Death in Hellfire

by Deryn Lake

  John, silently admiring the man’s poise, answered, “Because the wretched fellow owed you money. You told me so yourself.” Dominique shrugged. “Everyone owes me money. It is one of the risks I take. But to be honest in this instance it was my late father-in-law Pierre Langlois who was the creditor. I am hardly likely to commit a murder on his behalf.”

  He smiled disarmingly and John found himself half believing him.

  “True enough,” he said.

  Samuel put in, “I should say not.”

  “And now, sir, if you have finished quizzing me I think I will go and make myself presentable before I return to the big house to say farewell. I have an early start tomorrow morning.”

  John wished at that moment that he had the power to instruct Dominique to wait, that he could order him to stay until the mystery had been cleared up, but knew that such an act would be treated with contempt. Instead he rose to his feet and bowed to the Frenchman.

  “My dear sir, we shall miss your company. But I am sure that you will be glad to return to London.”

  “I am going on to Rousham Park to see about an order first, so I will not be completely out of your way yet awhile.”

  “I see. So who is running your business now that Pierre Langlois is dead?”

  “His widow, my mother-in-law, Tracey Langlois. A formidable woman indeed.”

  John smiled, remembering another more recent girl of the same name, though admittedly she had called herself Teresa. “So if we need you we can write to you at Rousham Park?” The Frenchman flashed him a brilliant grin. “Yes, if you want to accuse me of the murder. I shall be there three days or so. After that you can contact me at the business in Tottenham Court Road.”

  And with that somewhat daunting remark he bowed politely to John and Samuel and left the room. As soon as he was gone the Goldsmith turned to his friend.

  “Well, what do you think? Was that just a good performance?”

  “It could have been but, if so, it was polished to the hilt.”

  “Ah, but what else could you expect. After all he’s French,” Samuel replied, and there the matter was laid to rest.

  At midday John and Samuel rode on horseback to West Wycombe Park, the Goldsmith full of admiration for the beauty of the place. They went in by the eastern entrance and in this way passed the River Wye, the cascade and the lake itself. Hidden by trees as they were, John dismounted and led Samuel to the actual spot where he had discovered Lord Arundel. Perhaps it was his imagination but now the river had a forlorn and somehow desolate air, even the waters - usually so bright and sparkling - looked seal grey. The Apothecary gazed around him, wishing that the trees could speak. For what could have induced Charles Bravo, Marquess of Arundel, to come blundering out of the house and down to the lake on a night when even a cat would wish to be indoors? It must have been almost as if something had driven the man. Thoughts of demonic possession swept through John’s mind but were as rapidly dismissed.

  Samuel meanwhile was busy walking up and down the river bank, presumably searching for clues. Then suddenly he bent down and scooped something up.

  “What have you got there?” John asked.

  “A button. Come and have a look at it.”

  The Apothecary scrambled down the slope and stared at the object lying in Sam’s square hand. It was a very small button, pale blue, and could have belonged to either sex. As John looked at it he had a short burst of memory but it was too brief for him to form any cohesive ideas. The idea literally came into his head and left it again with equal speed. He turned to Sam who was looking at him with a somewhat anxious expression on his face.

  “Do you think it is useful?”

  “It could be. Keep it carefully.”

  They proceeded on to the house, walking their horses slowly side-by-side, to discover as they entered through the front door - which, for once, stood open - that a melee of sorts had broken out. Juliana Bravo was physically attacking her sister-in-law, Coralie, aided and abetted by that obnoxious brat, Lady Orpington. Lady Dashwood was making an enfeebled effort to intercede, watched by her husband who was clearly enjoying the spectacle, while the child, Georgiana, was howling her head off, occasionally swinging a small arm into the air. Meanwhile the Earl of Orpington had collapsed into a chair, looking as if he were about to have a heart attack, while the servants stood helplessly nearby waiting for a command from their master.

