Death in Hellfire (21 page)

And she was gone, leaving the two men to stare after her retreating figure.

“So how many suspects are there?” asked Samuel, eyes round as the full moon.

“Many,” answered John, ticking them off on his fingers. “First of all there’s Sir Francis Dashwood.”

“Motive?”

“Unknown. But it could be some private business, particularly something connected to the Hellfire Club.”

“What about Lady Dashwood?”

“Again, unknown. But they are connected through that endless chain of relatives that the nobility seem to have. Maybe she secretly hates the man.”

John leaned back comfortably. He was sitting in The Ram, a private snug contained within the George and Dragon, and was on his second pint of ale, despite the earliness of the hour. Samuel leaned forward. “Go on. Who else?”

“There’s Coralie of course,” John answered somewhat reluctantly. “She has plenty of motive. Her husband had contracted syphilis several months ago. It’s all right,” he said to Samuel’s stricken expression. “She gave up sleeping with him before he became infected. But she could have killed him to protect her child who - according to Dominique Jean - was being molested by the man.”

“Sounds as if the bastard deserved drowning and more,” Samuel stated robustly.

“He did actually. This is one killer I can sympathise with, they appear to have done the world a good service. Then there comes that idiotic child, Arabella, Countess of Orpington. She is sixteen years old, thinks she’s clever but is actually as stupid as they make them. Either of those two could easily have committed the murder.”

“And you’re quite sure it
was
murder.”

“No, that’s the devil of it, Sam, I’m not. The only two clues are the ones I’ve already told you. Why did the man leave his sickbed and go wandering round in the middle of a terrible storm.”

“That’s certainly odd, I must say.”

“It’s more than odd. It’s highly suspicious. The feeling in my gut tells me that it was not by chance and that Arundel was deliberately killed.”

“Are there any other suspects?”

“Plenty. There’s his sister - a cold-faced bitch if ever I saw one - and, I suppose - though I am reluctant even to say it - his daughter.”

“But she’s only a child.”

“I have known children kill before,” said John, and sighed deeply.

“Anyone else?”

“Strangely enough, Dominique Jean. He is apparently owed £700 by the late Lord Arundel and feels particularly bitter about it.”

“And that’s the entire crew?”

“All of ‘em, unless the murder was done by somebody outside. All those people spent the night under Sir Francis’s roof. At least I presume they did. The Lady Juliana Bravo - Lord Arundel’s sister - went out and apparently came back late.”

“And you?” Samuel asked. “What time did you go to bed?”

“Early. I felt exhausted.”

Samuel’s face underwent a change, an expression of boyish mischief taking over his features. “Tell me, John, what actually goes on at that Hellfire Club?”

“A lot of sex, my friend. A lot of arrant fornication. That’s all everybody seems to do all the time.”

“By Jove, I wish I’d been included.”

“A happily married man like you, Samuel? Come, come! I find myself totally surprised.”

The Goldsmith actually blushed. “I just meant for the experience. I would not have participated.”

“Then more fool you.” And putting out his hand, John ruffled his friend’s hair.

It was at that somewhat amusing moment that Dominique entered the snug. “”Elio, you two,” he called cheerily. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Well now you’ve found us. Come and have a drink.”

“Gladly.” Dominique sat down and ordered a jug of ale. He looked at John over its rim. “How are you getting on, my friend?”

John put down his tankard and assumed a serious face. “I am treating the death of Lord Arundel as one of murder,” he said.

Dominique gulped noisily. “Oh, my goodness. Why?”

“Because it strikes me that no one would have gone out on such a night wearing only his nightshirt.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“No, there are others,” John answered mysteriously. Dominique took a deep swallow and said, “Tell me.”

“I’m afraid I can’t reveal too much about my theories - Sir

John Fielding’s orders and all that.” John waved an airy hand. “But you slept in the house last night, Dominique. Tell me, did you hear anything?”

“Yes. I found it rather a noisy place, for despite the fact that I was tired out I still couldn’t get off to sleep. Round about midnight, give or take an hour, I heard someone walking along the corridor. I had just been dozing off but I awoke and listened.”

“What happened?” asked Samuel, his eyes huge.

“Well, I could have sworn that whoever it was went into Lord Arundel’s room -1 was sleeping almost directly opposite him and—“

“I thought you were put in the servants” quarters,” John interrupted.

“Yes, I was to have slept there but at the last moment Lady Dashwood remembered a little boxroom over the eaves and put me in it.”

“Go on.”

“Well, I thought someone went in there and shortly afterwards there was a funny little noise, like a subdued scream, and I heard the feet coming out again, moving quite fast.”

“Was it a man or a woman, could you tell?”

Dominique shook his head. “I truly am not certain. All I know is that I heard the clatter of shoes on the wooden floor.”

“And then?”

“After that I must have dropped off to sleep because the next thing I knew it was three o’clock and there was another disturbance.”

“What?”

“Somebody else came shuffling along the corridor.”

“Why do you use that word? Shuffling?”

“Because that is what they were doing. I heard it quite distinctly.”

“And you were sure it was three?”

“Yes, I looked at the clock. Anyway, the sound ceased, almost abruptly, and after that I went back to sleep and was woken by the noises of people in the grounds below.”

John nodded. “Yes, I remember you joining in the group.” Dominique nodded. “Who would have thought it,
mon ami
? Who could possibly have wanted Lord Arundel dead?”

“Well,” said John, smiling broadly but watching Dominique intently, “you might have done for a start.”

Chapter Eighteen

T
he Frenchman’s eyebrows shot up and his jaw tightened but to his credit he maintained his equilibrium. He took a sip of ale and said, “Really? And what makes you say that?”

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.”