The Fatal Engine

by Harriet Smart

  “I don’t suppose it was that,” Felix managed to say, and tried to move her away from the window.

  “And why didn’t you go home with him?” she said, again rejecting his attempt to comfort her. “Why?”

  “Because –” he began.

  “You were too lazy and you didn’t care! And now he’s dead!” She covered her face in her hands. “This is too horrible. I can’t bear it.” She threw herself into her chair and began to weep bitterly.

  “I will go and find out exactly what happened,” he said, “and I shall send Stevens to you.”

  He scrambled into his clothes and ran downstairs. Lady Blanchfort was in the hall.

  “I am going to White Lodge,” he said. “Did you hear about Truro?”

  She nodded and followed him as he went into his study to fetch his bag.

  “Eleanor is beside herself,” he went on. “Perhaps you can –”

  “Yes, of course,” said Lady Blanchfort. “She will feel this very badly.”

  “Yes,” he said, searching about for his bag. It was not in the usual place he left it, but on a chair by the door. “But it must be a relief for you, given your suspicions about him.”

  “One should never wish a man dead,” she said after a moment.

  ~

  Eventually Giles had liberty enough to go upstairs to their bedroom again. If he had wanted a soothing sanctuary he did not find one. Emma had company: namely the children, Lady Maria and Greene. But the room was warm and there was something charming about the slightly disorderly domestic scene this presented. Sophy and Lady Maria were sitting by the fire, working through an elaborate sum involving quantities of sugar loaves and currants (“Should that not be sixpence carried over?” “Oh, I don’t know!”) while Sandro played on the rug with his wooden blocks. Hamish was sitting next to his aunt on the bed, in Giles’ place. He was reading aloud to her, or at least attempting to, for he seemed to stumble over every word. He looked pleased when Giles came in to interrupt this torture.

  “Holt tells us you have turned the house into a police station,” Emma said.

  “Apparently so. Forgive me.”

  “I thought it best to confine us all to the barrack room, so to speak,” she said, gesturing about her.

  “Very wise.”

  “It’s not a barrack room, but your solar, Major Vernon,” said Lady Maria. “I was reading a most interesting book about castle life in the Middle Ages. The lord and lady used their bedchamber as a sort of sitting room for their families.”

  “It certainly saves on fires,” said Emma.

  “And we have been quite comfortable,” Maria said.

  “Living above the shop,” Emma said, smiling.

  “Order will be restored soon enough,” Giles said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “And then I shall throw you all out and go back to sleep. You excepted, ma’am, of course.”

  “I should hope so,” said Emma.

  “May I go downstairs and see him?” said Hamish.

  “You mean Armstrong?” said Giles, shaking his head.

  “No, indeed you may not,” said Emma.

  “I shall have to wait until you hang him to get a sight of him, then.”

  “For a start,” said Emma, “your uncle does not hang anyone. This man will only be hanged if he is found guilty by a jury of his peers, and the judge then decides if he must be hanged. And there will be no going to executions either.”

  “But –”

  “No,” she said. “They are not an entertainment. That is a bad idea you have caught hold of there, Hamish, and I advise you strongly to get rid of it.”

  He gave a scowl.

  “How are you getting on with your book?” Giles said, easing himself up onto the bed, feeling now extraordinarily tired and stiff.

  “It’s impossible,” Hamish said, still scowling.

  “But you are getting on very well,” said Emma.

  “Here is something else for you to try,” Giles said. “It might be more to your taste.” He handed him the copy of The Ballad of Crimson Mary. Hamish looked awestruck. “See if you can’t get that by heart for me,” he said. “In fact, why do you not go downstairs with Sophy? Greene, will you take Master Sandro? You might find something in the kitchen to interest you.”

  “Yes? What?” said Sophy.

  “Go and see, all of you!” said Giles.

  Lady Maria also rose obediently.

  “You must not order Maria about like a governess,” said Emma. “Maria, please, do not disarrange yourself.”

