Death in Hellfire

by Deryn Lake

  The poor child burst into tears, leaning against his shoulder. “I am so miserable,” she said between sobs.

  “There, there,” soothed Dominique, leaving John feeling quite awe-struck. “Come and have some refreshment. Everything will feel much better when you have had something to drink and removed your wet things.”

  Lady Dashwood gave her husband a dirty look but nonetheless came forward and prepared to act as hostess.

  “Come along, madam. You must get into something dry. Do you have luggage with you?”

  “No, I sent that on to London,” the girl snivelled.

  “Well, we shall find something for you. Walk this way.”

  And she led the Countess off into an inner sanctum. Charles lolled his head against John.

  “Thank you, my friend. You’ve done me a great service.” Gritting his teeth, the Apothecary eventually managed to find his Lordship’s bedroom and there laid Lord Arundel down on the huge four-poster bed.

  “Now, sir, I am going to look at that wound.”

  “No,” protested the other.

  “I’m sorry. I insist.”

  “What right have you?”

  “The right that I am an apothecary,” John answered, blowing caution to the breezes.

  And before there could be any further protests he stripped off Charles’s coat and shirt and looked for the wound. It was not there and, peering closely, John could see blood seeping through from lower down. He undid the top of his Lordship’s breeches. And there was a chancre, the small sbft swelling which occurred in the early stages of syphilis. It was close to the testes, very much as John had imagined. It had also had the top knocked off it and was bleeding.

  “My dear fellow, this is indeed serious. You must get this wound dressed,” he said. “Unfortunately I do not have my medical bag with me or I would do it for you.”

  Charles was looking at him beadily. “So you’re an apothecary, are you?”

  “Yes, sir. Trained in Dublin. I told you my father wanted all his boys to have a trade.”

  “I don’t believe a word you’re saying. I think your whole pretence of being Fintan O’Hare is utterly false.”

  “You can believe what you damn well like,” John retorted sharply. “I shall go and ask Lady Dashwood where she keeps her medicines and herbs and I shall return.”

  It was at that moment that the door opened and Coralie stood framed in the entrance. She looked both beautiful and deadly, her skin very white against the dark blue of her gown.

  “Charles,” she said, ignoring John, “what is this I hear about you not being well?”

  He made to cover the chancre but could not pull his breeches up in time. She looked at it with distaste.

  “I see,” she said. “I shall get a dressing.”

  John, suddenly annoyed with the pair of them, gave her a sweeping bow and said, “Madam, I will do that, if you have no objection.”

  She gave him a look and just for a second he read everything in her eyes; all her pain, all the suffering she had been forced to endure for the sake of her child.

  “Of course,” she said, and added low, “you are an apothecary after all.”

  Pacified, he snatched her hand to his lips, then bowed again. “If you could get your husband a drink,” he said, and left the room.

  Downstairs he found Dominique Jean, just following Sir Francis into the saloon. “Milord has asked me to stay the night because the weather is so terrible,” he said to John.

  “Absolutely yes. You too, O’Hare. I think we should have a few drinks to celebrate the last few days.”

  “How kind of you, sir. I will certainly accept your offer unless the weather improves. But first of all I must have a word with your wife if that is convenient.”

  Sir Francis nodded brusquely. “She is in the saloon with Lady Orpington. Go to her by all means.”

  John went into the grand room to see a very grey aspect from its commanding windows. The lake had turned the colour of slate and the sky was full of threat. Everything looked dismal in this light and he saw that despite the fact it was only early afternoon Lady Dashwood had ordered the candles to be lit. He also saw that the poor woman sat alone, working on some rather unappetising embroidery. Of Lady Orpington there was no sign.

  The Apothecary bowed and came straight to the point. “Madam, I need to dress a wound which Lord Arundel has incurred. Would you be so kind as to direct me to your medicines.”

  She laid down her sewing and stood up. “I shall attend him personally. There is no need to bother you, Mr O’Hare.”

