The Fatal Engine

by Harriet Smart

  “You can no more expect that of me, Mr Carswell,” she said, “than you can expect forgiveness. I will see things as I will see them. That is my right!”

  “And I will defend myself at least on this point,” Felix said. “The circumstances were damning. I do not say that to excuse myself, it is simply that they were. If you had not told me about Eleanor and her real father then I should not have –”

  “Then more fool me for ever confiding in anyone! For thinking I might be understood! God forbid I should imagine that someone who seemed to care for me, might actually treat me with some kindness and compassion. But no.”

  “I do care for you,” he said. “That has been all the difficulty here. If I had felt nothing for you, then...”

  Silence fell between them. She walked away to the fireside and stood with her hand on the mantel, gazing down into the fire and breathing hard. He could see that there was a tear rolling down her cheeks. Quickly she brushed it away.

  Then she came over to him and pressed her hands firmly to his cheeks for a moment.

  “Go and make my daughter happy,” she said. “Or at least try to!”

  ~

  Felix found Eleanor in the library, sitting on the floor and staring into the fire, her chin resting on her knees. Felix sat down beside her.

  “This is all so horrid,” she said, leaning against him.

  “Yes, I’m sorry,” he said, putting his arm about her.

  “I simply cannot believe that she wrote that book and I cannot believe Truro would prove to be nothing but a common thief.” She shuddered and pressed a little closer to him.

  “Major Vernon has the manuscript upstairs. Miss Lacey gave it to him.”

  “And she knew exactly what her sister was going to do?”

  “It seems so.”

  “What will be done with her?”

  “She will have to be charged as an accessory.”

  “And hanged?”

  “I doubt it.”

  Eleanor sighed. “I do not think anyone will ever want to come to a party here again. Perhaps we should go abroad with Mama.”

  “I’m sorry – we can’t do that,” said Felix. “I have my work, for one thing – in fact I have to go back to the Infirmary tonight.” He staggered to his feet. “I wish I did not.” He tugged Eleanor up to join him.

  “But the snow?” she said.

  “I shall have to risk it,” he said. “But we shall have dinner first. Just the two of us, by the fire. That will be pleasant, don’t you think?” he added, holding both her hands in his.

  She looked at him and said, “Yes, very,” she said. “But is Mama not –?”

  He shook his head.

  “Shall we?”

  She nodded, and he led her into the dining room.

  Epilogue

  Christmas Day

  To the delight of the children and the discomfiture of the adults, Christmas Day dawned and the Minster Precincts were covered with a fresh layer of snow, hiding the treacherous ice that had formed over the last few days, and making going about decidedly dangerous. Since Carswell had only allowed Giles to go home on the condition he remained there, Christmas morning found him in bed, while the others went to matins. He was not alone, however, as Mother Walker’s black and white cat had curled up on the foot of the bed. Like the cat, he had dozed, and he woke to the sound of the children’s voices, louder than usual after having been restrained through an hour of psalms and prayers. Hamish and Sophie were singing Adeste Fideles and Sandro could be heard howling in protest or singing in his own way – it was rather hard to determine which. But it was enough to unsettle the cat, and she fled to safety when the door was unceremoniously pushed open.

  The carol singers came in and, rather to his surprise, they were accompanied by Mrs Carswell, who was dressed in the most dashing riding habit he had ever laid eyes on: black velvet trimmed with fur and gold lace, while on her head she wore a ravishing fur cap that he longed to offer her a guinea for so that he might present it to Emma at once. But he suspected it may have cost a great deal more than a guinea.

  “We found her at matins,” said Sophy, “and she was looking for Mr Carswell, and we told him he was probably coming to dinner, if nobody’s head was broken open. That’s right, isn’t it, Uncle Giles?”

  “Yes,” said Giles. “Merry Christmas, Mrs Carswell! How excellent to see you! You will stay for dinner, Mr Carswell or not, I hope? We are sitting down at –”

  “Three. But you can have something to eat before then,” said Hamish, who was already looking hungry. “There are curd tarts and mince pies.”