  “Oh, I’m happy enough to be ordered about,” said Maria, “in such a cause. And you both look in need of rest.”

  “First, tell me – how was the party last night?” Giles said. “What did we miss?”

  She considered for a moment and then said, “It sounds unkind to say it when Mr and Mrs Carswell are so hospitable, but you did not miss anything. It was all rather strange, to tell you the truth. The punch was far too strong and Mr Truro over-indulged. He gave a reading, which was quite – how shall I say it – memorable.”

  “You mean he made a fool of himself?” Giles said.

  “Not entirely. It was quite compelling and it certainly makes sense of his rather florid style to hear it done so theatrically, but it was out of place. Sir Mark put it well: the room was too small for it, he said. But enough of that; now I shall leave you both to rest. Sir Mark is calling later – I hope you don’t mind?”

  “Of course not,” said Emma. “Will you send our apologies? I don’t think we will be fit to come downstairs and receive him.”

  “An interesting evening, then?” said Giles when Maria had gone.

  “I’m glad we had the excuse to stay in. I’m not much in the mood to be interested,” said Emma.

  “No, it seems overrated at the moment,” said Giles, attempting to get himself comfortable and wincing in the process. “I would like things to be extremely dull for a little while.”

  “Oh, you are still very sore, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid I am. But I have taken a spot of laudanum.”

  “You should not have got up in the first place.”

  “I had to strike while the iron was hot. But yes, it was foolish, but I promise you I shall be marvellously idle from now on. Oh, and I hope you like cats. I think you do?”

  “I do. Why?”

  “We have an additional lodger.”

  “Oh, goodness. Is that what was in the kitchen?”

  “Yes. It is quite a tale how she is ours now, and I promise I will tell you everything in due course, but for the moment I am too exhausted to speak.”

  “Then do not. Hush,” she said and took his hand. In a few minutes he drifted off to sleep.

  When he woke, he found that he was alone in bed. Propping himself painfully up on his elbows, he saw that Emma had not deserted him. She was sitting by the fire reading.

  “No, no, lie down,” she said, on hearing him stir.

  “I shall,” he said, sinking down onto his pillow again. “What time is it?”

  “About five.”

  “How are you?”

  “Much stronger,” said Emma. “I have even been downstairs to see the cat. We are thinking of calling her Widdershins. And you?”

  “Sore still, but I think not as bad as I might be, given what a fool I was this morning.”

  “Hardly a fool. I had a most interesting conversation with Sergeant Hammond.”

  “Is he here?”

  “He came back with some messages for you. Which you are not to see yet. There is nothing urgent. He assured me so.”

  “He is right, I suppose.”

  “He is. You have done your part. Let the others do theirs. Are you hungry?”

  There was a knock at the door – it was Holt.

  “Mr Carswell is downstairs,” he said. “And anxious to see you, sir.”

  “You had better send him up,” said Giles.

  “He’s most solicitous,” said Emma when Hol
t had gone. “You told him not to call today.”

  “Perhaps he had some other business in town,” Giles said.

  At this moment the door opened and Carswell came in.

  “You must excuse me for interrupting. I should not be here. I’ve been in two minds about coming, but I can’t quite let it rest. There is something not right. I need your counsel.”

  “Yes, of course, for what it is worth,” said Giles. “How may I help you?”

  “I shall leave you gentlemen to it,” said Emma, and in answer to Carswell’s glance, “I am feeling much improved, and shall do nothing but go and sit in another chair by another fire. But you must promise me that you will not exhaust the Major. And you must let him have some soup.”

  “Yes, yes of course. That would be excellent for him,” said Carswell. “And of course I shall not tire him, ma’am. It will only take a few minutes to settle this.”

  Emma left them.

  “Sit down, Carswell, won’t you?”

  Carswell sat down and then immediately got up again.

  “Excuse me,” he said again.

  “What has happened?”

