by Deryn Lake
“Good heavens,” said Samuel at John’s elbow, “were we meant to dress up?”
“It would appear so,” the Apothecary answered quietly.
“No sign yet of the Earl of Orpington.”
“Nor of Dominique Jean, though he informed me that he was coming.”
“I doubt the Earl will be present in view of his recent ill health, to say nothing of his bereavement.”
But at that moment Sir Francis, with an enormous display of jollity, announced loudly, “My dear good people, do not wait in the hall. Come into the saloon where some rural delights await you.”
They all trooped into the huge room overlooking the lake, about twenty in all, to find some young girls dressed scantily as nymphs serving punch from a vast bowl draped with flowers. In the middle of them, somewhat purple in the face but other than for that showing no signs of his recent ill- health, was the Earl, his fingers laid lovingly on the behind of a nymphette. He snatched them away as soon as he heard the door opening. John went up to him.
“My Lord, I am so pleased to find you in better health.” Lord Orpington put on a dreary face. “I am recovered, thanks to you I believe, young man. But my poor wee wife is not here to join the fun with me. Woeful am I.” He sighed deeply.
“Ah well, time heals all,” John replied, thinking to himself that within six months there might well be an even younger Lady Orpington to grace the scene.
Lady Dashwood came in. “I hope you all have some punch,” she said in the kind of voice that she must have used to the servants when asking them if the dogs had been fed.
“I haven’t, madam,” said James Avon-Nelthorpe brightly.
She cast an evil look at him and clapped her hands so that a young girl came scurrying. James cast an appreciative eye over the nymph but was interrupted by Betsy saying, “You keep your gaze to yourself, d’ye hear, James?”
His reply was lost as the door opened again to admit Dominique Jean, dressed in what John could only think of as a French huntsman’s outfit, looking totally splendid and, despite his earlier misgivings, appearing to be completely at ease.
“We’re all here,” bellowed Sir Francis, and made his way round the room introducing everybody to everybody else, even including people who already knew one another. Very conscious of Coralie watching him, John bowed and followed on this kind of introduction merry-go-round until eventually he came face-to-face with her.
“Good afternoon,” she said coldly, and made him a small curtsey.
“Good afternoon, madam. I trust I find you well,” he replied, equally curtly.
“As well as can be expected,” she answered and was about to turn away when John seized her arm.
“Coralie, must there be this coolness between us? I am sorry if I upset you the other night but, as I told you, the law had already taken its course. Look, Joe Jago is here.”
“I had noticed,” she replied, loosening her arm.
“I see you did not bring Georgiana,” he said.
Coralie shot him a venomous look. “I would not subject the child to such an ordeal,” she answered, and this time walked away in the most deliberate manner.
“And what was all that about, sir?” asked Joe Jago, coming up silently with a brimming glass of punch.
“Her daughter,” John answered shortly.
“Ah, that would be Miss Georgiana, would it not?”
“It would indeed.”
“A rather nasty child from what you have told us.”
“I know it is not her fault, that her father drove her to the depths of despair, but nonetheless she is rather horrible.”
“I expect she will grow out of it now that he has gone,” Joe answered and walked away to talk to an eager young blade who was most anxious to know who he was.
Eventually, some somewhat the worse for punch, they went in to dinner, Sir Francis sat at the head of the table with the two women in mourning on either side of him. Similarly, Lady Dashwood sat at the foot, Lord Orpington to her right, a minor nobleman from the crowd of others attending to her left. John found that he had been put next to Betsy, who leaned across him continually displaying a great deal of bosom. Opposite sat Joe Jago, who literally could not take his eyes off her. Thoughts of rabbits and snakes went through John’s mind and he winked at Samuel. Unfortunately the Goldsmith was looking elsewhere at that moment and the flicker of the eyelid was caught by an anxious young virgin who was present with her mama and papa. She blushed deeply and whenever John looked up moved her head to show that she was not looking at him.
Eventually the ladies removed themselves and the men were left to drink port, smoke pipes, and use the chamber pots which were passed round, some remaining at table while they did so. Eventually the brimming bowls were handed to the servants to dispose of, Sir Francis, seeing all were comfortable, began to take snuff and roar with laughter for no apparent reason. His great gurgle was so infectious that others began to join in. Samuel took advantage of the noise to lean across his neighbour and whisper to John.
“I believe we are sharing a room on the third floor.”
“So we’re all up with the servants,” said John, and laughed jovially. The port and punch were definitely weaving their spell and he felt as if tonight very little could bother him. He crossed to where Jago sat, talking to Dominique.
“Where are you two fellows sleeping tonight?”
“In the servants” quarters.”
“How splendid. Shall we have a party?”
“No, sir. I don’t think that would be wise. I’ll tell you why later,” Jago murmured, soft enough for the Frenchman not to catch his words.
But further conversation was impossible as a rustle of skirts told them that the women were returning.
