The Fatal Engine

by Harriet Smart

  “Are you not hungry?”

  “I –” He got up and walked across the room to the far window and looked down at the expectant, pure faces of the white and gold narcissi that were quivering on their long stalks, breathing in their sweet scent as he did. Beyond the sash, the white inferno of the storm continued. “This weather!” he exclaimed. “This winter has been nothing but –”

  “And it will be worse after Christmas,” she said.

  “Is that why you are running away?” he said, turning back to her. “Where in France are you going?”

  “Paris. I have a friend there who has been asking me to visit for a long time.”

  “Eleanor does not think you have any friends,” he said.

  “Eleanor does not know everything about me, as you know. Oh, all right, my lord,” she said to the cat. “You may come up.”

  She patted her lap and the cat leapt into her embrace with a chirrup. She bent and kissed his head.

  “Who is your friend?” Felix asked.

  “Someone I was at school with,” she said. “In Bath, about a hundred years ago. She is half-French – a protestant of course, and she married a Frenchman. A most interesting man – you may have heard of him – he has published several books on natural history and zoology, I understand. Edouard d’Harnoncourt?”

  “Yes, I know of him.”

  “I think there is one of his books somewhere about. Eleanor used to be fond of it, for it has the most beautiful engravings of strange animals. We often used to look at them together. Un hippotâme, un lion, un tigre indien and so forth.” She gazed into the fire, smiling. “Perhaps I should search it out and give it to Major Vernon. I understand he has some young people to amuse. He seems quite comfortable, thankfully. It was lucky that you were to hand.”

  “Yes,” said Felix. “He was foolhardy. And I suppose you know why he came?”

  “No?”

  “Surely it is obvious?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Did he not quiz you?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” she said.

  “I cannot believe he did not,” Felix said. “He will have talked to everyone.”

  “About what?” she said. The cat now leapt from her arms onto the table and began to sniff about the dishes. She got up and took him into her arms. “No, Byron, not on the table. Oh, you wretched animal, you must not eat Mr Carswell’s breakfast for him.”

  “Oh, let him eat it, I have done with it,” Felix said.

  “He will be spoilt.”

  “He will might as well enjoy it while he can,” Felix said, “since you will be away from here soon enough and that will make him thoroughly miserable, and he will run away. Or will you take him with you to France?”

  She dropped the cat onto the floor. “I had not thought about it.”

  “But you will miss him?”

  “Yes, yes, I will, I suppose.”

  “How long have you and Madame L’Harnoncourt been planning this visit?”

  “She has been asking me for years, and when her last letter came, I thought it was about time. But you know why I am going. It is cruel of you to press me on this, and I don’t entirely understand why. I think you must be so tired that it is making you angry.”

  “I’m not angry,” he said.

  “You are,” she said. “Your tone is acidic.”

  “Then I apologise, ma’am,” he said, with a slight bow.

  “And now you are being thoroughly unpleasant,” she said.

  “No. Why do you say that?”

  “You are mocking me,” she said. “You are angry with me because of what I said to you, and of course you would be. A young man does not like to be refused. He cannot understand that he may not have his conquest. I have wounded your pride and I must expect you to be angry. But really, I would have thought you might be a little more intelligent than that, Mr Carswell!”

  “Mr Carswell? Is it come to that, again?”

  “Yes, and you know why. Whatever you feel, you must put it away. It is utter folly. Now, if you will excuse me –”

  “No,” he said. “I think we need to talk a little more.”

  “About what?”

  “About why you are leaving, to begin with. I cannot be satisfied that –”

  “Was I not clear enough the other night?” she said. “I am removing myself so that you will do your duty and make my daughter happy. I freely admit I have been at fault, that I have let the circumstances of our domestic intimacy be coloured by other feelings, but I did not think for one moment that you would be anything but a gentleman, sir; and yet it seems –” She broke off, shaking her head. “But why talk of gentlemen as if you are any different! You are no different from your father and my brother-in-law. You hide behind your façade of nicety, but the truth is, all men will seduce if they can. They think of nothing else, most of the time. Even in church they think of it!”

  He found himself colouring.

  “They feel it is their right to conquer, no matter how outrageous the circumstances,” she went on. “You, sir – no, I cannot stay in this house with you. You will destroy me and I will not allow that. I must and I shall protect myself!”

  “Are you sure that is the only reason you are leaving?” he said. “It is so sudden.”

  “To you it may have seemed so. I dare say you were only thinking of when my surrender might be accomplished. I, on the other hand, have been plotting my escape.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Felix said. “I think you are leaving because –” He broke off.

  “Yes?”

  “Because of what you did. I know what you did.”

  “I beg your pardon?” she said. “What are you saying? What did I do, pray?”

  “Why did you let Eleanor serve that horrible punch?” he said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The punch. Highly flavoured, very strong, liable to make fools of everyone! You let her have her way when it would have been the smallest matter in the world to tell Littleboy the recipe was written out wrongly. Yet you let her go ahead with it because it suited you.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “That the punch was the perfect opportunity for you to destroy a man who threatened you. I know you were afraid of him, ma’am. You thought he knew about your affair.”