  “Truro died last night.”

  “Dear Lord,” said Giles. “After your party! How very unfortunate. Did you attend him?”

  “No, I didn’t learn of it until late this morning. Eleanor and I were in bed till after eleven – it was rather a wild evening, all in all. The punch was excessively strong, for one thing.”

  “Ah yes, Lady Maria mentioned that.”

  “I hope she does not have a headache. Eleanor and I –”

  “She does not,” Giles said. “So what was the cause of death?”

  “That is why I am here. I cannot put my finger on it.”

  “You have examined him?”

  “Yes, but only superficially. Dr Manton had already been and gone by the time I got there – you know of him?”

  “Yes, he’s quite well regarded, I think?”

  “I certainly wouldn’t query him,” said Carswell. “Mr Harper has a high opinion of him and that is good enough for me. And I was not called specifically to see him. It was just that the news came to the house by some means or other. One of the servants brought it, I suppose, and I thought I had better go at once, just to see to Mrs Truro in the first instance – as a neighbour as much as anything, and I got there, and Hepworth told me that Manton had been and gone.”

  Now Carswell sat down again.

  “And Manton gave them a cause of death?”

  “Yes, and it’s perfectly reasonable. Except that I’m not sure it is.”

  “So what was it?” said Giles.

  “Heart failure. According to Hepworth he had a weak heart. He had seen a man in London about it – I can’t recall the name, Hepworth did say who – anyway, that was one of the reasons they had moved here, to make him take life a little more quietly.” At which Carswell gave a bitter laugh. “And this is the result!”

  “What is it that is making you uneasy?” Giles said.

  “I don’t know what Lady Maria has told you about last night,” said Carswell, “but Truro gave a reading from his new novel. It was poor stuff – even Eleanor thought so – and as he was reading, he had a sort of breakdown – not exactly a fit. Rather he collapsed into hysterics. Now, as I said, we’d all been drinking – some of us had – far too much of that damned punch, and you know what Truro is like – voluble, at the best of the times. He could not stop laughing. It was manic. He was red-faced, and feverish, but Hepworth seemed to have it all in hand, and assured me that he had seen him in such a state before and it would pass. So we packed him off home and all went rather thankfully to our beds.”

  “So severe intoxication could cause heart failure in a man with a weak heart?” Giles said.

  “Yes, it is possible.”

  “And your difficulty is?”

  “I don’t like it,” said Carswell after a moment. “It may be perfectly plausible, but I cannot discount that other factors may have been at play.” He leant back in his chair and pressed his hands to his face. “It is this profession, of ours, it makes us suspicious, but I can’t help but think –”

  “What is it that is causing you to hesitate, Carswell? The specific thing, if you please?”

  “There are two things,” Carswell said. “Firstly, there was a claret jug full of punch put by the lectern in the drawing room. Eleanor asked Littleboy to fill it from the punch bowl in the dining room while we were eating supper. So he was drinking the contents of the jug while he was reading. And it was not shared with any other person.”

  “I see,” said Giles. “And the other thing?”

  “I was looking in my bag when I was at the Truros’ this morning. I was looking for some arnica for Mrs Truro, and I noticed that I had no atropine left in the bottle. I could have sworn it was full, for it is not something one uses often. Occasionally I have used it to treat iritis – that’s an eye infection – but I have not treated anyone in that line for some time, so it puzzled me.”

  “Atropine?”

  “It is an extract of belladonna,” said Carswell. “And my supply of it has been used by someone. Someone has been into my bag, removed it, used it, and then put back the flask. At least I am guessing that is what has happened.”

  “And this is significant because?”

  “There is an old saying by which one may identify poisoning by belladonna: hot as a hare, dry as a bone, red as a beetroot and mad as a hatter. Which nicely describes the state Truro was in last night.” Carswell shook his head. “From which I can’t help conclude that someone added my atropine to the jug of punch, and it killed him. That Truro was murdered last night.”

