Oscar Wilde and the Nest of Vipers by Gyles Brandreth Read Free Book Online Page A

seems that the unhappy duchess is to leave her home by the back door.’
    ‘Shall we follow? The press men are going.’
    ‘We don’t follow the press men, Robert. They follow us.’ He drew deeply on his cigarette and closed his eyes once more. ‘Besides, there is no rush. I doubt that they’ll bring out the body until after dark. Let us savour our smoke beneath the apple blossom for a while. Remember, pleasure is the only thing one should live for. No civilised man ever regrets a pleasure and no uncivilised man ever knows what a pleasure is.’
    I smiled. ‘Have I heard that before, Oscar?’
    ‘You will hear it again, Robert, that’s for sure.’
    Oscar’s gentle laughter was interrupted by the sharp clack of footsteps on the cobbles, followed by the dull screech of the garden gate being opened.
    ‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ said Lord Yarborough. His voice was light and high-pitched; his manner effortlessly courteous. ‘I saw you standing here and thought I might take a moment to have a word. Would that be convenient?’
    ‘Good evening, my lord,’ replied Oscar, casting his cigarette into the bushes and offering the diminutive peer a lilac-gloved hand. ‘I am Oscar Wilde.’
    ‘Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Wilde,’ responded Lord Yarborough. ‘I know your name – and your reputation.’ He smiled. ‘I am acquainted with your friend, Dr Doyle. He speaks so highly of you.’
    ‘And this is my friend, Mr Robert Sherard,’ said Oscar.
    Lord Yarborough turned and bowed towards me. ‘Robert Harborough Sherard Kennedy,’ he said. ‘It is a pleasure. We are kinsmen, after all.’
    ‘My lord?’ I mumbled, confused, letting my own cigarette fall to the ground.
    Lord Yarborough smiled at me. ‘Your father is the natural son of the fifth and last Earl of Harborough, is he not?’
    ‘He is.’
    ‘My mother was Lord Harborough’s legitimate daughter. She was born many years before your father, but our parents, Mr Sherard, were sister and brother. We are cousins.’
    ‘My God,’ I gasped. ‘I had no idea.’ I stood amazed.
    ‘Bastard cousins, of course.’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘My mother inherited everything. And your father … was given an education.’
    ‘I had no idea,’ I repeated. ‘I knew none of this. We never spoke of my father’s family at home.’
    Oscar came to my rescue. ‘Your mother is alive, my lord?’ he asked.
    ‘My mother is dead. And she was dead to me when she was alive. I did not care for her. She was a vain and ridiculous woman. Nor was she faithful to my father.’
    ‘Your father was the late Earl of Yarborough?’
    ‘Yes. My mother, Anne Harborough, married him not for love, but for reasons of euphony.’
    Oscar laughed. Lord Yarborough stepped forward, bowed his head and shook my hand.
    ‘Well, well,’ said Oscar, opening his cigarette case and offering it around, ‘this is a happy chance encounter.’
    ‘Or would be,’ said Lord Yarborough, standing back and selecting one of Oscar’s Turkish cigarettes (the case contained three varieties), ‘were it not for the tragedy across the road.’ He rolled the cigarette between his fingers. ‘That is heartbreaking.’
    Oscar glanced back through the trees towards 40 Grosvenor Square. The front door was closed. The curtains were all drawn. Evening shadows were now falling on the house.
    ‘We have just called upon His Grace,’ he said.
    ‘I know,’ replied Yarborough. ‘He has told me. We are old friends. He appreciates your concern and is grateful for your discretion.’
    ‘What was the cause of death?’ enquired Oscar casually, holding a match to the elegant earl’s daintily held cigarette.
    ‘Myocardial infarction. A heart attack.’
    ‘Without a doubt?’
    ‘Without a doubt. Without a doubt at all. I’d stake my professional reputation on it. The duchess had been my patient for a number of months. Her heart was enfeebled. Fatally so. I have been fearing this outcome for some while.’
    ‘But the