  “What are you implying?”

  “I’m not implying, I’m telling you that I know, ma’am! I know what you have done and how you did it. There is no other rational explanation for the case. Truro did not die of a weak heart. He was poisoned by you. You put atropine in the claret jug. I saw you leave the room, and who else would have the nerve to steal it from my bag, but you?”

  There was silence for a moment, and then she said, “Is there fever at the Infirmary? Are you ill?”

  “No,” he said. “I am simply piecing together the facts and they point to your guilt, ma’am. I wish it were not so, but I cannot think of anyone else who could have done this. You left the dining room before everyone else. That is when you doctored the punch with atropine and that is why Truro collapsed during the reading. You poisoned him.”

  “How dare you say such things to me?” she said.

  “Because they are true.”

  “And I thought you were better than this!” she said. “I thought you had some sense, some true heart about you, but no. You are beyond contempt, sir! To accuse me of that – out of pique! For that is what this is. I would not give you what you wanted, and now I must be condemned. How wonderfully convenient for you that Mr Truro decided to die. Now you can revile me all you like! Now you can have me sent to the gallows!”

  “I do not want that!” exclaimed Felix. “Why would you think that? It is just that the facts point to you, ma’am, and I cannot ignore them. I am telling you this for your own good. I do not want you to hang. God, no – anything but that! I have lied to Major Vernon about this for your sake! I do not want him to see what I see.”

  “I d
o not care if you talk to him,” she said. “He will see the truth. He has some honour about him, unlike you! He will find out the truth and you will have to eat your words! Oh my, I wish that Lord Rothborough had got his bill on dissolving marriages through, then I could take my daughter away from you and end her marriage, without a stain on her! I will tell her this, you know, I will tell her everything you have accused me of and why! I will take her with me to France, and then you will feel what you have done. How dare you, Felix Carswell, how dare you!”

  She turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

  Chapter Forty-three

  Despite everything, Giles passed a tolerable night and could not bear to be in bed any longer.

  Jacob had brought him a dressing-gown of Carswell’s to wear – an extraordinary patchwork affair made by the elder Mrs Carswell, a miracle of the needlewoman’s art. Although perhaps a little short, it was enough to make him decent, and dressed in this splendour he ventured out of his room.

  As he did, Lady Blanchfort came running up the stairs, with the look of one being pursued by furies, her cheeks stained with red. She stopped at the sight of him, and looked about to speak, and then suddenly turned away and ran into another room. Carswell came hard on her heels, also looking flushed, and seeing him standing there, stopped in his tracks, exclaimed, “My God, what are you doing?” He strode up to him. “You must go back to bed at once, sir! Come.”

  Giles submitted, wondering if it was now his fate to learn to be a submissive invalid. If he were to be plagued by ill health he would, he knew, bear it badly at present. Ill health seemed the inevitable accompaniment to increasing years, and he knew it would do him some good to study patience, even if the thought of it depressed him utterly. So he allowed himself to be put back to bed, and then permitted Carswell to prod and poke him, although this was most unpleasant. Carswell was usually extremely careful, his hands as gentle as a woman’s, despite his strength. But on this occasion he felt roughly handled.

  “What is wrong?” he managed to say, for the business of getting from his bed and then returning to it had made him painfully short of breath.

  “Nothing that need concern you now, sir,” Carswell went on. “You must concentrate on your recovery and that only. Now, will you take another deep breath, if you can bear it? I want to sound you again. I am not happy that I am getting a clear picture. Lean forward a little more, if you can.”

  Giles obeyed and suffered for it, while Carswell took soundings on his back. It was a relief to lie back on his heap of pillows and catch his breath. Carswell was frowning.

  “You must rest,” Carswell said, “and then rest some more. I’m a little nervous that there is a pulmonary rattle developing. It may be trivial or it may not be.” Now he had his hand on Giles wrist and was consulting his watch at the same time. His expression was one of earnest concentration, and then he breathed out, as if he felt the pain that Giles was experiencing.

  “No more coffee,” he said. “Your pulse is somewhat elevated.”

  “As I think is yours,” Giles managed to say. “Lady Blanchfort looked –”

  “I really must advise you not to talk.”

  “Then perhaps you should talk instead,” Giles said.

  “You are beyond impossible,” Carswell said, letting go of his wrist. “We will try some steam inhalation. It may relieve the symptoms a little.”

  “Of course,” said Giles. “But first I wish you would tell me what is going on.”

  “It’s of no importance,” Carswell said after a moment.

  “Do not spare me because of this,” Giles said.

  “As your physician,” said Carswell, “I must.”

  “But as a friend?” Giles said.

  Carswell was silent for a moment.

  “I cannot,” he said, and went and sat by the fire. With his elbows on his knees, his hands knotted together, his head bowed, he looked as if he were praying.

  “You suspect her,” Giles said. “That is what is going on, I think.”

  Carswell sprang up.

  “What?”

  “You suspect Lady Blanchfort of murdering Truro.”

  “No, of course not. Why on earth would I do that?”

