Free Death in Hellfire by Deryn Lake Page A

does not deign to notice what I am wearing.”
    “Where are you staying?” the Apothecary asked.
    “In the George and Dragon. The coachman will bring my equipage to the inn when the repair is done.”
    “Well, sir, it would be an honour for me to buy you a drink there this evening.”
    “And I would be honoured to accept it. And now I must be on my way.”
    The Frenchman swept his hat from his head, dislodging the well-used wig slightly, “Au revoir, monsieur.”
    “Until tonight.”
    “Indeed.”
    The last sight John had of him was going hell for leather up the drive towards West Wycombe House.

    Samuel was waiting for him outside the gates of the east drive, sitting on the ground and reading a book. He looked up as John approached.
    “Success, my friend?”
    “More than I could have bargained for.” And John dismounted and walked back to the inn recounting to Samuel all the extraordinary events that had happened that day. Samuel’s face took on the strange expression which meant that he was thinking deep thoughts.
    “And how did you feel seeing Coralie again after all this time?”
    “To be honest, Samuel, I felt somewhat frozen. As if I were in a dream. In fact, even now, I can’t really believe that I saw her.”
    “Well you did.” Samuel’s eyes glinted. “How would you feel if…”
    “If what, my friend?”
    “Oh, never mind,” the Goldsmith replied hastily.
    “I think you were going to say how would I feel if she had still been single?”
    Samuel gave a sheepish grin.
    “I don’t know is the answer. Our love affair was a long time ago and a great deal has happened to both of us in the interim. Her husband, by the way, is a complete wastrel. He was sick all over me - hence these extraordinary garments - and looks wrecked into the bargain. As a matter of fact I don’t think he has long for this world.”
    “Then there’s hope!”
    “Samuel, really,” John said impatiently. “I cannot cut out the past as if it never happened and neither can Coralie. We are two entirely different people. And that is truly all I have to say on the matter. Please let it rest.”
    “I was only conjecturing,” said Sam, somewhat hurt.
    “I’m sure you were. Anyway, here’s the inn. I’m going to have a drink. I feel as if I’ve earned one.”

    They were joined an hour later by Dominique Jean, grinning all over his face at the sight of them.
    “This is my manservant,” said John hastily. “His name is Samuel O’Swann. He and I often share a jug of ale together.” Dominique raised his eyebrows but made no comment and sat down happily enough, raising his glass of claret to John.
    “To you, monsieur. Merci .”
    “How did you get on up at the big house?”
    Dominique frowned. “Let me explain to you about the two commodes that my late father-in-law made. They are not to be confused with those smelly close stools which were used in the past for lavatorial purposes. No, they are small cabinets for storage made by a master craftsman. You have not yet seen them, monsieur , but when you do please note the bombe form of the pieces and the exquisite use of marquetry. Furthermore, the great Pierre Langlois crowned their tops with specimen marbles imported from Florence.” The little bird-like man kissed his fingers.
    “Pierre Langlois, eh?” said Samuel, forgetting his Irish accent. “He was a well known craftsman. Did you say he was your father-in-law, sir?”
    “Indeed he was. As you know, gentlemen, he died recently, which was a great loss to us all.”
    “May I address you as Dominique?” said John.
    “Please do so, monsieur.””
    “Tell me, how was Lord Arundel when you left?”
    “I did not see him,” Dominique answered, sipping his wine. “His wife came and spoke to me when I examined the commode.”
    John felt a thrill of interest. “Oh really?”
    “Yes. She seemed very guilty about the whole affair. I imagined it was either her husband or her daughter who fell over it in the first