Death in Hellfire

by Deryn Lake

  From one of the outhouses near the stables he heard the sound of voices conversing cheerily and made his way there to discover Samuel and Dominique in the process of hefting a heavy piece of furniture up between them. On seeing him arrive they placed it down again and stood there panting.

  “Ah, John,” said Samuel, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, “how are you proceeding?”

  “Quite well.”

  He was longing to discuss the whole business with his friend but did not dare do so in front of Dominique who could quite easily be responsible for Lord Arundel’s death.

  “I have much to say to you,” he continued, giving the Goldsmith a look which meant that the two of them should be alone before he did so.

  “I guessed as much,” Samuel replied cheerily. “Tell me all.”

  It was the Frenchman who realised that the Apothecary needed to be on his own with his friend and said, “If you will excuse me, gentleman, I shall go and present my bill to Sir Francis.”

  “Will he pay you?” asked John.

  “Eventually yes, yes he will.”

  “And what about the money owed you by Lord Arundel?”

  “I shall give the reckoning to his widow.”

  “Coralie will meet that, you can rely on it.”

  “I am sure she will. Gentlemen, I take my leave of you. I shall buy you a drink tonight in the George and Dragon.” Dominique made a small bow and John and Samuel returned the compliment.

  “What’s that banging?” the Apothecary asked as the sounds of someone working came from a neighbouring outhouse.

  “The coffin maker is here,” the Frenchman replied, and gave them both a solemn look before he left them alone.

  The two men wandered out of the stable block, beneath the arch and headed off into the park, out of sight of the house. They sat down on the lower slopes of the hill leading up to the mausoleum and John lit a pipe.

  “Was the man murdered or was it an accident?” Samuel asked.

  “I think he was definitely killed by some irritant poison.” And John proceeded to relay to Samuel all that he had learned that morning.

  “But can you trust the child?” Samuel asked.

  “She seemed to me to be telling the truth.”

  “I wouldn’t listen to her. I think she’s demented.”

  “She was very frightened certainly.”

  “Frightened, my arse. I think she could do with a good wallop.”

  “Oh, come now,” said John and would have gone further to placate his friend but at that moment they heard the sound of someone approaching. Motioning Samuel to be silent, they sat quietly waiting to see what would happen next.

  Rounding the corner, arm-in-arm with her husband, behaving in quite the most kittenish manner and looking totally ridiculous as a result, came the Countess of Orpington, all moues and smiles. The old man was lumbering along beside her, grinning from ear to ear. John wondered if they were about to make love al fresco. He rapidly stood up. “Good afternoon to you. A pleasant day is it not?”

  “It certainly is, sir.”

  “I see you are recovered. Lady Orpington.”

  “From what?”

  “The death of Lord Arundel.”

  She pulled a sad face. “Oh, that was a terrible shock.” She fixed John with a deep stare and said, “Of course, I hardly knew the man. He was little more than an acquaintance.”

  The Apothecary nodded. “I see.”

  Arabella turned to her husband. “This is such a heavenly place, Drogo. Look around you. Is it not fine?”

  “Very beautiful, my love.” The Earl raised his hat politely. “Well, good day, gentlemen. We must continue our perambulation.”

  John and Samuel bowed politely. As soon as the couple were out of earshot the Apothecary said in an undertone, “She was Arundel’s woman at the Hellfire Club. That speech was entirely for her husband’s benefit.”

  “She’s probably caught the grand pox then.”

  “Indubitably. And given it to the Earl to boot.”

  “And could she have murdered him to be revenged?”

  “Very easily indeed.”

  Samuel looked grim. “I think we should get away from here and go somewhere where you can think.”

  “Good idea.”

  They started walking towards the stables but the sound of hooves made them stand aside to see Coralie and Georgiana riding fast in their direction. John waved as did Samuel, and the woman and child returned the salute.

  Samuel stared after their retreating figures. “A fine looking girl is Coralie. Why don’t you marry her at some time in the future?”

  John laughed. “I’m a very different person from the man who fell in love with her. Life has soured me up.”

  Sam guffawed. “You? Soured up? I’ve never heard such rubbish. You’re about as sour as a sugar tart.”

  “What a very unpleasant simile. Come on, old friend. How about a tour of the grounds before we depart?”

  “A very good plan, sir. Shall we walk?”

  “Indeed we shall. And as we go, I’ll think aloud.”

  “That will be even better,” Samuel answered, and they strolled off side-by-side. “By the way,” Sam asked, “did Georgiana own that button we found?”

  “No, I don’t believe so,” John answered thoughtfully. “You see, she was wearing her sleeping clothes.”

  “Then whose was it?”

  “That,” John said slowly, “remains to be seen.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Their stroll through the grounds took them about an hour including a couple of occasions on which they sat down to rest. Eventually they found that they had walked halfway round the lake and stood facing the house across the water.

  “What’s that?” asked Samuel, pointing to a little domed building standing atop a high mound and lying just beyond a wooden bridge.

  “One of Sir Francis’s follies I imagine. Want to go and have a look?”

  “I think perhaps we should,” Samuel answered.

