen to me,” Mrs Vernon said. “My powers of command are severely limited compared with the Major’s. He can get them to melt like butter without the slightest effort. I hope he is able come home soon, otherwise I shall have to chain them up.”

  “I will see how he is tomorrow,” Felix promised her, and left for the Infirmary, thinking he would prefer to dispatch the Major back to his own hearth where he would be less able to ask awkward questions.

  At the Infirmary he found he was greatly in demand, and his time was completely taken up. He did not have a moment to think about anything but matters in hand until later that evening when he had gone to his quarters in search of something to eat. He was surprised to find a hamper of food from Hawksby waiting for him there, which he had not thought to ask for, and realised it must have come from Lady Blanchfort. He was just unpacking it when Mr Harper knocked on the door.

  Felix imagined that another emergency was upon them, and braced himself to defer the pleasure of the magnificent raised pie a little longer, but instead, Mr Harper appeared to be dressed to go home.

  “I just wanted to convey my thanks to Mrs Carswell,” he said.

  “For what?” Felix said.

  “For all the seasonal comforts she has sent to the patients,” he said. “It is generous and considerate – she is truly charitable.”

  “She has?” Felix said. “She did not mention that.”

  Mr Harper smiled at that.

  “No, of course not. The parcels were not labelled as such. But it all came from Hawksby and very well thought out it was. She has great understanding of what is required. Some ladies do not. They mean well, but...”

  “I think my mother-in-law must be responsible for it,” said Felix, looking down at his own hamper. Even the bottle of sherry was to his taste. Eleanor would not have thought of that.

  “Then many thanks are due to her! What an excellent woman! I shall leave you to your feast. It is quiet enough at present – let us hope it stays so. Good night!”

  Left alone, Felix poured a glass of sherry, cut himself a piece of pie and settled down at the narrow table to eat it, pushing aside the books and papers that covered it. He would have to write up his notes of the day’s cases soon enough, and with his mouth still full, he reached for the ledger where he wrote up his Infirmary cases, but put it down unopened, taking instead a pencil and a piece of letter paper. At the top he wrote “Lady B” and then scratched a line down the centre to make two columns. The first he labelled “Pro” and the other “Contra.” He could not quite face the first column so began on the second. “Charitable” he wrote, then “A good mother,” then added, “considerate of the comfort of others.” He put down the pencil and ate some more pie, looking at the blank column, imagining already the damning words he must add. He drained his glass and began in earnest.

  Adultery – capable of duplicity.

  Has secrets to conceal.

  Vulnerable to those who may know secret – Truro.

  E. thought she had given her sedatives before our marriage. Not established fact.

  Intelligent and well read.

  Access to my books and drugs.

  Left dining room before others.

  Allowed ridiculous punch to be served and a jug of it to be reserved for Truro’s use, to which she then added atropine.

  He scratched out the last sentence out as being pure supposition, then threw down his pencil. He got up from the table and began to pace the room, raking his hands through his hair. How could it be possible? Did she really have such a cold, stone heart?

  He was most relieved when there was a knock on the door, and he was summoned away to the wards.

  ~

  “Can you bear a visitor?” Mrs Carswell said, coming rather hesitantly into the room. “It’s rather late.”

  “Perfectly, Mrs Carswell. I wanted to speak to you anyway,” said Giles.

  “About what?”

  “Your impressions of Friday night.”

  She moved a little closer to the bed.

  “Is that why you came?” she said. “Do you think there is something strange about Mr Truro’s death?”

  “There may be.”

  “I knew it!” she exclaimed, dragging a chair close to the bedside. She sat down and leant close, as if she was eager to make a confidante of him. “I have felt it all along. Something is terribly wrong with it. I’m so glad you are here. You will hear me out properly, unlike my husband.”

  “What makes you so certain there is something wrong?”

  “I don’t know. But I had the most unsettling feeling even before anyone arrived that something terrible was going to happen. Of course, Felix told me I was being ridiculous, for you know he has absolutely no time for anything that he cannot explain. But, I swear to you, Major Vernon, I felt it. You see, I spoke to an old woman in Pitfeldry and she said she knew by looking at me that I was one of those people who felt such things, sensed things before they happen. I know that sounds absurd, but there was something about the whole evening – I simply knew something terrible was going to happen.”

  “At what point did you start to feel uneasy?” Giles said. Perhaps in this hot-breathed broth of intuition there might be some solid meat. “Tell me a little more about the day of the party. When did you give your recipe for punch to Mr Littleboy?”

  “Are you going to scold me about that, as well?”

  “No, of course not. Tell me about it.”

  “It was simply an amusing old recipe. It may have been somewhat strong, but it was delicious! Perhaps we all got headaches, but then port always gives me a headache, so what of it?”

