The Fatal Engine Read online

  He could not help moving a little closer in order to take her hand in both of his. She did not resist, and gazed at him, her eyes wet with tears.

  “Thank you for your indulgence,” she said. “It’s a sorry tale and I should not have burdened you with it. But I think you have the gift of sympathy. At least, I feel your sympathy – and your consideration.” And she looked away into the fire, shaking her head. “Most men would not take such trouble, or inconvenience themselves so for the sake of a woman. The respect you are showing my daughter is admirable; please do not be discouraged. One day she will understand. For now, you must comfort yourself with my understanding, for what that is worth.”

  She gave a great gulp, swallowing tears, and pulled her hand away.

  “A great deal,” Felix managed to say, watching her wipe away a tear from her face. Her frankness left him feeling humbled. “And I am grateful.”

  Suddenly she reached out and touched his cheek. He caught her hand and could not prevent himself from kissing it.

  “You should go to bed,” she said, pulling away her hand. “You really should.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Amy Roper has not been to visit her sister?” asked Major Vernon, meeting Felix at the Infirmary the next morning to enquire after Sarah Roper’s condition.

  “I have been wondering about that,” said Felix, and explained to him his theory about the doctored cordial. “I think you should talk to her.”

  “We will both go, if you have time. If you give her a truthful account of her sister’s condition it might stir her conscience a little.”

  “It would be better if she came and saw it for herself. Poor woman – she is in a wretched state. And of course there is nothing that can be done for her except keep her from more of the drug.”

  “Do you think she will survive?”

  “I think so,” said Felix. “But it may take some time.”

  They were on the verge of leaving the building when they met Oliver Truro coming up the Infirmary steps.

  “Good morning, gentlemen – how fortunate! I was going to see Miss Roper.”

  “Miss Roper is not seeing anyone, Mr Truro,” said Felix. “She is to be left alone for present.”

  “But you will still be charging her?” Truro said, turning to Major Vernon.

  “Nothing has been decided,” he said.

  “But her confession...?”

  “Is not to be taken at face value, especially given her condition.”

  Truro nodded.

  “I suppose the post-mortem has thrown up something interesting, Mr Carswell?” he said.

  “I really don’t think –” began Felix.

  “We are busy, Mr Truro,” said Major Vernon. “You must excuse us. I promise that you will be the first to know as soon as we have some hard facts. Good day.”

  With which he tipped his hat and set off down the steps. At the same time a fly drew up at the foot of the steps and a young man came hurtling out of it, and would have crashed straight into Major Vernon had not the Major stepped nimbly out of the way.

  “Mr Edwardes,” Vernon said, catching his arm to steady him. It was young Edwardes, Sarah’s erstwhile fiancé. “Have you come to see Miss Roper?”

  “I have come for a doctor,” he said. “Mr Carswell, yes?”

  “Yes?” said Felix.

  “My father – please would you come at once? He is –”

  “Yes, of course.” Having his bag with him, Felix ran down the steps and climbed into the cab with Edwardes.

  “What is the problem?” said Felix as they drove away.

  “He came down with a fever. I did all I could. I thought it was simply... but this morning – there is a massive wound on his leg he concealed from us. I don’t think he has long. I –” He broke off and buried his face in his hands.

  It was a short drive, since the Edwardes family lived above the livery-making business. Felix followed him upstairs to find Edwardes senior writhing in his bed, in a state of high delirium. An elderly housekeeper was in attendance on him, but she looked unequal to the situation. It was no surprise – the wound in Edwardes’ thigh was deep and long, and in an advanced stage of putrefaction. As he examined him, Edwardes’ temperature began to plummet, and his breathing became increasingly laboured.

  “Will you amputate?” said Edwardes. “Is that what must be done?”

  Felix hesitated to answer. It might be done, but given the placement of the wound in his thigh, it would be an extremely risky procedure.

  “I don’t think he would survive it, I’m sorry to say. His blood is already poisoned. That wound – you have no idea how he came by it?”

  “No. And why he did not get it seen to, I cannot imagine. It is not like him, not like him at all.” He turned to his father, crouched down by the bed, and took his hand. “Oh, Pa...”

  “We can make him more comfortable,” said Felix. “And I will do what I can with the wound. There have been cases where men have survived this, if they have the will to do so.”

  The young man nodded, and bent his head to pray. Felix busied himself doing what he could, but he soon began to realise that there was no hope. About half an hour later, Mr Edwardes the tailor breathed his last, lying in the arms of his son.

  Felix left the young man to say his farewells and prayers and went out into the family sitting room, where the old housekeeper was in a miserable state. Edwardes soon came out and attempted to comfort her, only to break down entirely himself.

  When he had mastered himself a little, his grief turned to anger, and he began to pace the room, asking Felix questions to which he had no ready answers. Some of these questions might have been better directed to a clergyman, and others perhaps at Major Vernon. For the matter that was causing his son the greatest agitation was why the late Mr Edwardes had not attended to the wound.