  They crossed the bridge and approached the mound which looked innocent enough from the distance. The domed rotunda had a lead copy of the Venus de’ Medici within and gave a classical appearance which was altogether pleasing. Other than for a representation of Leda being ravaged by a passion-crazed swan on the roof above, everything seemed pure. But as they got nearer this illusion was abruptly shattered. Beneath the temple, at the base of the hillock, lay a small grotto the imagery of which was far more explicit. The entrance to it was oval with curving walls on either side and it needed little imagination to see that it represented a vagina and a pair of wide-open legs. In front of this artificial mons veneris was a collection of small statues made of lead, most of them doing rather disgusting things, including one of a homosexual satyr in full action.

  “Hare and hounds!” exclaimed Samuel. “I say!”

  John laughed. “Sir Francis really is a dirty old man. Do you want to go and look inside?”

  “Yes, I think I rather do.”

  They ducked their heads and entered the cave, eyes temporarily blinded by the change from broad daylight to semi-darkness. There was a mossy couch within and John, his sight restoring itself first, said, “Oh, I’m sorry,” and turned to go.

  “What’s the matter?” whispered Samuel.

  “There’s somebody in here.”

  But the person lying on the couch did not move and John, partly motivated by curiosity, took a step forward to have a closer look.

  She lay like a queen of ancient times, still and white, her hat removed, her hair spread around her like lace. Over the edge of the couch trailed one small, white hand, the fingers curling round like the stamens of a flower.

  John went up to her and very gently shook her shoulder. “Are you all right, madam?” he said.

  There was no reply and he bent his head to listen to the beat of her heart. There was silence and he turned to Sam with a stricken face.

  “My God, Samuel, this woman is
dead.”

  His friend took a step forward to see the pale figure that lay there so silently. “”Zounds, John, it’s…”

  But the Apothecary was already raising the poor creature up in his arms. Looking over his shoulder, he said urgently,

  “But we only saw her an hour ago. And where the hell is her husband?”

  For the woman who lay so very still in his arms was none other than that little doll of a girl, the Countess of Orpington herself.

  Leaving the body where it was John and Samuel did their best to run all the way back to the house. But neither of them was sixteen any more and the Goldsmith had definitely gained weight in the last few years. Eventually, panting and somewhat red in the face, the Apothecary arrived first and thundered on the door of the east portico. It was opened after a few minutes by a somewhat surprised-looking servant who looked even more astonished as John thundered past him shouting, “Where is Sir Francis? I must see him immediately.”

  “Sir Francis has gone out riding, sir.”

  “Damnation!”

  “I’m sorry, sir. Can Lady Dashwood be of assistance?”

  “No. Or maybe yes. May I see her please?”

  “I will check whether she is able to receive you.”

  Just as he was being shown into the saloon, Samuel gasped his way into the house.

  “I think you’d better come with me,” John said quietly. Samuel thumped his chest and nodded, quite unable to speak. And in this somewhat sorry state the pair walked into the room with its glorious view over the lake. Lady Dashwood was just removing her hat having clearly just come in from the grounds.

  John gave a short bow. “Madam, I am sorry to have to inform you that we have just discovered the body of Lady Orpington and will require some assistance to bring it back to the house.”

  Lady Dashwood simply stared at him, slowly laying her hat on a small table. Eventually she spoke.

  “Dead, you say? But how? I mean she is little more than a child.”

  John looked at her. “I have not had a chance to examine the body as yet. It is impossible at this stage to say what killed her.”

  “What do you mean? Are you saying her death was not natural?”

  “I cannot tell, my Lady. I really don’t know.”

  Lady Dashwood suddenly went very white and sat down abruptly. “But what a terrible thing. First Lord Arundel, now Lady Orpington. It is as if a curse has been put on this house.”

  Samuel gave a bow, having got his breath back. “That’s fanciful talk, my Lady, if you’ll pardon me saying so.”

  She looked at him icily. “I’ll do no such thing. Since when have servants expressed their opinion.”

  “Oh, Sam is more a friend than an employee, ma’am. He has served the O’Hares since I was a child.”

  She was obviously a woman who considered the working class beneath the dust for her frozen features did not melt at all. “I see,” she said coldly.

  “Can you tell me where everyone else is at present?” John asked.

  “They are all out in the grounds. I can assure you of that because I myself have just come within doors.”

  “Where is Lord Orpington? I must tell him the bad news.”

  “He has gone riding with Sir Francis. You will have to wait until his return, I fear.”

  “Then I shall go and look for Monsieur Jean. I think the three of us should be able to manage.”

  “He also went for a walk, having finished loading up his coach.”

  John bowed again, very politely. “Then if you will excuse me, madam, I will go and search for him.”

  She was still very pale but clearly a woman of great strength of character, which, thought John irreverently, she would have to be to put up with her husband and his smutty little ways. “By all means,” she said.

  Samuel gave a deep bow, as befitted someone of the servant class, and left the room following John politely. Once outside he said, “Miserable old witch. How dare she be so rude.”

  “Come, come, Sam. We’ve got another death on our hands. Concentrate on that.”