  “Port gives me a headache too,” Giles said. “Where did you find it?”

  “In an old family recipe book. My mother gave it to me. She likes to remind me of my responsibilities.”

  “When was this?”

  “Oh, weeks ago. I didn’t look at it when she gave it to me because I did not like the point she was making. But then Mr Truro said something to me about family traditions and old recipes and how interesting he found them, and so forth, and it made me think of it, so I looked at it at last, and found the punch. I showed it to him and he said I must serve it at my next party. So I did. And it was delicious, and he said so!”

  “Was anyone there when you first showed him the recipe?”

  “My mother, Miss Fleming and Miss Lacey and Miss Martha. Oh, and Mr Hepworth. We were having a sort of rehearsal, and then the Miss Laceys arrived, and then of course we had to stop, which was trying. But the conver
sation turned to family traditions somehow and that was where it came up. Mr Truro gave what he called a peon on the virtues of punch. It really was most amusing...” She broke off and glanced away. “It seems incredible that he is dead. I still can’t believe it. And I shall not even have the comfort of going to his funeral. Why on earth should I not go? Is it not a barbarous tradition that keeps women away from the graveside, Major Vernon? I’m sure Mrs Vernon must agree with me on this.”

  “I don’t know if she has any particular opinions on the matter,” Giles said, a little surprised by this blast of feeling.

  “I will ask her when I next see her,” Mrs Carswell said.

  “So, Mr Truro was fond of strong punch,” Giles said, turning back to the subject. “And when was the reading from his new book suggested?”

  “That was on the same afternoon.”

  “Which was?”

  “Monday last – the day before Mrs Truro’s baby was born.”

  “How did that come about? The reading, I mean, not the baby. I understand he did not as a rule do that.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “It was something Lady Maria said. She thought Miss Fleming was upset at the idea.”

  “That is perfectly true. She did not like it then, when he suggested it. But everyone else thought it was wonderful, of course, even Miss Martha, whom I would never have thought even read novels. But it seems she liked his books. That just shows you what a genius he was!” She gave a great sigh. “If a poor squashed spinster like Miss Martha, whose father thinks amateur dramatics are the work of the Devil and novels even worse, can defy all that to be an ardent admirer! It was quite surprising. I like her better for it!”

  “That does explain something that was puzzling me,” said Giles. “Apparently the Miss Laceys were not supposed to come to your party at all, Mrs Carswell. Their father forbade them, but it seemed that the lure of the reading was too much for them to resist. Sir Mark said the Rector gave them quite a scolding when they got back home.”

  “He forbade them? How dare he! I take that as a slight. He is a wretched man! I know I should not say so, and dear Canon Fforde had only the best intentions in suggesting him for the living instead of Mr Holland, but really, he is a trial. You should hear him preach, Major – or perhaps you should not.”

  “Perhaps I will, if I am fit enough.”

  “A Christmas sermon from a man who no doubt thinks Christmas popish,” she said with a shudder. “He is practically a Calvinist, I suspect. What he will say over poor Mr Truro’s coffin, I dread to think. I’m sure it will not be kind. Perhaps I should write to Canon Fforde and ask him?”

  “Is that really yours to ask?” Giles said.

  “No, but...” She grimaced. “It is just as well I may not go!”

  “You are better to mourn him in your own way,” Giles said.

  “Yes, and I shall mourn him a great deal. It is so awful that a star should be blotted out, and seemingly by some malicious hand.”

  “We don’t know that,” Giles said.

  “Yes, you do, Major. You have that look. I have seen it before.”

  Giles leant back on his pillows and said, “Have you a theory?”

  “No. But I hope you have. Now, can I get anything for you? I hope your dinner was agreeable.”

  “Roast chicken is always agreeable,” he said.

  “That was my idea,” she said smiling. “You see, I’m not entirely without domestic virtues, although everyone seems to think me utterly incapable. I can order a dinner that will please a gentleman. It will not be entirely disastrous when my mother deserts us.”

  “Deserts you?”

  “Yes. Inexplicably, she has decided she wishes to go away to France early next year. And I am the one accused of wilfulness! Perhaps it is hereditary,” she added after a moment.

  “That will be a loss to you. To us all,” Giles said.

  “Quite!” Mrs Carswell said. “What can she be thinking of?”

  What indeed, thought Giles.

  Chapter Forty-two

  Felix left the Infirmary at first light the next morning, knowing he would not be needed for several hours. Peterson would relieve him. He had managed a few hours sleep but although he was physically extremely tired, his thoughts would not allow him any more rest.

  The weather was little short of diabolical as he hacked through the outskirts of Northminster on the plodding back of the sturdy roan mare that he had taken to using. She was no creature of high breeding or distinction, a true workhorse; but even such animals had their limits, and as he turned her down the lane towards to Hawksby, poor Molly slowed down to such a degree as the swirling sleet surrounded them and the wind cut through them, that he felt she might lie down and entirely refuse to go on.