  “For that was what killed him, yes?” Edwardes said. “If it had been seen to at once it would have not caused that –” He gestured to the closed door of the bedroom. “Why?”

  “Because –” Felix began, and then hesitated to speak given the distress it might cause.

  “You have a theory, sir?” said Edwardes.

  “It is just an observation,” said Felix, “from my work with the police. Criminals often fail to tend to their wounds when they are fleeing the scene of a crime. They do not wish to alert anyone to the circumstances that gave rise to the injury.”

  “I see,” said Edwardes after a moment. “Of course. But my father? What might he have felt he had to conceal from me, or Mary-Jane? I cannot imagine.”

  “No, Master Jack,” said Mary-Jane, the housekeeper. “He was a good man, as good as a son to me, not like a master. God rest his dear soul!”

  “You looked after his linen, I suppose?” Felix said.

  “Yes, sir, of course.”

  “Could you tell me if you found any bloody bandages or compresses in Mr Edwardes’ room, before you realised he had been injured?”

  “No, sir, I did not. If I had, I should have said something.”

  “Perhaps he hid them somewhere, or burnt them,” Felix said. “He was obviously anxious that neither of you should discover it.”

  “Because you imagine –” Jack broke off and frowned. “Perhaps, Mary-Jane, you should go into the kitchen and have some tea. You should rest a little, certainly.”

  And he ushered her out of the room, with great solicitude, and then when the door was closed, went to the chiffonier and took out a bottle of brandy.

  “My father’s favourite,” he said, pouring out two glasses. “Will you?” he said, offering a glass to Felix.

  Felix took it and sipped it. Jack Edwardes downed his in one and then said, “Sarah will have to excuse me,” and gave a bitter laugh that turned into a howl of pain. “Oh, my poor love. How is she? I wanted to see her, but my father – well, you can guess.”

  “She is struggling,” said Felix. “But I think she will get through this.”

  “Both
our fathers dead now,” Edwardes said, refilling his glass. “It is beyond strange.” He was about to drink his brandy, but instead put the glass down and pushed it away. “There is nothing to stop us marrying now. How convenient! Except that it could not be worse.” He took a deep breath. “You see, there is something I must tell you, Mr Carswell. About Mr Roper. The other day when I spoke to you and Major Vernon I was not completely honest. I realise now I must be.”

  “I shall send for Major Vernon,” said Felix.

  ~

  Giles was relieved to receive a note from Carswell summoning him to Mr Edwardes’ residence. Truro had insisted on accompanying Giles back to the Northern Office, and had been relentless in his questions. What was Roper’s profession? Was there any evidence of a criminal past? Was it possible for him to see the results of the post-mortem?

  Giles had been disinclined to answer any of them. He had hoped to spend an hour or two looking through the reports of the machine breakers’ arrests and trials, before going to interview Amy Roper.

  “I am sorry to keep disappointing you, Mr Truro,” he said. “I know you are expecting me to co-operate, but things are at such a stage that I cannot divulge anything but the most sketchy details. And now I must go,” he said, holding up Carswell’s note. “In a day or two I may be able to be more forthcoming. In the meantime, perhaps you should go to the Minster Library and begin the research for your next book. I should imagine that your readers are awaiting it eagerly. My wife, for example,” he added, knowing that he was taking Emma’s name in vain but that she would forgive him for it. “She has thoroughly enjoyed all your books. We both have, in fact.”

  “I see you are determined to keep your secrets, Major Vernon,” said Truro. “Like any good teller of tales, you are keeping me in suspense. I had never expected such artfulness. It is interesting to me, sir, very interesting.”

  “I believe we shall meet again tonight,” said Giles opening the door to him. “At Mr and Mrs Carswell’s?”

  “Ah yes, that lady has been delightfully welcoming,” said Truro. “Until this evening, then, Major Vernon.”

  Giles hurried down to Edwardes’ house and found Carswell waiting for him in the shop below. The shop had been closed and the blinds drawn.

  “Edwardes senior has died of blood poisoning from a concealed wound,” Carswell told him as they went upstairs. “There was nothing to be done for him. And now his son wants to tell you something.”

  “A concealed wound?” said Giles.

  “Yes. A five-inch gouge in his thigh.”

  “Can you tell what caused it?”

  “It’s a little hard to see at present because of the putrefaction. I should have to dissect it. I have stopped them from sending for anyone to lay him out. Do you want to see him?”

  “I had better speak to Edwardes junior first, I think.”

  Carswell nodded and went into the sitting room where Edwardes was perched on the sofa, his shoulders hunched and his hands clasped together in front of him as if he were waiting to be cuffed. He looked up at Giles with red-rimmed, doleful eyes. He was evidently ready to confess a great deal.

  “I’m very sorry about your father, Mr Edwardes,” Giles said, sitting down opposite.

  “Thank you, sir,” said the young man.

  “You wanted to talk to me?”

  “Yes,” he said. “It is about Mr Roper. I have not been strictly truthful with you. The thing is –”

  He glanced away at the fire and said. “Where to begin?”

