The Space Machine

i

The staff of the Devonshire Arms were in the habit—presumably at Mrs Anson’s instruction—of sprinkling the shades of the oil-lamps with eau de cologne. This had the effect of infusing a cloying perfume through the first floor of the hotel, one so persistent that even now I cannot smell cologne without being reminded of the place.

On this evening, though, I thought I detected a different fragrance as I climbed the stairs. It was drier, less sickly, more redolent of herbs than Mrs Anson’s perfumes… but then I could smell it no more, and I went on into my room and closed the door.

I lit the two oil-lamps in my room, then tidied my appearance in front of the mirror. I knew I had alcohol on my breath, so I brushed my teeth, then sucked a peppermint lozenge. I shaved, combed my hair and moustache, and put on a clean shirt.

When this was done I placed an easy chair beside the door, and moved a table towards it. On this I placed one of the lamps, and blew out the other. As an afterthought I took one of Mrs Anson’s bath-towels, and folded it over the arm of the chair. Then I was ready.

I sat down, and opened a novel.

More than an hour passed, during which although I sat with the book on my knee, I read not one word. I could hear the gentle murmur of conversation drifting up from the downstairs rooms, but all else was still.

At last I heard a light tread on the stairs, and at once I was ready. I put aside the book, and draped the bath-towel over my arm. I waited until the footsteps had passed my door, and then I let myself out.

In the dim light of the corridor I saw a female figure, and as she heard me she turned. It was a chambermaid, carrying a hot water bottle in a dark-red cover.

“Good evening, sir,” she said, making a small sullen curtsey in my direction, then continued on her way.

I went across the corridor into the bath-room, closed the door, counted to one hundred slowly, and then returned to my room.

Once more I waited, this time in considerably greater agitation than before.

Within a few minutes I heard another tread on the stairs, this time rather heavier. Again I waited until the footsteps had passed before emerging. It was Hughes, on his way to his room. We nodded to each other as I opened the door of the bath-room.

When I returned to my own room I was growing angry with myself for having to resort to such elaborate preparations and minor deceptions. But I was determined to go through with this in the way I had planned.

On the third occasion I heard footsteps I recognized Dykes’s tread, as he bounded up taking two steps at a time… I was thankful not to have to go through the charade with the bath-towel.

Another half-hour passed and I was beginning to despair, wondering if I had miscalculated. After all, Miss Fitzgibbon might well be staying in Mrs Anson’s private quarters; I had no reason to suppose that she would have been allocated a room on this floor. At length, though, I was in luck. I heard a soft tread on the staircase, and this time when I looked down the corridor I saw the retreating back of a tall young woman. I tossed the towel back into my room, snatched up my samples-case, closed the door quietly and followed her.

If she was aware that I was behind her, she showed no sign of it. She walked to the very end of the corridor, to where a small staircase led upwards. She turned, and climbed the steps.

I hastened to the end of the corridor, and as I reached the bottom of the steps I saw that she was on the point of inserting a key into the door. She looked down at me.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” I said. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Turnbull, Edward Turnbull.”

As she regarded me I felt immensely foolish, peering up at her from the bottom of the steps. She said nothing, but nodded slightly at me.

“Do I have the pleasure of addressing Miss Fitzgibbon?” I went on. “Miss A. Fitzgibbon?”

“That is I,” she said, in a pleasant, well modulated voice.

“Miss Fitzgibbon, I know you will think this an extraordinary request, but I have something here I think will be of interest to you. I wondered if I might show it to you?”

For a moment she said nothing, but continued to stare down at me. Then she said: “What is it, Mr Turnbull?”

I glanced along the corridor, fearing that at any moment another of the guests would appear.

I said: “Miss Fitzgibbon, may I come up to you?”

“No, you may not. I shall come down.”

She had a large leather hand-bag, and she placed this on the tiny landing beside her door. Then, raising her skirt slightly, she came slowly down the steps towards me.

When she stood before me in the corridor, I said: “I will not detain you for more than a few moments. It was most fortunate that you should be staying in this hotel.”