  “There is every need, my Lady. The wound is of a personal nature and not fit for a woman’s eyes.”

  She actually went white. “Oh, I’m sorry. I had no idea. Please do come with me, sir.”

  She led .John out of the saloon and down a passageway until they came to a back staircase. This in turn led to the kitchens and beyond them a store room. Here Lady Dashwood opened a cupboard and said, “This is where I keep the household medicaments. I hope you will find what you need.”

  It was amply stocked with everyday physicks and even contained some suppositories which John looked at with curiosity. He sifted through a jar of ointment of Kidneywort for painful piles or swelling in the testicles, a decoction of the seeds of Fenugreek for women to sit upon in order to relieve hardness of the matrix, an infusion of Mugwort to help bring down the courses. Though these were of interest there was nothing which could really help Lord Arundel. Then he saw an ointment made of Mezereon Spurge and wondered if this were used in fact by Sir Francis. Seizing the jar John hurried up the back stairs and eventually found himself on the first floor. Going into Charles’s bedroom he saw that Coralie was there, leaning over her husband with a glass of water in her hand. She turned on hearing someone enter.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said. “Have you found anything?”

  “Yes, something very suitable.”

  He said no more but spread the ointment on a piece of bandage and placed it carefully on the wound which still bled slightly.

  Charles opened his eyes. “Thank you, my friend. I trust that you will not speak of this to anyone in the house.”

  “You can trust me to keep quiet, I can assure you.” The Apothecary straightened up and went to wash his hands, pouring some water from a ewer. Over his shoulder he said, “May I speak with you privately, Lady Arundel?”

  “Yes,” she answered, gliding towards him silently.

  “Outside,” he mouthed, and she nodded her head to show that she had understood.

  They went onto the landing and she turned to John immediately. “My husband has the pox, you know that?”

  “Yes.” He looked at her earnestly. “Have you been infected?” She shook her head. “No. I haven’t slept with him for a year. It was at that time that he picked up some wretched creature who gave him the disease. I found out and refused to have anything further to do with him.”

  “And Georgiana?”

  “She is clear.”

  John thought of the story that Dominique had told him and wondered privately if the child had been corrupted by the father. He turned to look at Coralie, taking hold of one of her arms in his anxiety.

  “Why did you marry him, Coralie? I beg you to tell me.” She turned her head away and said softly, “Because I felt sorry for him.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Yes. He once was young and gauche, even inclined to be spotty. He saw me acting in some play or other and came after me in hot pursuit. At first he bored me but eventually his vulnerability became so obvious that I felt myself softening towards him.”

  “So it wasn’t for the title or the money?”

  She laughed scornfully. “How could you think that of me? You, who once loved me? Do you regard me as so base that I would do such a thing? I had plenty of money of my own; a title means nothing to me. To me it is up to each individual to make the best of themselves, and those are the only people that I admire and respect. But Charles was like a chi
ld; a pathetic, needy child. That is why I married him. Because he had need of me.”

  “And I did hot?” said John with immense sadness.

  She gave a bitter laugh. “No, you never did. You were always so independent, so self-assured. You and Sir John Fielding were a unit that it was impossible to break.”

  “And did you want to break it?”

  “Of course not. But I could have done with more attention.”

  “I asked you to marry me, Coralie.”

  She opened her mouth to reply but the words never came. Running down the corridor, wearing a night-rail several sizes too large for her, her feet bare and her hair down, came the Countess of Orpington.

  “Where is Charles?” she said to the Apothecary pleadingly. “I’ve got to see him. I must speak with him.”

  “Madam,” said John, extremely formally, “may I present to you Lady Arundel, the gentlemen in question’s wife.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lady Orpington barely swept Coralie a curtsey, in fact she did not even look at her. John felt rather than saw the actress’s annoyance.

  “I must see Charlie,” the girl babbled on. “If he is ill I must go to him.”

