Death in Hellfire (17 page)

Overhead the sky began to darken and he wondered whether they were going to be subjected to a summer storm. And they had not proceeded very much further when there Was a distant rumble of thunder and the rain began to pour. The riders drew in beneath some sheltering trees.

“I say we make a dash for it,” Sir Francis said, looking about him. “We’re only about a mile away.”

“We’ll get soaked to the skin,” Arundel answered petulantly.

They both turned to John. “I agree with Sir Francis. Let’s make haste,” he said.

Pushing their horses hard they raced through the digging rain until eventually they saw the house from the top of the hill, lying below them.

“Back to respectability,” shouted Sir Francis, and led the rush downwards.

Ten minutes later they were dismounting from their dripping mounts, Arundel being practically lifted from the saddle by two grooms. As they swung him downwards he banged hard against the stirrup and let out a cry of pain. John instinctively went towards him.

“Are you all right?”

“No. I’ve hurt myself. I’ve an old wound, you know.”

“Would you like me to look at it for you?”

“The devil with it - no I wouldn’t. My wife can do that.” Remembering just in time that he was meant to be Fintan O’Hare from the bogs of Ireland John turned to go away, but Arundel’s voice cut across.

“Sorry, O’Hare, I was a bit short with you. It was just the shock that made me so.”

“Of course. I quite understand.”

“If you would be so kind as to help me into the house.” With one arm round Arundel’s waist, Charles was so close that the very essence of him filled John’s nostrils. It was a smell of decay, of rot, of things better not spoken of. For the hundredth time the Apothecary’s mind went to Coralie and he thought of her dressing the wound and wondered if she would vomit in disgust.

They reached the front door, Sir Francis striding on ahead and calling out, “I’m back, madam. Where are you?”

Lady Dashwood appeared from one of the inner rooms.

“I was just chatting to Mr Jean. He has been so useful to me and has mended practically everything in the house.”

“The man’s not a bloody carpenter,” said Sir Francis, throwing down his riding whip. “Here, help me off with my boots.”

Dominique appeared in the doorway. “Allow me, Sir Francis.” And before his Lordship could refuse had neatly pulled both of them off.

Meanwhile a great deal of moaning was coming from Charles Arundel, who was clutching his side. The Apothecary, aware that he must continue to role-play but for all that anxious about the man, noticed that a very faint bloodstain had appeared through the material of his breeches.

“Let me help you upstairs, sir,” he said. “I really think you should lie down.”

“No, I’ll be perfectly all…” Arundel let out another groan and stumbled.

“I insist,” said John firmly, and taking the man in a firm grip propelled him upward.

“Where’s my wife?” Charles asked, his head lolling so that his wig slipped slightly and showed a close cut of chick-yellow hair beneath.

“I don’t know but I’ll find her for you,” the Apothecary answered shortly.

Below him in the hall he was aware of Sir Francis and Lady Dashwood, together with Dominique Jean, watching his slow progress upward, and it was at precisely that moment that there came a loud knocking at the door. John paused in his ascent and looked down as the footman went to answer it. Standing there, soaked to the bone, her violet eyes almost purple with fury, was the Countess of Orpington.

Everyone stared at her silently until she shouted at Sir Francis, “Well, aren’t you going to ask me in?”

He collected himself. “Of course, madam. Perkins, show the lady inside at once.” He stepped forward meanwhile and said with a certain irony, “I take it you lost your way, my Lady.”

Beside him John heard Charles give a groan of recognition.”Take me to my chamber, please. I have no wish to speak to the wretched girl.”

“I rather think she wants to speak to you.”

“Tell her I am not well. In fact you can tell her anything you like but just keep her away from me.”

But she had spied her quarry making his laborious way upstairs. “You bastard!” she yelled. “You downright rogue. How dare you play fast and loose with me.”

She flew up the stairs, her damp clothes leaving a trail of moisture behind her. But John was too quick for her. Pushing Arundel behind him he whirled round and barred her way, flinging both his arms out.

“Madam, I insist that you leave Lord Arundel alone. He has wounded himself and is bleeding. His wife…” he put particular emphasis on those two words “…awaits him upstairs. Be so kind as to restrain yourself.”

At this Dominique Jean, moving very swiftly, came up and seized Milady’s arm. “Come with me, madam,” he said, his charming French voice flowing over her like a gentle waterfall, “you are overtired and overwrought by your terrible journey.”

The poor child burst into tears, leaning against his shoulder. “I am so miserable,” she said between sobs.

“There, there,” soothed Dominique, leaving John feeling quite awe-struck. “Come and have some refreshment. Everything will feel much better when you have had something to drink and removed your wet things.”

Lady Dashwood gave her husband a dirty look but nonetheless came forward and prepared to act as hostess.

“Come along, madam. You must get into something dry. Do you have luggage with you?”

“No, I sent that on to London,” the girl snivelled.

“Well, we shall find something for you. Walk this way.”

And she led the Countess off into an inner sanctum. Charles lolled his head against John.

“Thank you, my friend. You’ve done me a great service.” Gritting his teeth, the Apothecary eventually managed to find his Lordship’s bedroom and there laid Lord Arundel down on the huge four-poster bed.

“Now, sir, I am going to look at that wound.”

“No,” protested the other.

“I’m sorry. I insist.”

“What right have you?”

“The right that I am an apothecary,” John answered, blowing caution to the breezes.

And before there could be any further protests he stripped off Charles’s coat and shirt and looked for the wound. It was not there and, peering closely, John could see blood seeping through from lower down. He undid the top of his Lordship’s breeches. And there was a chancre, the small sbft swelling which occurred in the early stages of syphilis. It was close to the testes, very much as John had imagined. It had also had the top knocked off it and was bleeding.