  He got her to the stables, where, poor miserable specimen though she was, the groom whisked her away to warmth and refreshment, as if she were the equine equivalent of a duchess, and gave Felix a look that suggested he was remiss in taking her out in such weather. He was left to complete his miserable journey on foot, for the stables lay a considerable distance from the house, through what was now a full-blown blizzard.

  He entered by the back door, causing some confusion. Littleboy, still in his shirtsleeves and green apron, was in the midst of supervising the early morning setting-right of the house. Not expecting to see his master, he took a moment to assume his usual deferent manner as Felix waded into the back hall, shedding his soaked overcoat and attempting to peel off his gloves. Jacob was soon summoned to assist, advising Felix that the best fire was in the dining room, and asking if he wanted anything in particular to eat.

  Felix, too anxious to be hungry, said that he would have whatever Lady Blanchfort was having, and having changed his soaking boots, went into the dining room.

  Despite the storm beyond, it struck him as remarkably cheerful. The pale white light of the storm caught the gilt and gold mouldings, and in each of the three large windows, on stands – placed to get what sun they might – were bowls of tiny, barely-open narcissi, the forcing of which in time for Christmas had been an earnest and apparently time-consuming endeavour by Lady Blanchfort. Now they trembled in the draught of the storm and he wondered if they should be moved away.

  She always breakfasted early and they had often eaten together, while Eleanor preferred to take her breakfast in bed. This was how he knew about the narcissi. He had learnt of her pleasure in doing it, and it had been interesting to hear her describe the process which formed a sort of battle with nature, which he could feel was analogous to the struggle against disease. In these early morning conferences they had often been joined by Byron, who would steal about her skirts, imploring for scraps. This morning he was boldly sitting in his mistress’s place, waiting for her to appear. He greeted Felix with an indifferent miaou and went on washing himself, so he might look his best when she came in. The small breakfast table near the fire was laid only for one, for they had not been expecting him, and Littleboy hurried in to remedy this, while Felix bent over the fire.

  “I’d better see to the Major’s coffee now, sir,” said Littleboy.

  “There was no trouble there during the night?”

  “No, sir, seemingly not. Jacob told me just now that he had slept well. Now, are you sure there is nothing else you fancy? The grilled kidneys will be sufficient?”

  “Yes, that’s all, thank you, Littleboy,” said Felix, sitting down.

  “I will go and fetch them now, sir,” said Littleboy. “I expect her Ladyship will be here in a moment.” He glanced at the windows. “I wonder if I shouldn’t start moving those plants.”

  “You had better wait and see what she says,” Felix said.

  “Yes, sir, you are quite right. She knows better than I, I’m sure, sir. And they do look cheery on such a day.”

  He left, and Felix drank his tea and toyed with a bit of bread and butter. Byron eyed him suspiciously, as well he might, and then suddenly turned towards the door, sensing that it wa
s about to open. He jumped from his seat and Lady Blanchfort came in, picturesquely swathed in her white Indian shawl with the paisley border, and carrying a book.

  “Oh, good morning!” she said. “I did not think you would be home – especially in this weather.”

  She laid down the book and proceeded to adjust her shawl so that it lay more conventionally about her shoulders. She evidently felt that she had been caught in an unseemly state of dress, but Felix could only think how charming it had looked previously. He pulled out her chair and helped her to her place.

  “Thank you,” she said, shaking out her napkin. “You are not long back, then?”

  “Five minutes.”

  “And was it busy last night?”

  “Very,” he said.

  “You look tired,” she said. “Perhaps you will rest a little, while you are home, but I suppose that is too much to hope?”

  “I don’t expect to be here long, no,” said Felix.

  Littleboy came in with the grilled kidneys, and a conversation began about if and when the narcissi should be moved, which proved quite inconclusive. It ended by Lady Blanchfort telling Littleboy to take two bowls down to the servant’s hall, which evidently pleased him a great deal, and he carried off two fine specimens.

  “I think he would have preferred to be a gardener,” said Lady Blanchfort, “rather than a butler. Speaking of servants, I have arranged for their Christmas boxes – if you do not mind?”

  “No, thank you. It had slipped my mind.”

  “It is not really your responsibility,” she said.

  “Mr Harper was extremely appreciative of your gifts to the Infirmary.”

  She gave a shrug and turned her attention to Byron who was stretching up to her and making imploring noises.

  “Oh, do you want to come up on my lap, my lord?” she said. “Not until I am finished.”

  Felix put down his knife and fork, almost unable to bear it any longer. Her sweet, calm demeanour was like being caressed. She seemed to be virtue embodied, and yet...