While I spoke I had crouched down on the floor, and was fumbling with the catch of my samples-case. The lid came open, and I took out one of the Visibility Protection Masks. I stood up,’ holding it in my hand, and noticed that Miss Fitzgibbon was regarding me curiously. There was something about her forthright gaze that was most disconcerting.

She said: “What do you have there, Mr Turnbull?”

“I call it the Visibility Protection Mask,” I said. She made no reply, so I went on in some confusion: “You see, it is suited for passengers as well as the driver, and can be removed at a moment’s notice.”

At this, the young lady stepped back from me, and seemed to be about to ascend the steps once more.

“Please wait!” I said… “I am not explaining very well.”

“Indeed you are not. What is it you have in your hand, and why should it be of such interest to me that you accost me in an hotel corridor?”

Her expression was so cold and formal I did not know how to phrase my words. “Miss Fitzgibbon, I understand that you are in the employ of Sir William Reynolds?”

She nodded to confirm this, so at once I stuttered out an account of how I felt sure he would be interested in my Mask.

“But you have still not told me what it is.”

“It keeps grit out of one’s eyes when motoring,” I said, and on a sudden impulse I raised the Mask to my eyes’, and held it in place with my hands. At this the young lady laughed abruptly, but I felt that it was not an unkind laughter.

“They are motoring goggles!” she said. “Why .did you not say?”

“You have seen them before?” I said in surprise.

“They are common in America.”

“Then Sir William already possesses some?” I said.

“No … but he probably feels he does not need them.”

I crouched down again, hunting through my samples-case.

“There is a ladies’ model,” I said, searching anxiously through the various products that I kept in my case. At last I found the smaller variety that Mr Westerman’s factory had produced, and stood up, holding it out to her. In my haste I inadvertently knocked my case, and a pile of photograph albums, wallets and writing-cases spilled on the floor. “You may try this on, Miss Fitzgibbon. It’s made of the best kid.”

As I looked again at the young lady, I thought for a moment that her laughter was continuing, but she held her face perfectly seriously.

“I’m not sure that I need—”

“I assure you that it is comfortable to wear.”

My earnestness at last won through, for she took the leather goggles from me.

“There’s an adjustable strap,” I said. “Please try it on.”

I bent down once more, and thrust my spilled samples back into the case. As I did so, I glanced down the corridor again.

When I stood up, Miss Fitzgibbon had raised the Mask to her forehead, and was trying to connect the strap. The large, flowered hat that she was wearing made this exceptionally difficult. If I had felt foolish at the beginning of this interview, then it was nothing to what I now felt. My impulsive nature and awkwardness of manner had led me to a situation of the most embarrassing kind. Miss Fitzgibbon was clearly trying to humour me, and as she fumbled with the clasp I wished I had the strength to snatch the goggles away from her and run shamefacedly to my room. Instead, I stood lamely before her, watching her efforts with the strap. She was wearing a patient smile.

“It appears to have become caught in my hair, Mr Turnbull.”

She tugged at the strap, but frowned as the hairs were pulled. I wanted to help her in some way, but I was too nervous of her.

She tugged again at the strap, but the metal clasp was tangled in the strands of hair.

At the far end of the corridor I heard the sound of voices, and the creak of the wooden staircase. Miss Fitzgibbon heard the sounds too, for she also looked that way.

“What am I to do?” she said softly. “I cannot be found with this in my hair.”

She pulled again, but winced.

“May I help?” I said, reaching forward.

A shadow appeared on the wall by the top of the staircase, thrown by the lamps in the hallway.

“We will be discovered at any moment!” said Miss Fitzgibbon, the goggles swinging beside her face. “We had better step into my room for a few minutes.”

The voices were coming closer.

“Your room?” I said in astonishment. “Do you not want a chaperone? After all—”

“Whom would you propose to chaperone me?” said Miss Fitzgibbon. “Mrs Anson?”

Raising her skirt again, she hurried up the steps towards the door. After hesitating another second or two I took up my samples-case, holding the lid down with my hand, and followed. I waited while the young lady unlocked the door, and a moment later we were inside.

ii

The room was larger than mine, and more comfortable. There were two gas-mantles against the wall, and when Miss Fitzgibbon turned them up the room was filled with a bright, warm radiance. A coal fire burned in the grate, and the windows were richly curtained with long, velvet drapes. In one comer there was a large French bedstead, with the covers turned down. Most of the space, however, was given over to furniture which would not have looked out of place in the average parlour, with a chaise longue, two easy chairs, several rugs, an immense dresser, a bookcase and a small table.