  “How do you do, Lady Orpington,” Coralie answered icily. “I trust I find you well. I’m afraid my husband is resting at present and cannot be disturbed.”

  “But he will see me,” the Countess said. Then, raising her voice, shouted, “Charlie, Charlie, forgive me. I love you. I want to see you, my darling.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” snapped Coralie, losing her temper and her patience simultaneously, “go away, you meddlesome creature. You are welcome to have my husband at any time you wish but not when the poor devil is trying to get some sleep. Now be off with you.”

  At that moment, running up the main staircase, clearly alarmed by the shouting, came Dominique. He bowed to Coralie.

  “My dear madam, what is happening?”

  “The Countess of Orpington is behaving very badly,” said the actress, not mincing her words. “If you could remove her, Monsieur Jean, you would be doing us all a great favour.”

  “It will be my pleasure to attempt to do so, madam.” Very gently he took hold of Lady Orpington’s arm. “Would it be possible, my dear lady, to know your first name?” His voice had adopted an almost hypnotic quality, much aided by his wonderful French accent. “That is if you have no objection to telling me.”

  She looked at him through tears, though whether they were being wept because of genuine sorrow for her lover or just plain frustration it was difficult to tell.

  “It is Arabella,” she replied coldly.

  Dominique kissed his fingertips and gave her a deep look. “How charming. What a delight.”

  “But only intimate friends use it…”

  “Like Charlie,” Coralie interrupted sarcastically.

  Lady Orpington gave her a chilly look but made no response.

  “Would it also be in order for you to accompany me downstairs,” Dominique continued blandly, “because Sir Francis Dashwood is most anxious for you to rejoin him.”

  “I shall go down,” the girl replied with dignity, “because you wish me to and I have no desire to make a scene in a strange house…”

  A little late for that, thought John.

  “…but I shall return later and look in on the Marquess of Arundel.”

  And with that she turned on her heel and stalked downstairs, Dominique following calmly behind her.

  Dinner that early evening was one of the most strained occasions that John had ever attended. Little Georgiana was there, her hair flowing round her shoulders like a cascade. She sat in silence, looking at her plate, not catching the eye of any of the adults. Coralie, her mother, sat opposite her, beautiful but drawn, her face almost a mask that even John, who knew her better than any other at the table, could not penetrate. Beside him, wearing one of Lady Dashwood’s gowns which ill became her, was the young Countess of Orpington. She had got a grip on herself and was putting up a creditable performance, though Sir Francis kept shooting glances at her and winking his eye, which glistened in his rubicund face like a jewel. Dominique was also at table, looking very different from when he was arrayed for work in a smart suit of clothes, discreetly but effectively embroidered with silver thread. John could not help but wonder how poor, sick Charles Arundel, whose future looked grim indeed, could be faring.

  As if reading his thoughts, Lady Dashwood said, “I shall get some soup sent up to poor Lord Arundel.”

  She sat at the right of Sir Francis, trying desperately to make small talk, and the Apothecary felt his heart go out to her. Nobody was in the mood for conversation, except for the host who was enjoying his wine and his recent memories. But the rest sat in silence, the sound of cutlery banging on plates enhanced, the noise of the rain beating down outside like that of distant drums. John felt himself getting more and more depressed and longed to be back at the George and Dragon, recounting everything to Samuel, who would sit listening to him, large-eyed and faithful as ever. Yet he knew that to set off in these conditions would be disastrous. Then an idea struck him. He turned to Dominique.

  “Is your carriage not here, my friend?”

  “Alas, no. It is being repaired in the village. Today I paid regard to my health and walked here and I am rewarded by a thunderstorm.”

  He rolled his eyes and looked terribly Gallic and John smiled.

  At the sound of their voices the others tried to make desultory conversation and Lady Orpington said, “I was heading for Oxford, don’t you know, but I lost my way and ended up here. I do trust you will forgive my intrusion, Lady Dashwood.”