Lady Dashwood looked grumpier than ever as she said, “My lords, ladies and gentlemen, would you be so kind as to make your way to the music room where a rustic amusement has been prepared for you.”
They trooped off, Betsy leaning heavily on Sir Francis, who was leaning equally heavily on her. John, observing them, cast his mind back to Medmenham Abbey and decided that she had been in charge of most of the girls who had come. His thoughts went briefly to Teresa and he broke into a reminiscent smile.
“What are you grinning about?” asked Samuel as they progressed through the huge entrance hall.
“Fond memories,” said John, and smiled all the more.
“I see. By the way, did you notice a missing button from a certain person’s apparel?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Well I did,” answered Samuel, and whispered a name.
The entertainment was most amusing, culminating in country dancing, the musicians sitting at one end of the room and the chairs being put round the edge. Everyone went to with a will and John caught sight of Joe Jago whirling neatly with a very comely lady.
“I’ll swear that man has hidden depths,” he muttered to himself.
But nobody took any notice of him and he found himself in a set for Blue Stockings. His partners were James, Dominique, and a group of unknown people. Neither Coralie nor Juliana were dancing but sat on the chairs provided looking somewhat grim in their black attire. Lord Orpington, on the other hand, had puffed his way through a couple of country dances and had been forced to sit down for want of breath.
“Look at those two black crows,” James muttered.
“They’re in mourning,” John protested.
“Well, they needn’t look so bloody miserable about it.”
“Monsieur,” remonstrated the Frenchman, “show a little respect.
“Ha ha,” said James, and skipped away as the music began.
But suddenly everything seemed false and hollow, as if a picture were being painted, an illusion to trick the mind. John, looking round, could see nothing but painted faces and men leering. At that moment he felt that frisson of fear that always preceded a disastrous event. He finished the dance mechanically, like a puppet, then looked round the room once more to
see that Coralie and Juliana had both vanished from sight.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
He hurried over to where they had been sitting, noticing as he did so that Lord Orpington was also missing. Quickly, he made his way to Sir Francis Dashwood, who by now was extremely merry, his dark eyes flashing over all the women, his hands wandering wherever they could.
“Excuse me, Sir Francis, have you seen the Ladies Arundel and Bravo?”
Sir Francis turned to him in slight annoyance, busy as he was chatting to the young virgin at whom John had accidentally winked.
“No, I haven’t. I expect they’ve stepped outside for a breath of air.”
John went out through the east portico and anxiously looked around him. Several people had wandered into the warm summer night to cool off after the hectic activity inside, and one or two were making for the shelter of the trees for purposes private. But of the missing women there was no sign at all. Turning back into the house, John sought out Joe Jago, who was leaning against the wall, looking around him with a shrewd but benevolent gaze.
“Joe, Coralie and Juliana have gone somewhere and I cannot see them. I intend to look for them.”
“Very good, Mr Rawlings. I’ll come with you.”
“I was hoping you would say that.”
They went outside once more and Joe scanned the distance with a light blue eye.
“Can’t see ‘em, sir. Shall we walk down to the lake and search there?”
“Good idea.”
They hurried down the slope to hear a pair of heavy footsteps running up behind them.
“I say, wait for me,” panted Sam, who was nothing like as fit as once he had been. “Where are you two off to?”
“We’re looking for Coralie, who’s not anywhere to be seen. Sam, I’ve got a strange feeling that something is wrong.”
“Oh dear,” said Samuel and attempted to look serious, which was a little difficult considering that he had sweat pouring down his face and had gone rather red.
Ahead of them lay the waterway, its glassy surface calm and still, the full moon shining down, lighting its way with a path of silver that looked almost as if one could walk on it. John, staring at the unearthly light, felt himself growing more and more uneasy. In the distance he noticed Dominique Jean, who must have slipped out of the ballroom as soon as the dance ended. It seemed that everyone was out here except the one person whom he was urgently seeking. And then, very faintly, he heard a definite splash.
John broke into a run, Jago at his heels, Samuel following at some distance behind them. But they had a long way to go as they rushed round the perimeter of the lake, trying to identify the place from whence the noise had come. And then suddenly, hastening towards them through the trees, they saw a woman’s figure running in their direction. For a moment the
Apothecary thought it was Coralie and he increased his pace but then he realised that it was Juliana, her clothes disarrayed, her hair wild and flowing.
“Oh help me,” she was shouting. “My sister-in-law has fallen in the lake and is drowned.”
“Where?” John asked urgently.
“Down there.” She waved a vague arm in the direction of the cascade.
Without waiting for any further explanation John shot past her and ran as if his very life depended on it towards the place where he had found Coralie’s husband dead as beef. And then, just as he thought his lungs were going to burst, he saw her, floating so quietly and still, her skirts holding her up in the water as if they had filled with air. Without hesitation John kicked off his shoes and dived in, taking Coralie’s body in his arms and swimming with it towards the shore.