I stood nervously by the door, while Miss Fitzgibbon went to a mirror and untangled the goggles from her hair. She placed these on the table.

When she had removed her hat, she said: “Please sit down, Mr Turnbull.”

I looked at the goggles. “I think I should leave now.”

Miss Fitzgibbon was silent, listening to the sound of the voices as they passed the bottom of the stairs.

“Perhaps it would be as well if you stayed a little longer,” she said. “It would not do for you to be seen leaving my room at this late hour.”

I laughed politely with her, but I must confess to being considerably taken aback by such a remark.

I sat down in one of the easy chairs beside the table and Miss Fitzgibbon went to the fireplace and poked the coals so that they flared up more brightly.

“Please excuse me for a moment,” she said. As she passed me I sensed that she had about her a trace of the herbal fragrance I had noticed earlier. She went through an inner door, and closed it.

I sat silently, cursing my impulsive nature. I was sorely embarrassed by this incident, for Miss Fitzgibbon clearly had no need for, nor interest in, my motoring Mask. The notion that she would persuade Sir William to experiment with my goggles was even more unlikely. I had annoyed and compromised her, for if Mrs Anson, or indeed anyone else in the hotel, should discover that I had been alone in her room at night, then the young lady’s reputation would be permanently marked.

When Miss Fitzgibbon returned, some ten minutes later, I heard the sound of a cistern hissing in the next room, and surmised that it must be a private bath-room. This seemed to be so, for Miss Fitzgibbon had apparently renewed her maquillage, and her hair was arranged differently, so that the tight bun she had been wearing had been loosened to allow some strands of her hair to fall about her shoulders. As she moved past me to sit in the other chair I noticed that the herbal fragrance was more noticeable.

She sat down, and leaned back with a sigh. Her behaviour towards me was entirely without ceremony.

“Well, Mr Turnbull,” she said. “I find I owe you,. an apology. I’m sorry I was stuffy to you outside.”

“It is I who should apologize,” I said at once. “I—”

“It was a natural reaction, I’m afraid,” she went on, as if she had not heard me. “I’ve just spent the last four hours with Mrs Anson, and she seems never to be at a loss for words.”

“I felt sure you were a friend of hers,” I said.

“She has’ appointed herself my guardian and mentor. I accept a lot of advice from her.” Miss Fitzgibbon stood up again, and went to the dresser and produced two glasses. “I know you drink, Mr Turnbull, for I have smelled your breath. Would you care for a glass of brandy?”

“Thank you, yes,” I said, swallowing hard.

She poured some brandy from a metal flask which she took from her hand-bag, and placed the two glasses on the table between us. “Like you, Mr Turnbull, I sometimes find the need for fortification.”

She sat down again. We raised glasses, and sipped the drink.

“You have lapsed into silence,” she said. “I hope I have not alarmed you.”

I stared at her helplessly, wishing that I had never set out on this naive enterprise.

“Do you come to, Skipton frequently?” she said. “About two or three times a year. Miss Fitzgibbon, I think I should bid you good-night. It is not proper for me to be here with you alone.”

“But I still haven’t discovered why you were so eager to show me your goggles.”

“I felt you might influence Sir William to consider trying them.”

She nodded her understanding. “And you are a goggles salesman?”

’No, Miss Fitzgibbon. You see, the firm I am employed by is a manufacturer of’…”

My voice had tailed away, for I had heard in the same instant the sound that now clearly distracted Miss Fitzgibbon. We had both heard, just beyond the door, a creaking of floorboards.

Miss Fitzgibbon raised a finger to her lips, and we sat in anguished silence. A few moments later there was a sharp and peremptory rapping on the door!

iii

“MissFitzgibbon!” It was Mrs Anson’s voice.

I stared desperately at my new friend.

“What shall we do?” I whispered. “If I am found here at this hour. …”

“Keep quiet … leave it to me.”