  “There you are,” said Giles.

  “Yes, I should like that, thank you,” said Mrs Carswell. “I wanted to hear your brother-in-law preach, and I could not quite face going to church in the village, after all that has happened, and really the snow was nothing. I took a sensible horse, of course, and Peter was with me.”

  “And where is Peter and your horses?”

  “I left them at Lord Rothborough’s with Mr Carter. But I was quite surprised to hear that there is a lady staying there,” she said. “An Irish lady with a Spanish name. How very strange. Do you know who it is?”

  Giles hesitated, a little unsure how he should answer. But fortunately Sophy had caught the cat and was eager to show her to their guest, and then Emma came in, carrying a now quieted Sandro. She put him down and he at once staggered over to the bedside and tried to climb onto the bed.

  “Hamish, would you?” Giles said.

  Hamish gave him a leg up, and Sandro insinuated himself into Giles’ arms.

  “Is that not painful, Major Vernon?” said Mrs Carswell.

  “It is a trifle,” said Giles, attempting to protect himself a little. “So this will not be for long, Sandro, I’m afraid.”

  “He is somewhat attached,” said Emma. She looked weary, Giles thought. She had insisted she was quite well again, but he did not feel so sure on the point.

  “Shall I go and start the snapdragon, Uncle Giles?” Hamish said. “We have the raisins ready, and the brandy.”

  “No, that must wait until after dinner, I think,” said Giles. “It is better when it is dark.”

  “Snapdragon?” said Mrs Carswell. “Oh, I have always wanted to try that.”

  “Have you not, ma’am?” said Hamish. “It is the greatest thing in the world for Christmas. We have been practising so that we will beat the Ffordes.”

  “Truro told me he was fond of that game,” said Mrs Carswell, rather wistfully.

  “Is that the Truro who was –?” Hamish began, but Giles put his finger to his lips to silence him.

  “Hamish, will you please go and find Greene,” said Emma. “I think your uncle has had quite enough of Sandro.”

  Greene was found and took Sandro and the other children away, while Emma took Mrs Carswell downstairs so that Giles could get out of bed and dress. The Ffordes were expected imminently.

  They arrived just as he was coming downstairs, and with them was an unexpected guest in the form of Lord Milburne.

  “Oh, Charles, what are you doing here?” exclaimed Emma, throwing her arms about him. “I hope it is not out of obligation. You know I wanted you to go to your friend who has the beautiful sister and there was no need for you to come here at all!”

  “No, no, of course it is not from obligation, Mama,” said Charles. “I was there and they were all kindness, and she is very pretty, but it was you I wanted to see. So I came here. It is so easy with the railway.”

  “Yes, yes it is,” Emma said, wiping away a tear. “Oh, please excuse me! Now, come everyone, let us get by the fire, and I should like a glass of wine, if I may? I think I may die of shock.”

  ~

  There was no pressing business at the Infirmary and, leaving instructions that he was to be found at Rooke Court if necessary, Felix made his way through the snow to the Minster Precincts to take up Major and Mrs Vernon’s invitation to Christmas dinner. However, he called first
at Lord Rothborough’s house. He was pleased to find that Mrs Martinez was improving well, and comfortably diverted by a parcel of books sent by Lord Rothborough.

  “I never cared for reading before I knew him,” she said. “He set my mind on a steady course, all those years ago. He had the gift of finding books for me that I wanted to read, and before I knew it, it had become a habit.” She smiled. “I would have been happily ignorant if it had not been for him.”

  “That I can’t believe,” said Felix, looking through the books. “Ah, but he mentioned this one to me as well. ‘Democracy in America.’ I have it, but I cannot think when I will have a minute to read it.”

  “Give it to your wife, then, and she can make you a précis.”

  “I am not sure that Eleanor would care for that – she has her own particular tastes.”

  “Ask it as a favour. She would be flattered, and pleased to be useful, I’m sure.”