Jago, a minute or so behind, knelt down and helped pull him and Coralie out of the water. The Apothecary was filled with a terrible sense of deja-vu as he sat with the dead woman in his arms, transported back in time to that dreadful night when he had found his wife dying in the snow, her blood so red on the purity of the whiteness. Then he pulled himself together and, turning Coralie over, thumped her on the back violently, then lifted her with Joe’s help so that she was facing downwards. The water poured from her mouth and she gave a great gasp, and John wept with relief that she was still alive. He leant over her.
“Coralie, you’re going to be all right.”
Her eyes rolled in her pale face. “Juliana…” she whispered.
“Yes, she saved you. She came running for help.”
Coralie gave him a despairing glance and shook her head.
“She pushed me in,” she said, so quietly that he had to strain his ears to hear her.
Dominique ran up, hotly pursued by dear old Samuel. Joe Jago straightened up.
“Good timing, gents. Now, if you will carry Lady Arundel back to the house, Mr Rawlings and I will go in pursuit of that other woman.”
And he set off at speed once more. John, following and running uphill, decided that he really must get fitter and that he would take up some sporting activity when things finally settled down. His admiration for Joe Jago grew by the minute as that lithe man, older than John but in far better shape, sped ahead of him towards the house.
As they neared the great east portico he slowed his pace so that he was doing little more than walking rapidly. John, relieved that they were easing up at last, finally caught up with him.
“Where is she, Joe?”
“That, sir, is what I’m about to find out.” Jago looked round and seeing a young chap hurrying inside, called out, “Forgive me, sir, but do you know Lady Juliana Bravo?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Can you tell me where she is at present?”
“I believe I saw her going round to the stable block.”
But that was enough for Jago who sped off once more, leaving John to follow on as best he could. And when he arrived, following rapidly on Joe’s heels, it was to a scene of great drama. Looking wildly disarrayed Juliana was ordering her coachman to get the horses in the traces as quickly as possible.
“But, madam, they aren’t rested.”
“Do I care? Take any two that you can lay your hands on.”
“That would be theft, my Lady,” said Joe, stepping silently up to her.
She turned on him like a fury. “I’ll ask you to mind your own business, sir.”
“That is precisely what I am doing. And, madam, I must warn you that I am placing you under arrest for the attempted murder of Lady Arundel.”
There was a long silence during which Juliana, white-faced as if she too had recently been drowned, gazed at him, then she said in a hoarse voice, “She is still alive?”
“Yes,” answered John, appearing out of the shadows to stand at Joe Jago’s side, “you should have used your tried and trusted method, madam.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“This,” he said, and he produced the remnants of the blowpipe from a back pocket of his evening suit and thrust it into her hands.
She stared down at it. “What is this thing?”
“I think you know that only too well, madam,” said Joe Jago succinctly. “You see, it has the faint smell of lavender about it, a scent that you use, I believe.”
There was a moment’s silence and then Juliana’s face contorted horribly and she threw the blowpipe on the ground. Her nails raked within an inch of Jago’s face but he caught her wrists and held them in an iron grip.
“Mr Rawlings, be so good as to secure this woman, would you.”
“Gladly,” said John, and seizing a leather strap bound Juliana’s hands in front of her.
“Now, madam, let’s hear the truth, if you please,” Jago said, and even John flinched at the tone of his voice.
Lady Juliana began to sob, deep heart-rending cries that would have made him pity her but for recent events.
“Yes, it’s true. I killed my brother and the bastard deserved it. For years he had abused me when we were children and then he turned his attentions to his own daughter. He made her life hell, my poor little Georgiana. I lived for
that child, she was my only reason for being alive.”
“And what about Lady Orpington?” Joe asked in a much kinder voice.
“She was out and about that night, the night I did for Charles. I’d been in to see him earlier and changed the dressing on his chancre, put poison in it so that it would enter his bloodstream. How he must have suffered and how well he deserved everything he got.”
“The girl; his mistress?” Jago reminded her.
“I thought she had seen me when I went outside to check what had happened to him. She was wandering about in the grounds, knowing that Charles wasn’t in his room and had gone searching for him. But I couldn’t take the risk of her having seen me and betraying me. So I poisoned her with a little arrow which I blew into the back of her neck. Then I put her in the Temple of Venus, where the pox-ridden little creature belonged.” Juliana gave a terrible laugh. “They say that Sir Francis Dashwood has founded a club called Hellfire. Well, that’s where those two people have ended. May they rot in hellfire for all eternity.”
“And what about Coralie?” John asked quietly.
She turned on him a look of pure contempt. “That empty- headed woman. That “actress”. She’s not fit to be a mother. Georgiana doesn’t love her, she loves me. And now as her sole living relative the child will be handed into my care for me to bring up as if she were my own.”
“But as I’ve already told you, Coralie is still alive, Lady Juliana.”
She literally writhed in front of them and spat upon the ground. And it was at that moment that John realised she was quite insane and felt a moment’s intense pity for such an unhappy woman. He turned to Joe Jago.