From outside, again: “Miss Fitzgibbon!”

She moved quickly to the far side of the room, and stood beside the bed.

“What is it, Mrs Anson?” she called, in a faint, tired-seeming voice.

There was a short silence. Then: “Has the maid brought a hot water bottle to your room?”

“Yes, thank you. I am already abed.”

“With the lamps still alight, Miss Fitzgibbon?”

The young lady pointed desperately at the door,and waved her hands at me. I understood immediately, and moved quickly to one side so that I could not be seen through the keyhole.

“I am doing a little reading, Mrs Anson. Good night to you.”

There was another silence from beyond the door, during which I felt I must surely shout aloud to break the tension!

“I thought I heard the sound of a man’s voice,” said Mrs Anson.

“I am quite alone,” said Miss Fitzgibbon. I saw that her face was flushing red, although whether it was from embarrassment or anger I could not tell.

“I don’t think I am mistaken.”

“Please wait a moment,” said Miss Fitzgibbon.

She crept over to me, and raised her mouth until it was beside my ear.

“I shall have to let her in,” she whispered. “I know what to do. Please turn your back.”

“what?” I said in astonishment.

“Turn your back … please!”

I stared at her in anguish for a moment longer, then did as she said. I heard her move away from me towards the wardrobe, and then there came the sound of her pulling at the clasps and buttons of her gown. I closed my eyes firmly, covering them with my hand. The enormity of my situation was without parallel.

I heard the wardrobe door close, and then felt the touch of a hand on my arm. I looked: Miss Fitzgibbon was standing beside me, a long striped flannel dressing-gown covering her. She had taken the pins from her hair so that it fell loosely about her face.

“Take these,” she whispered, thrusting the two brandy-glasses into my hands. “Wait inside the bath-room.”

“Miss Fitzgibbon, I really must insist!” said Mrs Anson.

I stumbled towards the bath-room door. As I did so I glanced back and saw Miss Fitzgibbon throwing back the covers of the bed and crumpling the linen and bolster. She took my samples-case, and thrust it under the chase longue. I went inside the bath-room and closed the door. In the dark I leaned back against the door frame, and felt my hands trembling.

The outer door was opened.

“Mrs Anson, what is it you want?”

I heard Mrs Anson march into the room… I could imagine her glaring suspiciously about, and I waited for the moment of her irruption into the bath-room.

“Miss Fitzgibbon, it is very late. Why are you not yet asleep?”

“I am doing some reading. Had you not knocked when you did, I dare say I should be asleep at this moment.”

“I distinctly heard a male voice.”

“But you can see… I am alone. Could it not have been from the next room?”

“It came from in here.”

“Were you listening at the door?”

“Of course not! I was passing down the lower corridor on the way to my own room.”

“Then you could easily have been mistaken. I too have heard voices.”

The tone of Mrs Anson’s words changed suddenly. “My dear Amelia, I am concerned only for your well-being. You do not know these commercial men as well as I. You are young and innocent, and I am responsible for your safety.”

“I’m twenty-two years of age, Mrs Anson and I am responsible for my safety. Now please leave me, as I wish to go to sleep.”

Again, Mrs Anson’s tone changed. “How do I know you’re not deceiving me?”

“Look around, Mrs Anson!” Miss Fitzgibbon came to the bath-room door, and threw it open. It banged against my shoulder, but served to conceal me behind it. “Look everywhere! Would you care to inspect my wardrobe? Or would you prefer to peer under my bed?”

“There is no need for unpleasantness, Miss Fitzgibbon. I am quite prepared to take your word.”

“Then kindly leave me in peace, as I have had a long day at work, and I wish to go to sleep.”

There was a short silence. Then Mrs Anson said: “Very well, Amelia. Good night to you.”

“Good night, Mrs Anson.”

I heard the woman walk from the room, and down the stairs outside. There was a much longer silence, and then I heard the outer door close.

Miss Fitzgibbon came to the bath-room, and leaned weakly against the door-post.

“She’s gone,” she said.

iv

Miss Fitzgibbon took one of the glasses from me, and swallowed the brandy.

“Would you like some more?” she said softly.