  John did not hesitate but swept himself into the fight, pushing Juliana, who was shrieking, “Murderess, murderess!” out of the way and standing firmly by Coralie’s side. Samuel promptly picked Lady Juliana up - receiving a violent kick in the shins for his pains - and carried her to the other end of the hall, where she beat him about the head with her hands. At that moment Dominique Jean appeared in the doorway and rushing up to the throng seized Arabella Orpington hard round the waist, knocking the wind out of her.

  “Oh, John,” said Coralie, her eyes full of tears, her icy facade totally shattered, “I can’t stand much more of this.”

  He turned to her, then was astonished to feel something wrap itself round his leg. Looking down he saw that Georgiana, her face wet and her nose running, had caught him in an octopus-like hold.

  “Help my mama,” she bleated.

  “Oh, my little angel,” said Coralie, and, weeping, picked the child up.

  “Well, here’s a how d’you do!” exclaimed Sir Francis. “Women fighting. Whatever next. Control yourself, madam, do.”

  He addressed this remark to Lady Juliana, still struggling with Samuel who now held her at arm’s length away from him. At the sound of his commanding voice she ceased to kick and Sam lowered her to the floor.

  “I’m sorry, Sir Francis,” she said breathlessly. “It is just that I cannot look at that woman, that actress, without feeling hatred rise like bile in my throat. She only married my brother for the title and money. She is nothing but a schemer and a bitch. And now to add to all her others crimes she has committed murder.”

  John, particularly furious because he had at one stage harboured many of the same thoughts, turned on Juliana like a whip.

  “Have a care, madam. There is such a thing as the law of slander and you have most certainly just committed it, in front of witnesses too.”

  At this there was a wheeze from Arabella, who lay on the floor, purple in the face and gasping for breath. Everyone ignored her.

  Sir Francis looked at John. “I would suggest, sir, you being an apothecary and all, that you sort some of these wounded women out.”

  John gave a crooked grin. “Certainly, Sir Francis, but I think I’ll start with the child.” He picked Georgiana up and said, “Come, my girl, I think it is high time that you and I had a little talk.” He looked at Coralie. “I would prefer it if you were present, Lady Arundel.”

  Her face had once more become expressionless but she nodded her head. “Shall we go somewhere more private?” she asked in an undertone.

  “Indeed, Madam, have you a quiet place where I may minister to this child?” he asked Lady Dashwood.

  “Perhaps you should take her up to her room, Mr O’Hare. She certainly could do with a wash and brush up.”

  In silence Coralie and John, he carrying the child who was still sobbing loudly, went up the stairs, watched by everyone, particularly Lady Orpington, who was just starting to regain her breath and regarded them with as malevolent an eye as she could manage in the circumstances.

  They reached the landing and saw the door to Charles’s room had been left open. Coralie clutched at John’s arm.

  “Poor fellow,” she said beneath her breath, “I hope that he did not suffer.”

  The Apothecary could not answer, merely shooting her a troubled glance in which she read his reply. Aware that the atmosphere between them had suddenly become fraught they walked on to the room which last night Georgiana had shared with Coralie because of the unusual number of house guests.

  As soon as he had set her on her feet, the child ran to her mother
and buried her face among Coralie’s skirts.

  “Oh Mama, is my father really dead?” she said in a tired, strained little voice.

  “Yes, darling. I’m afraid he is.”

  “Good,” answered the child. “I am pleased.” And she suddenly let out a burst of laughter which shocked John to the core.

  “What are you saying?” said Coralie, bending over and seizing Georgiana by the arms, then giving her a thoroughly good shake.

  “Don’t be too hard on her, Coralie. I think she has her reasons.”

  Over the child’s head the actress’s eyes met John’s. “What are you saying exactly?”

  He opened his mouth to speak, suddenly tired of all this pretence and determined to tell his former mistress the truth, when the child burst out with, “He frightened me, Mama. He used to come to me at night, or even send for me during the day, and make me take my clothes off…”

  John saw Coralie go white with horror.

