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    The Legend of Montpelier Hill
    The Legend of Montpelier Hill
    The Legend of Montpelier Hill
    Ebook75 pages51 minutes

    The Legend of Montpelier Hill

    By James Dargan

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    About this ebook

    Do you believe in Evil?

    Most Dubliners have heard the stories about the Lodge at the Hellfire Club on top of Montpelier Hill, in Rathfarnham, County Dublin, and the evil goings on of the place, but are they aware of what really happened?

    It is a stormy autumn night in the year 1739, and the Earl of Rosse and some of his associates - all Freemasons and members of the irreverent and infamous Hellfire Club - have invited two guests to play cards with them. Drink and gambling follow, until one of the guests sees something he wishes he never did.

    What will happen to him and his companion? Will they survive the night and make it to the morning and home, or will they go the same way as countless people before them, disappearing without a trace forever?

    'The Legend of Montpelier Hill' is a gothic-horror short novella of 15,000 words. 

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDanny Boy Books
    Release dateJan 14, 2014
    ISBN9781497706866
    The Legend of Montpelier Hill
    Author

    James Dargan

    James Dargan was born in Birmingham, England, in 1974. Coming from an Irish background, he frequently writes about that experience. As well as England, he has also lived in the United States, Ireland, and - for the best part of fifteen years - in Warsaw, Poland, his home from home from home.

    Read more from James Dargan

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      Book preview

      The Legend of Montpelier Hill - James Dargan

      ONE.

      The way was woe to go up Montpelier Hill. It was lashing thunder and lightning with the rain, and the coach and horses had been battered a good beat. Mr Coniforth, along with his two guests, a Mr Wilberforce and Mr Sanderson, had been travelling a hard hour from Rathfarnham village and were cold and fed up beyond all measure. The Hunting Lodge – built some fourteen years earlier in 1725 by one William Conolly, former speaker in the Irish House of Commons and now dead – stood at the top of the hill overlooking Dublin City. Wilberforce and Sanderson, English gentlemen-gamblers themselves in name, had never been so far away from Dublin City. The frightful weather, along with the incessant singing of the coachman, Padraig, had made the trip almost unbearable.

      In the Lodge waiting for them were Richard Parsons, 1st Earl of Rosse, Simon Luttrell, a gentleman of some standing and the artist James Worsdale.

      Not long now, sirs! Padraig shouted down to the men. Padraig was soaked through but a hardy Irishman.

      The coach came to a halt. Padraig got off. Another of the Earl's servants was waiting for them with horses.

      It's time to get out, gentlemen, Padraig said.

      Coniforth, Wilberforce and Sanderson wrapped up and got out of the coach.

      Oh, my heavens, Wilberforce cried as the rain fell onto his cornice hat and swept against his face.

      Here are your mounts, Padraig announced. "You'll have to ride on horseback from here. It's only a short way.

      The three men got on their horses.

      Which way, man? Sanderson asked.

      Follow me! Padraig said, jumping on his own horse.

      The four men continued up the hill. On and on they climbed, the Leinster rain torrential. Padraig in front, whistling some tune or other by the late and great Irish composer Turlough O'Carolan.

      After a few minutes, a light broke out through the trees.

      There it is! Padraig shouted, pointing to the Lodge.

      Coniforth knew the Earl through a very rich merchant, Patrick Moncrief, a trader from Waterford Town who had made his fortune in the export of wool. Moncrief, known in Dublin circles as a great card player and libertine, knew the 1st Earl of Rosse from the gambling table and had recommended Coniforth a year earlier as a great player who would give the Earl a run for his money. The Earl, always a risk-taker, had been more than willing to allow Coniforth to show his skill at cards. When Moncrief had proposed yet another meeting between him and the Earl, Coniforth's only condition was he would be allowed to come with two companions in tow, namely Wilberforce and Sanderson.

      I don't like the look of this? Sanderson said to Wilberforce, who was riding beside him.

      It will be fine, Wilberforce answered.

      I don't trust these Irish.

      Padraig led them on. The Lodge was now clearly visible. Its figure spectral and frightening, yet they needed shelter from the  cold rain.

      Hurry up, sirs! Padraig shouted once more, gaining pace for the last few hundred yards.

      At the Lodge, the men could see a figure holding a lantern.

      The party pulled up outside. Padraig got off his horse and approached the person with the lantern.

      Hurry inside, gentlemen! Padraig said.

      The person, who was in a fact a boy, called them off their mounts with a wave of his hand.

      The boy led them into the hall.

      Sean, Padraig began, see that Mr Coniforth and his two companions get dried off first before you see them through to the Master.

      All right, sir, Sean said.

      Sean brought the three men into a small room behind the kitchen, where they dried off. Padraig went back outside to stable the horses.

      I hope we're not going to stay the night? Sanderson said as he was drying his long hair, platted at the back which was the custom for such men of distinction.

      As long as I win some money we can stay the whole night, Wilberforce answered with a smile.

      "Now listen, gentlemen, the Earl's a decent man, but he won't tolerate cheating – you hear? Play fair and there's a good chance you could win yourselves a small fortune tonight," Coniforth warned.

      I hope so, Wilberforce said sarcastically, "I haven't come

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