“Yes, please.”

The flask was now nearly empty, but we shared what remained.

I looked at Miss Fitzgibbon’s face, pale in the gaslight, and wondered if I looked as ashen.

“I must leave at once, of course,” I said.

She shook her head. “You would be seen. Mrs Anson wouldn’t dare come to the room again, but she will not go straight to bed.”

“Then what can I do?”

“We’ll have to wait. I should think if you leave in about an hour’s time she will no longer be around.”

“We are behaving as if we are guilty,” I said. “Why can I not go now, and tell Mrs Anson the truth of the matter?”

“Because we have already resorted to deception, and she has seen me in my nightwear.”

“Yes, of course.”

“I shall have to turn off the gaslights, as if I have gone to bed. There is a small oil-lamp, and we can sit by that.” She indicated, a folding dressing-screen. “If you would move that in front of the door, Mr Turnbull, it will mask the light and help subdue our voices.”

“I’ll move it at once,” I said.

Miss Fitzgibbon put another lump of coal on the fire, lit the oil-lamp, and turned off the gas-mantles.

I helped her move the two easy chairs towards the fireplace, then placed the lamp on the mantelpiece.

“Do you mind waiting a while?” she asked me.

“I should prefer to leave,” I said uncomfortably, “but I think you are right. I should not care to face Mrs Anson at this moment.”

“Then please try to be less agitated.”

I said: “Miss Fitzgibbon, I should feel much more relaxed if you would put on your clothes again.”

“But beneath this gown I am wearing my underclothing.” “Even so.”

I went into the bath-room for a few minutes, and when I returned she had replaced her dress. Her hair was still loose, though, which I found pleasing, for I felt her face was better suited when framed in this way.

As I sat down, she said tome: “Can I ask one more favour of you, without further shocking you?”

“What is that?”

“I will be more at ease during the next hour if you would stop addressing me by my surname. My name is Amelia.”

“I know,” I said. “I heard Mrs Anson. I am Edward.” “You are so formal, Edward.”

“I can’t help it,” I said. “It is what I am used to.”

The tension had left me, and I felt very tired. Judging by the way Miss Fitzgibbon—or Amelia—was sitting, she felt the same. The abandonment of formal address was a similar relaxation, as if Mrs Anson’s abrupt intrusion had swept aside the normal courtesies. We had suffered, and survived, a potential catastrophe and it had drawn us together.

“Do you think that Mrs Anson suspected I was here, Amelia?” I said.

She glanced shrewdly at me. “No, she knew you were here.”

“Then I have compromised you!”

“It is I who have compromised you. The deception was of my own invention.”

I said: “You’re very candid. I don’t think I have ever met anyone like you.”

“Well, in spite of your stuffiness, Edward, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you before.”

v

Now that the worst was over, and the rest could be dealt with in good time, I found that I was able to enjoy the intimacy of the situation. Our two chairs were close together in warmth and semi-darkness, the brandy was glowing within, and the light from the oil-lamp laid subtle and pleasing highlights on Amelia’s features. All this made me reflective in a way that had nothing whatsoever. to do with the circumstances that had brought us together. She seemed to me to be a person of wonderful beauty and presence of mind, and the thought of leaving her when my hour’s wait was over was too unwelcome to contemplate.

At first it was I who led the conversation, talking a little of myself. I explained how my parents had emigrated to America soon after I had left school, and that since then I had lived alone while working for Mr Westerman.

“You never felt any desire to go with your parents to America?” Amelia said.

“I was very tempted. They write to me frequently, and America seems to be an exciting country. But I felt that I scarcely knew England, and that I should like to live my own life here for a while, before joining them.”

“And do you know England any better now?”

“Hardly,” I said. “Although I spend my weeks outside London, I spend most of my time in hotels like this.”

With this, I enquired politely of her own background.

She told me that her parents were dead—there had been a sinking at sea while she was still a child—and that since then she had been under the legal guardianship of Sir William. He and her father had been friends since their own schooldays, and in her father’s will this wish had been expressed.

“So you also live at Reynolds House?” I said. “It is not merely employment?”

“I am paid a small wage for my work, but Sir William has made a suite of rooms in one of the wings available to me.”