  “…and then he would take all his things off too.”

  “And what would happen then?” Coralie asked in a deep low voice that even John could not recognise.

  “Nothing, Mama. He just used to put his arms round me and go to sleep. He told me I was better than any sleeping draught in the world. But I hated it, I hated it! I hated lying next to him and seeing his skin so close to mine. It made me want to kill him.”

  There was a shocked silence into which John said quietly, “Did you, Georgiana? Did you push him into the river to drown?”

  “No,” answered the little girl, looking up at him and regarding him with her blazing blue eyes, “I just stood there and watched him die.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  There was total silence while both adults stood looking at the child, an expression of horror on Coralie’s face, on John’s one of acute interest. Georgiana, gazing from one to the other, seemed to realise the full import of what she had just said, for she cried out suddenly, “I didn’t kill him, Mama. And I couldn’t pull him out. I promise I couldn’t.”

  The actress sat down on the bed, saying not a word, staring at her daughter, her lips moving soundlessly. Georgiana, either not understanding or perhaps understanding too well, became hysterical.

  “Please, Mama, I beg you not to look at me like that. I am telling you the truth. I swear I am.”

  John interceded. “For God’s sake, Coralie, she is only a child. I don’t believe for a minute that she killed Arundel.” Out of that white mask of a face, a voice came. “By Christ’s holy wounds that is not what ails me. It is just that I am shocked beyond all reason by realising what the man was. A creature who molests children is not fit to live. I thank God that my husband is dead.” She looked up. “Had I known I would not have hesitated to have put him down myself.”

  John said quietly, “Are you trying to tell me that you had no idea?”

  She looked at him and he saw that she was drained of emotion, was now utterly calm in what she said.

  “Recently I had begun to suspect something, knew that he was preoccupied with Georgiana but thought it was just an excess of paternal feeling. What a fool I have been.” She looked down at the sobbing child who had curled herself into a ball round Coralie’s feet, then picked her up and cuddled her. “You poor little girl. How can you ever forgive me? What future can life hold for you?”

  John crouched down so that his face was on a level with the woman he had once loved and for whom he still felt an enormous bond of affection.

  “Listen to me, Coralie, and listen well. The child will be perfectly all right if you explain to her that her father was a very sick man; had an illness which made him cling to her in a not very pleasant manner. Then you must introduce her to the finer things of childhood, the playing with other children, the fresh air, the sea. Clear her mind of all the cobwebs that have been allowed to gather in it.”

  She turned on him a ravaged face. “But what of her when she grows older? When it is her turn to fall in love? Surely the canker of these early years will remain with her always?”

  John shook his head, perplexed but attempting not to show it. “Let me speak to her. I promise you that I will do my best.” Coralie comforted the sobbing child. “Hush, sweetheart,” she said in a gentle voice. “I know that you did not kill Papa. And I fully understand how you must have come to hate him. But let us forget all that now. Let us leave this place tomorrow and spend some time with your friends. Would you like that?” Georgiana looked at her through a tangle of hair and nodded.

  “But first of all Mr Rawlings, who has been a great friend of mine for many years, would like to have a talk with you.” The child stared at him suspiciously, her eyes full of sudden alarm.

  “Don’t worry, my dear,” John reassured her. “I just wanted to ask you about your father’s final moments. Did you see anybody else at the riverside?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Even though it was dark. I mean, could someone have hidden themselves in the bushes?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose somebody might have been hiding. But I saw no one. Truly.”

  “Darling,” said Coralie, brushing the top of Georgiana’s head with her lips, “how did you come to be there in the first place?”

  The child shot her an anxious look. “You’re not cross are you?”

  “Most certainly not. I just want to know.”

  “Well, I wondered why Papa hadn’t sent for me to go to him and the thought made me lie awake. Then he appeared in the doorway of my room. You were asleep, Mama, and didn’t hear him.” She paused and looked at John. “He stood there but he couldn’t see me.”