  “I am. But I think she could do with a reprimand. I wouldn’t work for her for a thousand guineas.”

  “But you might for two. Now, we’ve got to find Dominique Jean and find him quickly.”

  “Does it occur to you,” asked Samuel solemnly, “that he might be responsible for Lord Arundel’s death?”

  “Of course it does. He may have held a grudge against the Marquess over the unpaid bill.”

  As they had been talking they had entered the stable yard where the coach - polished and smart - had been drawn up in readiness for departure. And even while they noticed it they saw its owner strolling round the corner. John went up to him.

  “Dominique,” he said urgently, “there’s been another death and Samuel and I need your help.”

  The Frenchman stared at him, clearly not taking in what had just been said.

  “What you mean?” he asked. “Another death? What are you talking about?”

  “Lady Orpington,” said John briefly. “She is lying dead in Sir Francis’s extremely rude folly. We are going to need some help to bring her up to the house.”

  The Frenchman continued to stare blankly and it crossed the Apothecary’s mind that he might well be dealing with a brilliant actor.

  “Well, are you coming to help us?”

  “Yes, of course. But I was hoping to depart within the hour.” John looked at him. “I thought you offered to buy Sam and myself a drink tonight.”

  The Frenchman looked uncomfortable. “I did. I was going to leave you a note.”

  Why the hurry to be away? the Apothecary thought. Could Dominique Jean be as guilty as he was looking at this moment?

  “Well, we could do with another pair of hands to carry her back.”

  “Why not ask the servants?”

  “Because we preferred not to,” John replied crisply. “Now, are you coming or aren’t you?”

  Dominique nodded, clearly put out, and walked with the other two men towards the lake.

  The body lay as it had been left. The Apothecary stood silently for several minutes, committing a mental picture of Lady Orpington into his memory, then he turned and signalled to the other two who stood huddling in the doorway. “I think we can lift her now.”

  Sam, strong as a buffalo, picked the poor little corpse up and laid it on the plank which John had found in the stables, wondering as he did so whether it had been the same piece of wood that had born the remains of her lover back to West Wycombe. John covered the girl with a piece of cloth and the solemn procession made its way slowly back. But as luck would have it the sound of horses could be heard in the distance and a voice called, “What the devil? What’s going on?” John turned and saw the large and highly coloured face of Sir Francis, with that of Lord Orpington close behind him.

  “What have you got there, O’Hare?”

  John, cursing his luck, answered, “I think you had better dismount, sir. And you too, Lord Orpington.”

  Dashwood swung out of the saddle quite lithely but Lord Orpington had to be helped down by a sweating Apothecary.

  “What’s going on, eh?” his Lordship asked petulantly.

  “You must prepare yourself for a shock, my Lord.”

  “Shock? Why? What have you got there?”

  And before anyone could stop him the old man had seized the piece of cloth and pulled it off the last mortal remains of his wife. He clutched his throat and let out a gurgling sound then he fell to the ground, red in the face and clutching his chest.

  “Oh “Zounds,” groaned the Apothecary, “I believe he’s having a heart attack.”

  He knelt down beside the poor old chap and loosened his cravat, glancing round wildly for something to give the man but finding nothing.

  Samuel crouched down beside him. “Good gracious! Is he really?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Then we’d best carry him back.”

  And without
further ado Sam lifted Lady Orpington off the plank and put Lord Orpington on it in her place.

  “But what are we going to do with his wife?” asked

  Dominique, totally bewildered by this latest turn of events. “I mean we can’t just leave her.”

  “Somebody will have to carry her,” answered the Apothecary grimly.

  “Mon Dieu, not I, sir.”

  “I’d rather not, John.”

  Sir Francis intervened. “Put her over the saddle. It’s the only way.”

  So the ghastly sight made its way towards the house. Samuel and Dominique, both having removed their coats and sweating profusely, carried Lord Orpington, groaning upon his piece of planking, up to the house, the Apothecary walking beside him ministering to the man as best he could, Sir Francis, grim-faced, walked in the rear leading both horses, one of which had its terrible burden, still covered by a cloth but from which one small hand protruded, swinging limply as the animal moved.

  The Apothecary was in a quandary, racking his brains as to the best thing to give for a heart attack. And then a vague memory came to him. Many years ago, when he had been apprenticed to Master Richard Purefoy of Evans Row, a medical herbalist had come into the shop to discuss the properties of various herbs with him. John had been compounding in the back but had been called through by his master.

  “Come here, my boy, and listen to this.”

  John, aged seventeen and thinking he knew it all, had been amazed by the other man’s knowledge. He had also remembered that the herbalist had had a little girl with him who had gazed about her at all the amazing alembics that the shop contained.

  Now, as he concentrated, the memory became clearer.

  “I tell you, Master Purefoy,” the man had said, “that I cured heart failure by the use of Digitalis Purpurea.”

  “But, Mr Jenkins, everybody knows that foxgloves heal wounds and purge the body, that is their sole usage.”

  “Nonetheless I can assure you that the physicians had failed with this patient and I brought him back from the grave by using an infusion made from their leaves.”