Death in Hellfire by Deryn Lake Page B

to get as merry as possible without reducing himself to the level of Charles Arundel, whom he already cordially disliked.
    “Do you travel at all, Mr O’Hare?”
    “Not a great deal, Sir Francis. But I hear that you are quite a voyager.”
    “Oh yes, indeed. When I was very young I went on the Grand Tour and the impression it left on me was remarkable. I also went on a visit to meet the Empress Anna Petrovna of Russia and I have made a journey to Greece and Asia Minor.”
    “I envy you that, sir.”
    “It was in Asia Minor that I met young Arundel’s father.”
    “Really?”
    John stole a glance at Charles and saw that a bright pink flush had now invaded his cheeks.
    “Oh yes. I have been a friend of his ever since. He was a member of the Divan Club which is an organisation specifically for people who have visited the Ottoman Empire.” John’s ears became alert, wondering if it was possible that this was the club to which Sir John Fielding had referred. “How very interesting, sir. Does that club still function?”
    “No, alas. It was difficult to find members with the right qualifications. But I am still friendly with several of the people concerned.”
    At this Dashwood gave rather a coarse laugh in which Charles joined. John was convinced that they were referring to something else and wondered if it could possibly be another club. He was just about to make some superficial comment when there came another ring at the front door.
    Sir Francis looked up. “That will be James Avon-Nelthorpe. He is travelling from London and said he might be late.” He turned to his wife. “You have no objection to him joining us I take it, my dear?”
    She sighed a little and turning to a servant said, “Lay another cover, would you.”
    There was the sound of voices in the hall and then the door to the dining room was opened and a footman intoned “The Honourable James Avon-Nelthorpe and Mrs Avon-Nelthorpe.” Every head turned to look and John, giving the couple who stood in the doorway a quick glance, formed the immediate impression that the Honourable James had brought an ancient London whore with him. For the woman in his company was easily old enough to be his mother and was fat, short and wore far too much rouge. On top of her white-blonde mass of curls she had a pink hat with a whirl of pink feathers floating at the side, this matching her open robe which covered a very fussy white petticoat beneath. Dimly visible beneath this extraordinary outfit were a pair of pink top-boots, and pink gloves gave the finishing touch.
    “Damme James,” said Sir Francis, rising. “You did not say you were bringing your wife.”
    “Oh, cooee!” exclaimed the newcomer. “Sorry to intrude, I’m sure. Do hope you’ll forgive me Lady Dashwood. It’s just that James has hurt his back and he has no one attend to it for him but his little wifey.”
    She grinned, displaying a row of small white teeth, sharp as blades.
    “Oh, no trouble at all,” Sarah answered in her monotonous voice. “Wilkins, lay two places.”
    “I don’t think you know everyone,” said Sir Francis, still standing. “Lady Arundel, may I present Mrs Avon-Nelthorpe?” The fat lady bobbed a curtsey. “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure, Lady Arundel. The pleasure is entirely mine.”
    “How do you do, ma’am,” said Coralie extending a gracious hand.
    “And may I present the Honourable Fintan O’Hare to you, Mrs Avon-Nelthorpe?” Over him she ran a shrewd little eye, encased in pouches of fat, in quite one of the most penetrating glances he had ever seen, indeed he almost felt stripped bare so all-consuming was it.
    John rose and bowed fulsomely. “How nice,” was all he could think of saying.
    The Honourable James meanwhile stood shuffling from foot to foot, blushing violently. He was an extraordinary young man with bright hair, the colour of carrots, which he wore tied back in a queue. In contrast with his wife he had a lanky frame with hardly an ounce