  “Couldn’t see you?” he repeated.

  “He turned his head without seeing anything, as if he had suddenly gone blind. He just stood in the doorway, then went down that back staircase and out into the gardens. There was something peculiar about him.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, Georgiana?”

  The brilliant blue eyes grew wild and she gazed at her mother in consternation. “I can’t say what I mean. All I know is that he slipped on the stairs and kept bumping into things in the grounds. I followed him to see what he would do.”

  “And what happened then.”

  “He staggered down to the cascade and stood for a moment, swaying. Then he fell in.”

  “And he was alone?”

  “Yes. As I told you, there could have been someone hiding but I didn’t see them.”

  “What did you feel as you saw him drown?” This from Coralie, said very quietly.

  “I was glad,” answered the little creature truthfully, “that it was all over.” She turned to John. “Is there anything else you need to know, sir?”

  “No,” he answered, his mind teeming with thoughts, “I think you have described it very well, my dear. And now I suggest that you go and wash yourself and then you and your mother can go out for a ride. I will have a chat with you another time.”

  “Very well,” Georgiana answered, and taking Coralie by the hand she led her into an adjoining chamber. She turned in the doorway and gave John Rawlings a look which was to haunt him for many days to come.

  Downstairs calm had been restored. Lady Juliana had disappeared from sight, heaven knew where; the horrid little Lady Orpington had somehow managed to talk her aged husband round and was currently receiving a series of tickles and pinches from his podgy fingers; Samuel Swann and Dominique Jean had both very wisely vanished, Sir Francis Dashwood, meanwhile, sat in his saloon, the doors open to the hall beyond, and stared out moodily at the lake whilst sipping a glass of restorative canary. John gave a polite knock and entered.

  “Peace has returned,” said the nobleman, glancing up. “Would you like a drink, old chap?”

  The Apothecary shook his head. “Thank you, no. I am really in search of my servant.”

  “Oh, he’s in the stables somewhere or other. Monsieur Jean wanted to show him round.”

  “Thank you, si
r. I’ll go and find him.”

  John bowed politely and left, his brain teeming with what he had just heard. If Georgiana was telling the truth then the thought which occurred to him was that possibly Lord Arundel had been administered an irritant poison; a poison which had caused him to weave his way out into the grounds and fall into the lake, where the teeming cascade had seized him in its clutches and tossed him into the river below.

  But if this wild theory were to prove correct then he was left with three big questions: who, how and when?

  Outside the fine day continued, the late morning pearl-like in its beauty. John, gazing round him, thought to himself about the inhabitants of the house, about the fact that one of them had died in suspicious circumstances, about the grim reality of the man’s terrible end. About how Lord Arundel’s only child had watched her father die with a sense of relief.

  His mind wandered to thoughts of Rose and just for a moment he let his imagination stray over how she, the jewel of his life, would react if he were to meet an untimely end. He felt then that, young as she was, she would do everything in her power - small though it might be - to try to rescue him. He decided to make a new will and leave her in the care and custody of Samuel and Jocasta Swann should such an eventuality occur.

  This train of thinking led inevitably to Sir Gabriel and the man’s great age. Surely it would not be possible for that most elegant of mortals, that exquisite being, to defy nature and continue much longer. And yet he had an air about him which made his adopted son feel that perhaps he would cheat the Grim Reaper for a while yet. John found himself half-praying that Sir Gabriel would last another ten years or so.

  His mind switched back to the present and he thought about the body in the outhouse, lying there alone and friendless. Then he thought of the terrible death that awaited some victims of syphilis and considered that maybe Charles had been released from such misery. John realised with a jolt that Lady Orpington, the child bride, had probably caught the disease and had no doubt infected her husband with it. He suddenly felt hugely thankful that Coralie and her difficult child had both escaped such a terrible fate.