“I should greatly like to meet Sir William,” I said, fervently.

“So that he may try your goggles in your presence?” Amelia said.

“I am regretting that I brought them to you.”

“And I am glad you did. You have inadvertently enlivened my evening. I was beginning to suspect that Mrs Anson was the only person in this hotel, so tight was her hold on me Anyway, I’m sure Sir William will consider purchasing your goggles, even though he does not drive his horseless carriage these days.”

I looked at her in surprise. “But I understood Sir William was a keen motorist Why has he lost interest?”

“He is a scientist, Edward. His invention is prolific, and he is constantly turning to new devices.”

In this way we conversed for a long time, and the longer we spoke the more relaxed I became. Our subjects were inconsequential for the most part,. dwelling on our past lives and experiences. I soon learnt that Amelia was much better travelled than me, having accompanied Sir William on some of his overseas journeys. She told me of her visit to New York, and to Dresden and Leipzig, and I was greatly interested.

At last the fire burned down, and we had drunk the last of the brandy.

I said, regretfully: “Amelia, do you think I should now return to my room?”

For a moment her expression did not change, but then she smiled briefly and to my surprise laid her hand gently on my arm.

“Only if you wish to,” she said.

“Then I think I shall stay a few minutes longer.”

Immediately I said this I regretted it. In spite of her friendly gesture I felt that we had spoken enough of the matters that interested us, and that further delay was only an admission of the considerable degree of distraction her nearness to me was causing. I had no idea how long it was since Mrs Anson had left us—and to take out my watch would have been Unpardonable—but I felt sure that it must be much more than the hour we had agreed. Further delay was improper.

Amelia had not removed her hand from my arm.

“We must speak again, Edward,” she said. “Let us meet m London one evening; perhaps you would invite me to join you for dinner. Then, without having to hush our voices, we can talk to our hearts’ content.”

I said: “When are you returning to Surrey?”

“I think it will be tomorrow afternoon.”

“I shall be in town during the day. Will you join me for luncheon? There is a small inn on the Ilkley road…”

“Yes, Edward. I shall enjoy that”

“Now I had better return.” I took my watch from my pocket, and saw that an hour and a half had elapsed since Mrs Anson’s intrusion. “I’m very sorry to have talked for so long.”

Amelia said nothing, but simply shook her head slowly.

I took my samples-case, and walked quietly to the door. Amelia stood up too, and blew out the oil4amp.

“I’ll help you with the screen,” she said.

The only illumination in the room was from the dying embers of the fire. I saw Amelia silhouetted against the glow as she came towards me. Together we shifted the folding screen to one side, then I turned the handle of the door. All was still and silent beyond. Suddenly, in that great quietness I wondered how well the screen had muffled our voices, and whether in fact our innocent liaison had been overheard by more than one other person.

I turned back to her.

“Good night, Miss Fitzgibbon,” I said.

Her hand touched my arm again, and I felt a warmth of breath on my cheek. Her lips touched me for a fraction of a second.

“Good night, Mr Turnbull.” Her fingers tightened on my arm, then she moved back and her door closed silently.

vi

My room and bed were cold, and I could not sleep. I lay awake all night, my thoughts circling endlessly around subjects that could not be further removed from my immediate surroundings. In the morning, surprisingly alert in spite of my sleeplessness, I was first down to the breakfast-room, and as I sat at my usual table the head waiter approached me.

“Mrs Anson’s compliments, sir,” he said. “Would you kindly attend to this directly you have finished breakfast?”

I opened the slim brown envelope and found that it contained my account. When I left the breakfast-room I discovered that my luggage had been packed, and was ready for me in the entrance hall. The head waiter took my money, and conducted me to the door. None of the other guests had seen me leave; there had been no sign of Mrs Anson. I stood in the sharp cool of the morning air, still stunned by the abruptness of my enforced departure.

After a while I carried my bags to the station and deposited them at the luggage office. I stayed in the vicinity of the hotel all day, but saw no sign of Amelia. At midday I went to the inn on the Ilkley road, but she did not appear. As evening drew on I went back to the station, and caught the last train of the day to London.