  Sir Francis boomed a laugh. “Yes, strange how one road can look like another. Strange, too, how signposts are often turned to point in the wrong direction. I mean to say, Oxford is rather difficult to find, what?”

  He exploded with mirth, a laugh in which nobody else joined at all.

  “Quite so,” said his wife in her dull tones. “I think it was most unfortunate for you, my dear, to lose your direction on such a terrible day. Never mind. It will probably rain itself out overnight and you will be able to leave in the morning.”

  The Countess nodded and said, “I hope so,” in a voice that utterly lacked conviction.

  Coralie looked up. “So we are all to stay here overnight?”

  “Indeed yes,” answered Lady Dashwood. “Mr Jean, if you would not mind having a spare bed in the servants wing.”

  “Me, I sleep anywhere. Of course I do not mind.”

  “And you, Mr O’Hare, will be in the small guest bedroom at the eastern end of the house.”

  “Thank you, Lady Dashwood,” John answered solemnly. He turned to look at Georgiana, who so far had sat absolutely mute. “Well, my dear, have you had a pleasant day?”

  She regarded him, her face pale and almost haggard looking. “I went riding this morning but after it started to rain I did painting in my room.”

  “How interesting,” he found himself saying. “I would like to see some of your pictures.”

  “I will show you,” she answered and ceased to look at him, clearly indicating that the conversation was at an end.

  Yet again John wondered that such a silent child could be the product of that most vocal of women, Coralie Clive. Then he thought of Georgiana’s history, of the strong possibility of molestation at the hands of her father, and regretted his thoughts.

  Lady Dashwood was making a move to rise. “Ladies, if you would like to follow me we will withdraw.”

  Coralie got up and took her daughter firmly by the hand; the Countess of Orpington, looking terribly young, came up behind them.

  As soon as the door closed behind them, Sir Francis said, “Now, lads, lets get down to some serious drinking.”

  John could only marvel at the stamina of the man. He was no youngster yet he had ridden back from Medmenham Abbey after a night, no doubt, of total debauchery. And he had then proceeded to cope with the unexpect
ed arrival of the Countess, the sickness of Charles Arundel, whilst simultaneously getting comfortably drunk. And here he was instructing Dominique and John to join him in serious drinking. It was Dominique who, after finishing one glass of port, stood up.

  “Forgive me, sir, but I have worked hard today and I am feeling tired. If you would be kind enough to excuse me. I shall, of course, say goodnight to your wife.”

  John made this his moment. “I, too, am exhausted, Sir Francis. Will you forgive me if I leave you also?”

  “I don’t know what it is with you youngsters. You’ve got water in your veins, not blood. I’d have taken you for a drinking man, O’Hare.”

  The Apothecary winked an eye. “Forgive me, sir. I would normally have joined you but the excesses of last night are catching up with me. I really must to my bed. I, too, will bid your wife…”

  But here his words were stopped for once more there came a thunderous knocking on the front door.

  “God’s wounds, whoever can that be?” exclaimed Sir Francis, signing the other two to be silent while he listened for sounds from the hall.

  There was the noise of the door being opened and then a man’s voice said, “Is Sir Francis Dashwood at home?”

  “I shall see, sir.”

  “Don’t give me that, you rogue. Out of my way, damn you.” There was the sound of confusion and the next minute the door of the dining room flew open and a red-faced man of aristocratic mien stood in the entrance.

  “I’m the Earl of Orpington,” he announced angrily, “and I have reason to believe that my wife is at present hiding under your roof.”

  Sitting up in bed an hour later, John thought that it had been Dominique who had saved the day. He had risen to his feet, bowed, and said in a pronounced French accent, “Monsieur le Duc…” an oversight which could be forgiven in the circumstances, “…votre bonne femme est ici. Ze poor lady lost ‘er way and ‘aving knowledge of Sir Francis’s house she came ‘ere for protection.”

  “A likely story,” her husband had fumed.

  He was an unattractive creature to say the very least.