“My dear fellow, this is indeed serious. You must get this wound dressed,” he said. “Unfortunately I do not have my medical bag with me or I would do it for you.”

Charles was looking at him beadily. “So you’re an apothecary, are you?”

“Yes, sir. Trained in Dublin. I told you my father wanted all his boys to have a trade.”

“I don’t believe a word you’re saying. I think your whole pretence of being Fintan O’Hare is utterly false.”

“You can believe what you damn well like,” John retorted sharply. “I shall go and ask Lady Dashwood where she keeps her medicines and herbs and I shall return.”

It was at that moment that the door opened and Coralie stood framed in the entrance. She looked both beautiful and deadly, her skin very white against the dark blue of her gown.

“Charles,” she said, ignoring John, “what is this I hear about you not being well?”

He made to cover the chancre but could not pull his breeches up in time. She looked at it with distaste.

“I see,” she said. “I shall get a dressing.”

John, suddenly annoyed with the pair of them, gave her a sweeping bow and said, “Madam, I will do that, if you have no objection.”

She gave him a look and just for a second he read everything in her eyes; all her pain, all the suffering she had been forced to endure for the sake of her child.

“Of course,” she said, and added low, “you are an apothecary after all.”

Pacified, he snatched her hand to his lips, then bowed again. “If you could get your husband a drink,” he said, and left the room.

Downstairs he found Dominique Jean, just following Sir Francis into the saloon. “Milord has asked me to stay the night because the weather is so terrible,” he said to John.

“Absolutely yes. You too, O’Hare. I think we should have a few drinks to celebrate the last few days.”

“How kind of you, sir. I will certainly accept your offer unless the weather improves. But first of all I must have a word with your wife if that is convenient.”

Sir Francis nodded brusquely. “She is in the saloon with Lady Orpington. Go to her by all means.”

John went into the grand room to see a very grey aspect from its commanding windows. The lake had turned the colour of slate and the sky was full of threat. Everything looked dismal in this light and he saw that despite the fact it was only early afternoon Lady Dashwood had ordered the candles to be lit. He also saw that the poor woman sat alone, working on some rather unappetising embroidery. Of Lady Orpington there was no sign.

The Apothecary bowed and came straight to the point. “Madam, I need to dress a wound which Lord Arundel has incurred. Would you be so kind as to direct me to your medicines.”

She laid down her sewing and stood up. “I shall attend him personally. There is no need to bother you, Mr O’Hare.”

“There is every need, my Lady. The wound is of a personal nature and not fit for a woman’s eyes.”

She actually went white. “Oh, I’m sorry. I had no idea. Please do come with me, sir.”

She led .John out of the saloon and down a passageway until they came to a back staircase. This in turn led to the kitchens and beyond them a store room. Here Lady Dashwood opened a cupboard and said, “This is where I keep the household medicaments. I hope you will find what you need.”

It was amply stocked with everyday physicks and even contained some suppositories which John looked at with curiosity. He sifted through a jar of ointment of Kidneywort for painful piles or swelling in the testicles, a decoction of the seeds of Fenugreek for women to sit upon in order to relieve hardness of the matrix, an infusion of Mugwort to help bring
down the courses. Though these were of interest there was nothing which could really help Lord Arundel. Then he saw an ointment made of Mezereon Spurge and wondered if this were used in fact by Sir Francis. Seizing the jar John hurried up the back stairs and eventually found himself on the first floor. Going into Charles’s bedroom he saw that Coralie was there, leaning over her husband with a glass of water in her hand. She turned on hearing someone enter.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said. “Have you found anything?”

“Yes, something very suitable.”

He said no more but spread the ointment on a piece of bandage and placed it carefully on the wound which still bled slightly.

Charles opened his eyes. “Thank you, my friend. I trust that you will not speak of this to anyone in the house.”

“You can trust me to keep quiet, I can assure you.” The Apothecary straightened up and went to wash his hands, pouring some water from a ewer. Over his shoulder he said, “May I speak with you privately, Lady Arundel?”

“Yes,” she answered, gliding towards him silently.

“Outside,” he mouthed, and she nodded her head to show that she had understood.

They went onto the landing and she turned to John immediately. “My husband has the pox, you know that?”

“Yes.” He looked at her earnestly. “Have you been infected?” She shook her head. “No. I haven’t slept with him for a year. It was at that time that he picked up some wretched creature who gave him the disease. I found out and refused to have anything further to do with him.”

“And Georgiana?”

“She is clear.”

John thought of the story that Dominique had told him and wondered privately if the child had been corrupted by the father. He turned to look at Coralie, taking hold of one of her arms in his anxiety.

“Why did you marry him, Coralie? I beg you to tell me.” She turned her head away and said softly, “Because I felt sorry for him.”

“Sorry?”

“Yes. He once was young and gauche, even inclined to be spotty. He saw me acting in some play or other and came after me in hot pursuit. At first he bored me but eventually his vulnerability became so obvious that I felt myself softening towards him.”

“So it wasn’t for the title or the money?”

She laughed scornfully. “How could you think that of me? You, who once loved me? Do you regard me as so base that I would do such a thing? I had plenty of money of my own; a title means nothing to me. To me it is up to each individual to make the best of themselves, and those are the only people that I admire and respect. But Charles was like a child; a pathetic, needy child. That is why I married him. Because he had need of me.”

“And I did hot?” said John with immense sadness.

She gave a bitter laugh. “No, you never did. You were always so independent, so self-assured. You and Sir John Fielding were a unit that it was impossible to break.”