  “Perhaps,” said Felix, thinking for a moment how pleasant it would be to stay there and read for a while. The sense of comfort and repose he had in her company was undeniably agreeable. It was, for one thing, delightfully uncomplicated. How this came to be, he could not understand.

  “Now you must go,” she said, as if reading his thoughts, “while you have the liberty to do so, and enjoy Christmas with your friends. It was very kind of you to come and see me at all.”

  “It was no trouble,” Felix said, getting up and kissing her on the cheek. She kissed him in return and he left, feeling more at peace than he had for some time.

  Rooke Court was in a state of mild uproar, and at its centre, unexpectedly, was Eleanor, who rushed into his arms as if they had been apart for months.

  “It was too quiet at home. I could not bear it,” she said.

  “But your mother –?”

  “She said she was tired and wanted to be quiet. So I took out Pheasant and came here for matins. Now, come, come, everyone has been waiting for you!”

  Felix followed her into the drawing room, feeling any sense of peace vanish at once at the thought of Lady Blanchfort alone at Hawksby.

  “But are you sure your mother did not mind?” he said, catching her hand and pulling her back for a moment.

  “No, not at all. She said she was tired and she told me I ought to come and find you.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes, yes, so do not fret.” She laid her hand on his cheek for a moment, just as her mother had done the other night. “You are always thinking of her. It really is so kind of you.”

  He took her hand and kissed it, wishing then he might lay the whole business bare to her, wondering if she could ever understand his perversity. Would complete honesty make things simpler between them or would it entirely shatter the fragile vessel that was their marriage? He kissed her hand again and considered himself a coward, knowing he would not or could not speak.

  She smiled, broke away from him and went sauntering into the room, her long velvet habit skirt sweeping behind her like a courtly train.

  “Mr Carswell – how excellent!” said Major Vernon, seeing him. “The Infirmary could spare you for a while, then?”

  “It is mercifully quiet, thank God!” said Felix, taking the glass of wine he was offered.

  “It might not have been from what I have heard,” said Canon Fforde. “If you had not foiled Armstrong’s plot.”

  “No, it might have been very disagreeable,” said Major Vernon. “But fortunately he threw his chance to ruin Christmas with his fit of pique.”

  “We should drink to the vanity of criminals, then!” said Felix.

  Hamish Gordon, who had been listening to the conversation, said, “Should we not toast my uncle, sir? For saving Christmas by stopping Armstrong!”

  “That is a nice conceit, Hamish,” said Canon Fforde. “Now, have you ever made a toast before?”

  “No, sir,” said Hamish.

  “Well, there is always a first time.” Canon Fforde tapped on his glass to silence the room. “My lords, ladies and gentlemen, Master Gordon would like to propose a toast!”

  Hamish looked half-terrified, half-delighted as Canon Fforde propelled him gently to the centre of the room, gave him a glass and nodded his encouragement.

  “To my Uncle Giles for saving our first Christmas in Northminster!” Hamish said.

  “The first of many with you, I hope!” said Canon Fforde, when everyone had toasted Major Vernon and applauded Hamish. “Master Gordon!”

  Hamish nodded frantically, blushed at the attention and then ran away.

  Mrs Fforde came over, and laying her hand on Major Vernon’s arm, said, “I have been wondering about the sewing contraption you found in the workshop. Did Patton manage to make anything of it?”

  “No, she still considers it the work of the Devil,” Major Vernon said.

  “It will make a fortune for someone if it can be finished,” said Mrs Fforde.

  “True, but there is some difficulty in establishing to whom it actually belongs. Mr Roper did not leave a will, so one would suppose it belongs to his surviving daughter, who as you may have heard has been charged with murder. But then, of course, there are three investors – Blake, Williamson and young Jack Edwardes, who might all justifiably claim a stake.”

  “Blake – surely not?” said Felix.

  “Perhaps not. But it will be nice work for the lawyers.”