  “At the beginning, perhaps?” Giles said. “When did you first meet Mr Roper? Have you known the family a long time?”

  “Two years,” said Edwardes. “I met Mr Roper first. That is what I need to tell you.”

  “Where did you meet?”

  “At a lecture at the Northminster Institute. It was a demonstration of electricity – very interesting. He was sitting next to me and we fell into conversation afterwards. I am interested in machines, you see, all sort of machines. Unlike my father, who could not abide them. His belief was that the human hand was the best tool we could ever have, and that all the skill and craft of our trade lay in what hands could do, without the aid of machines.” Now he held out his hands and turned them, making a display of them. “These poor things. I do not have his skill. I never did, and it vexed him. I did my best to learn all I was taught but I am better on the business side than the tailoring side. He came to accept that, thank God, because he was such a good and loving father, but –” He screwed up his face for a moment, before forcing himself to continue. “Mr Roper and his machines he could not abide. And so I deceived him in my friendship with Mr Roper. He and I began to work together to see if we could not construct a viable sewing machine. There have been a few attempts already in France, and we thought it would be an excellent thing if we could beat them to it.”

  “And did you make much progress?”

  “It was a frustrating task. Mr Roper was a brilliant man, but he was not easy to work with. We had got somewhere, I think, but then he found out that Sarah and I had become engaged, and that was the end of it. I was banished from the house and more especially the workshop. I still do not understand why, for he allowed us to spend a great deal of time together. I felt he was encouraging me at times, to court her, not that I needed to be encouraged. Perhaps that was it. I wanted it to be so.”

  “So you parted on bad terms from Mr Roper?”

  “Yes,” said Edwardes.

  “But you continued to see the young lady?”

  “Yes. We met at Mrs Steele’s and sometimes at the Minster for evensong.”

  “And did you tell your father about this?”

  “Yes, of course, and that was when it all became so unpleasant. He was glad to hear what Mr Roper had done. He told me that I could not consider Sarah a suitable wife and I had best forget her, because he would never consent to it. We quarrelled about it. He never would tell me what his objection was. It was not the machines nor her lack of money, nor her character. It was something else, and he would not tell me what it was. God forgive me, I have been so angry with him these last months! Our old friendship has been quite worn away – and we had been so close, all through my boyhood, for my mother died when I was ten and we were everything to each other, but now he is dead! I cannot ask him for forgiveness or get his blessing. I don’t even know why he would not take that wretched wound to be treated!”

  “When did you last see Mr Roper?” Giles asked.

  “Three weeks ago. I saw him in College Street. I stopped to say good morning, but he walked on without a word, as if I were not there.”

  “You have not been to the house in Oil Mill Lane recently?”

  Edwardes shook his head.

  “Not until you brought me there,” he said.

  “Does the name Williamson and Collworth mean anything to you?”

  “It is a worsted mill. We buy some of our cloth there.”

  “Did you know that Mr Roper had dealings with Mr Williamson over the development of the sewing machine?”

  “He did?”

  Giles nodded. “And with Mr Blake in Market Craven. They both gave him large sums of money towards the work over the last six months.”

  “It was six months and three days ago that he threw me out,” said Edwardes. “It was the day after Sarah’s twenty-first birthday.”

  “And you knew nothing of these dealings?”

  “No.”

  “And you took no money from Mr Roper?”

  “No. Rather I gave him some. Are you quite right in this, sir? That he was talking to these men?”

  “There’s no doubt of it. Did you give him much money?”

  “About a hundred pounds. I hoped that some of it would go to Sarah for housekeeping, for he kept her short. She was having to manage on pennies.”

  “And did he promise anything in return for the money?”

  “Yes, it was towards the machine. We were going to split the profits when it worked.”
/>
  “You had a written contract to this effect?”

  “No, it was just an agreement between gentlemen. We shook hands on it.” He scowled at the memory of it. “And he went to these men without a word to me about it.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Giles said. “That you knew nothing of this? After all, it would be provoking to discover such a betrayal of trust. A hundred pounds is a great deal of money, after all.”

  “No, I assure you I knew nothing.”

  “Did you tell Miss Roper about your working with her father?”

  “Of course. She knew what we were doing. She encouraged me to give him the money. Of course she wanted us to succeed. If we did, all our fortunes would have been made.”

  “And do you think it likely she knew about these other investors?”

  “If she had done, she would have told me, I am sure of it. She would have been horrified if she had found out such a thing.”

  “There is another matter I want to ask you about. Did you know she has taken out a great deal of life insurance against her father’s death?”

  “I know she has taken out some,” Edwardes said after a moment. “And that it involved some sacrifices to do so, but she was afraid for her future, of being left with nothing. There was no thought of profiting from his death.” He got up from his seat and said, “There is one thing I can tell you about all this, Major Vernon – that Sarah cannot be responsible for it. She would never hurt a fly, let alone her father, no matter how provoked she has been. Not even with this strange affliction of hers.”

  “Amy said she had seen her act violently.”

  “Amy will say anything that suits her,” Edwardes said. “There is no love between those two. It is unfortunate.”