  Giles lay back on his pillows for a while and considered.

  “And you are sure about the empty bottle? That you have not used it for any patient recently?”

  “I will check my notes, of course. It may have slipped my mind and it may prove to have been empty all along and I have drawn a false conclusion in the light of Truro’s death.” He exhaled. “And I ought to speak to Dr Manton and see why he came to his conclusion.”

  “What are the post-mortem signs of this poison?” Giles said.

  “That’s the other difficulty,” said Carswell. “It may be hard to establish. Some corrosion in the larynx, perhaps, but it is a difficult matter to establish at this late stage. His pupils would have been dilated but that effect would wear off quite shortly after death. It would be a matter of evaporating the stomach contents and seeing if any atropine was produced, but there is no certainty of that working. As for bodily fluids – everything had been cleaned up at the house. The chamber pot, sheets and so forth. There was nothing for me to go on.”

  At this point Holt came in with the soup. The pillows rearranged, Giles sat up and drank it, while Carswell took some bread and butter for himself and Holt went to fetch more.

  “So, should I take this any further?” Carswell said.

  Giles laid down his spoon.

  “In the first instance, check your notes and speak to Manton,” he said. “Oh, and see if you cannot retrieve that claret jug. I suppose it will have been washed up by now.”

  “Yes, I suspect so. I had considered that. Littleboy is very efficient, and I think the jug is one of a set, so it might be hard to find the exact one that he used anyway.”

  “And then, if you are left in any doubt, we will take it further.”

  “If you are fit to do so,” said Carswell.

  “I managed to get Armstrong to incriminate himself this morning while sitting in an armchair by the fire,” Giles said. “So I’m still of some use.”

  “You did? Congratulations.”

  “He’s a vainglorious mountebank,” Giles said. “And he was a fool in the end in whom he trusted. Now, this business with Truro, it is –” He wished to say intriguing, but then remembered himself. “How was his wife? Poor soul.”

  “Distressed. She said she knew he was fragile but had not really belie
ved it until then.”

  “So she did not think anything suspicious had happened?”

  “No, I did not raise it with her, and she did not say anything to that effect. She was satisfied with what Manton had said. They all seemed to accept it.”

  “Which is interesting in itself,” Giles said. “You must get the name of the doctor in London.”

  “I should not have brought this to you,” said Carswell, frowning. “I can see you are speculating already.”

  “I wish I might talk to them all,” Giles went on. “And to your servants.”

  Carswell thought for a moment, got up from his seat and took away the tray from his lap. “Let me look at you properly, sir, and see how you are doing.”

  “Of course, as you wish.”

  Carswell examined him carefully.

  “You are breathing more comfortably, certainly. But I can’t advise anything very active as yet.”

  “I have no intention of doing anything active – at least, not physically.”

  “I have an idea,” Carswell said. “If we feel that things might need to go further with this, you and Mrs Vernon might come to us at Hawksby. For Christmas, ostensibly.”

  “And the children?” Giles said.

  “Of course, they’d be most welcome,” said Carswell. “Then you will be able to interview everyone without too much difficulty.”

  “Under a false flag of social intercourse,” Giles said.

  “What?”

  “Your neighbours were your guests, were they not?”

  “Yes, they were, apart from Lady Maria, Canon and Mrs Fforde, Sir Mark, Tom and Sam Tolley.”

  “Who, I do not think, would have any reason to murder Truro,” said Giles. “At least on a superficial examination of the facts. But everyone else – yourself included, Carswell – well, that is a different matter.”

  Carswell smiled briefly at that, and said, “Yes, I found him irritating but I should not have bothered to murder him! Even though it might look as if I had every means and opportunity to do so. And would I have raised this with you, of all people, if I had?”

  “No,” said Giles. “I don’t think so. You are not generally duplicitous. No, it is Miss Fleming and Mr Hepworth I would wish to talk to in the first instance.”