  “Let us hope it will be Jack Edwardes who prospers by it,” said Canon Fforde. “He is as nice a young fellow as you could find. I prepared him for confirmation when he was at the grammar school and I remember that he was far more interested in mechanics than theology. I saw him this morning at the early service, as a matter of fact. He looked somewhat forlorn, as you might imagine.”

  At this moment Holt came in, magnificently crowned with evergreens and spangled paper, and somewhat flushed from his own dinner, to announce that their dinner was served.

  ~

  The meal passed in a state of high good humour, as might be expected, but by the end of it Giles was utterly exhausted. He found himself sitting down again in the empty dining room, struggling to find the energy to go upstairs and join the others, when the door opened and Sophy slipped into the room.

  “Am I wanted upstairs?” he said.

  “Yes, Uncle Giles,” she said. “For the snapdragon.”

  “Of course,” he said. “Yes, well, I shall be up in a moment. I am just a little slow today.”

  “But you are getting better?” she said, coming up to him and leaning against him.

  “Yes, certainly.”

  “Oh good. I heard Mr Carswell say to Aunt Emma that –”

  “Yes?”

  “That you were not out of the woods. Which means, doesn’t it, that you might still be very ill and –”

  “There are many ways out of the woods, Sophy,” said Giles. “And I am determined I shall get out of them. So do not worry about me. I am very touched that you should worry, but please do not.”

  “But I must,” she said. “I don’t want you to go away as well. I mean, like Mama and Papa.”

  He took her hand.

  “I shall not, I promise.”

  “I thought,” she said after a moment, leaning a little closer, “that she might have written a letter.”

  “There may be one yet,” he said. “The weather will have made the post erratic. And perhaps there may be something from India in time.”

  “Papa does not write letters,” she said, with a sniff.

  “He might if you wrote to him.”

  “Might I?” she said. “Isn’t it very expensive to send a letter to India?”

  “I shall pay the postage for you,” said Giles. “So do not worry about that.” She grinned and skipped down the room, almost colliding with Carswell who had just come in. He had his hat in his hand.

  “Oh, excuse me, Mr Carswell. I will tell them you are coming up now, Uncle Giles!” she said, and danced out of the room.

  “I’ve come to take my le
ave,” Carswell said.

  “We cannot keep you for snapdragon?” said Giles, struggling up from his chair. “There may be some repairs required.”

  “I have already told them to put a few buckets of snow about the room,” Carswell said. “I sent Hamish and Tom out to get some.”

  “That sounds an excellent precaution.”

  “I am wondering if I ought to send you to your bed,” said Carswell.

  “I shall be in it soon enough. We have agreed that the party will be broken up at six, and I shall make Mrs Vernon rest as well. I am worried about her – does she not look exhausted? I fear I have put too much on her. Those children are a heavy charge.”

  “She does not look quite herself,” said Carswell. “She will need to be careful as well.”

  Giles frowned at that and sat down again.

  “It is all very unfortunate,” he said. “I could happily tighten the noose about Armstrong’s neck for putting me in this ridiculous state. I am no use to her like this!”

  “To be frank,” said Carswell, sitting down, “I think that even if you both were well, she would feel it as a burden. It is always the women who have to bear the brunt of these things. Our work is all-consuming, after all.”

  “Very comforting,” said Giles.

  “Did you think I would exonerate you?” Carswell said, reaching for a decanter and filling a glass.

  “No. Especially when I am usually the one handing down judgement. It is only fair. I have pushed this business on her.”

  “To a degree. But their mother is a selfish besom, surely? If she had any sense of duty, you would not have had to act as you did. And a few more servants will make some of it easier –”

  “Yes, certainly, if we can find good ones, which is another matter altogether. But there is a sort of mental care that only a parent can give, and that is more taxing than I thought. I meant to give her a safe harbour, and instead –”

  “I don’t think she expected that,” said Carswell. “I seem to remember she was happy to take you, faults and all.”

  “True enough,” said Giles.