Death in Hellfire (32 page)

He looked up as Dominique laid down his tools and had a moment’s rest.

“Tell me,” he said, “did you enjoy your visit to the brothel?”

Again the Frenchman flushed a deep brick-red. “I only attended the gambling section,” he said, looking embarrassed.

John smiled to himself. “Of course,” he said, then he bowed and, bidding Dominique farewell, left the building and headed for Nassau Street.

Early the next morning he set off by coach for the final act that had to be played out in the drama. Beside him in the conveyance sat Samuel, determined to be in at the kill, as he put it. Opposite was Joe Jago bearing a warrant that gave him the power of arrest. The three men reached The Bear at Maidenhead by early afternoon, where they stopped to refresh themselves. Samuel, who had been apprised of the position, raised his tankard.

“Well, here’s to the success of the venture,” he said, more in hope than expectation.

“I am praying that, when faced with the crimes, the guilty party will confess,” John answered.

“We’re all praying that, sir,” Joe Jago added. “Otherwise we’re up the Nile in an oarless coracle.”

“I wonder if they will all come,” John said thoughtfully. “I mean, several of them could plead that they were in mourning and it would not be seemly for them to go to such a gathering.”

“I believe, sir,” Jago answered, “that Sir Frances, or Lord le Despencer to give him his correct title, went personally to visit several people in order to persuade them to be present. He has also asked a goodly crowd of other friends to make the whole thing seem natural.”

“Well, let’s hope that worked,” said Samuel, and bellowed a laugh.

After an hour of these exchanged pleasantries the trio set off once more and arrived at the east lodge just as the sun was setting. The summer sky was a deep rich blue in which the sun was going down in glory, filling the sky with a golden glow that almost took the breath away. It was reflected in the lake and John, observing, saw that the ship had been tricked out with flags and that the Captain, in uniform, was standing on the deck looking through a telescope. This was in order to wave at the arriving guests then come smartly to the salute. Ahead of them, almost at the house, was another carriage which John remembered as the one belonging to the late Charles, Marquess of Arundel. So Coralie had come and presumably brought the child with her. The Apothecary let out an audible sigh of relief.

Samuel, hearing it, looked up. “I see that Coralie is here. I’ll wager she took some persuading.”

“I’ll wager you’re right,” said John, thinking of the last time he had seen her and her plea that he should not reveal the identity of the killer.

“Excuse me, sir,” said Joe Jago, clearing his throat, “but what exactly does a
fete champetre
mean?” He pronounced the second word “shampeter”.

“It means a country feast. What we would call a country fair.”

“Oh, I see. Do we all have to dress as rustics then?”

“I shouldn’t think so,” John answered with a laugh, but a second later bit back his words as the coach drew level with the house and he saw that the servants and hostlers were all done up in breeches and smocks with beflowered hats adorning their heads.

“Gracious!” he exclaimed, and a second or two later positively gasped at the sight of Sir Francis Dashwood, who had come to the door to greet his guest wearing what appeared to be a bastardised version of a gamekeeper’s gear.

“Ah ha ha,” he roared. “Glad you could make it, O’Hare, or should I call you Rawlings? Come in, come in. I see you’ve brought some companions with you. Ah well, the more the merrier.”

John stood astounded, wondering what could have persuaded the man to behave with such breathtaking bonhomie. He took a shrewd guess that the sight of Sir John Fielding had actually frightened Sir Francis, that he thought news of his scandalous behaviour at Medmenham Abbey had reached the ears of the law and that the whole thing might result in legal action against him. Whatever the reason he had thrown himself wholeheartedly into this amazing
fete champetre
and for once was not being too fussy about who his visitors were - provided that they slept in the servants quarters, of course.

The trio dismounted from the coach and went into the house, where Lady Dashwood, dressed in an excessively ornate country frock, was looking daggers at all and sundry. It was obvious that she had no wish to go through with this farce and was ill-prepared for an influx of visitors.

John went straight up to her and made his second best bow, followed by Samuel, slightly more effusive. Last to make a salute was Joe Jago, whose wig had been dislodged by the removal of his hat, red hair more visible than ever.

“A pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” he said.

She did not smile, considering this form of introduction to be beneath her.

John looked round the entrance hall to see who else had arrived. There were several people whom he did not know, though one or two of the men were recognisable as monks of St Francis. Coralie was present, dressed in black from head to foot, and looking pale and drawn as a result. Her sister-in-law, Lady Juliana Bravo, was also clad in deepest mourning, her features set and stern, her deep-set eyes looking round disapprovingly. Of the child Georgiana there was no sign and John realised with a feeling of sad gladness that she had been left behind. Even while he was thinking these thoughts somebody else came in, very noisily indeed, and he turned to see Betsy, hideously arrayed in a type of milkmaid’s dress, with James lumbering along garbed as a shepherd.

“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.