  “Because a great deal points to it,” Giles said. “And you do not want to discuss it with me because she is your wife’s mother. You wish to protect them both, naturally.”

  Carswell was now standing at the foot of the bed, one hand gripping the bedpost, as if he were Samson about to bring down the pillars of the temple.

  “You have tried to deflect me,” Giles went on. “A wild goose chase, you said. But I don’t think it is. That was why you did not see Manton when you said you would.”

  “You are right,” Carswell said, and then went back to the chair, where he sat again with his head bowed.

  “I saw him,” Giles said, “and his opinion was that if you had doubts, we should pursue it.”

  Now Carswell covered his face with his hands and leant back in the chair, and said, “Yes, yes, of course you did! And that is why I had to at least attempt to – but who can stop Niagara tumbling over the rock? Who can keep you from the truth, even with broken ribs?” And then he leant forward again, his face buried once more. “Oh dear Lord, all those times we have caught our man and it has been a sort of triumph, for all the wretchedness. Where is the triumph in this? It will destroy us all.”

  “You are convinced of it?” Giles said.

  “I can see no other likely candidate. And I think you have your ideas, and your ideas in these cases are usually like a well-sharpened scalpel on a defenceless piece of flesh.”

  “I can’t say I have all the evidence,” said Giles. “But there are certain things that are worrying.”

  “Oh yes, yes, there are!” Carswell said, jumping up and pulling a piece of paper from his pocket. “Look at this. I wrote this last night. I have learnt too much from you, that is the trouble. I would have been better sticking to bone-setting! Then I would not see so clearly that...” He thrust the paper at Giles.

  Giles read through the setting out of the case for and against Lady Blanchfort. He could not help frowning and Carswell observed it.

  “You see,” Carswell said, after a moment. “She has everything to hand: motive, means and opportunity.”

  “How do you know that she is an adulteress?” Giles asked.

  “She told me.”

  “Why?” Giles said.

  “Because her lover was Eleanor’s father. That is the secret I think Truro knew.”

  “I wonder why she told you.”

  “Because of the circumstances of my own birth. She felt I should know, and since we have been living under the same roof, we have become... intimate. I suppose that is how you might put it.”

  “Intimate?” Giles said. “In what respect? You don’t mean that you and she have –?”

  “No, no, of course not, though I can’t say I haven’t thought it might come to that. There have been times when –”

  “Dear God, what is wrong with you? Can you never be content with –”

  “Oh, reproach me all you like!” exclaimed Carswell. “But you will not deny she is a fascinating woman, and if you were not married, then I think –”

  “But I am married, and so are you, for Heaven’s sake!” Giles said, with too much vehemence, and found himself wheezing uncomfortably, bringing Carswell at once to his side. He grabbed his sounding tube and was again listening.

  “This conversation must stop now,” he said, gently helping Giles to settle again on his pile of pillows. “It really must.”

  Giles nodded meekly, but he had a hundred questions that made him feel extremely restless.

  “I will go and see about a steam bath,” Carswell said, and left him.

  When Giles was alone, he looked again at Carswell’s chart.

  If his supposition was correct, and Truro had known her disreputable secret, then the obvious question was: how had he known? To ho
w many people had Lady Blanchfort entrusted this secret? It struck him as strange that she should have dared to confide this dire thing to her son-in-law, whom she did not know well. He might easily use such information against her. If the secret was worth murdering another man for, then why trust Carswell with it? It could be argued that Carswell would have nothing to gain by knowing the secret, but it was undeniable it would have given him power over her, should any situation require that. It was a conundrum.

  He lay back and considered what he had observed of her. She was certainly intelligent and apparently had a cool head, but then again, there was nothing cool-headed about confiding such a thing to Carswell. If Truro had been poisoned, and it was still a matter of supposition that he had been – they had, after all, no hard evidence to prove it – then it had been a deft, well-planned operation. Like an eagle watching for prey, the moment and the method had been skilfully chosen. She was certainly capable of it, but would she risk the gallows to avoid a potential mortification?

  He turned again to wondering why she had decided to tell her sins to Carswell. It sounded like a confession born of burgeoning affection. It was clear that they had come to mean something to each other – it was entirely natural that something like that might happen, especially with a man as warm-hearted and hot-blooded as Felix Carswell. She was a woman of a certain age – Emma had told him, indeed demonstrated, to his surprise and delight, the quickening of desire that a woman of that age sometimes feels. Widows were called merry for a reason, after all.

  Then came the unpleasant suspicion that Carswell had understated this matter of their intimacy. Had Truro found that out instead? That was a far worse matter for her Ladyship.

  Carswell returned with Jacob, and a steaming bowl laced with camphor and rosemary, which was not at all unpleasant. He was still forbidden to speak, and was disconcerted when Carswell took the paper up from the bed, and tucked it inside his coat.

  “Perhaps Jacob might read to me to distract me?” he said, pointing to Truro’s book on the bedside.

  “I will read to you,” said Carswell, and sent Jacob away. Giles diligently bent over the bowl and inhaled the scented steam.