Catherine Coulter the Sherbrooke Series Novels 6-10 (9781101562123)

by Coulter, Catherine

  “Everyone is accounted for,” he said, lying easily. “No, I just don’t want you to overdo.” Actually, he knew the exact location of everyone in the castle, including Mrs. Black and Barnacle, who was currently lying on his back on the kitchen floor, arms flung out, groaning. Mrs. Black merely stepped over him.

  She left him. She wanted to kiss him again, feel that moan of his in her mouth.

  Lord Kipper found Meggie in the center of a maze that had fallen to ruin at least twenty years before. She was standing there, staring about at all the yew bushes, wondering how she could fix it, when she heard him say from behind her, “Ah, my beautiful young bride.”

  She raised an eyebrow up at that, knew he’d said it exactly that way on purpose, and said, “Thank you, Lord Kipper.”

  “I wish I had seen you first, but alas, I didn’t.”

  “My father would have howled had you inquired about me, sir, since you are even his senior by many years.”

  “When it involves men and women, years don’t matter.”

  “I shouldn’t like to be a widow at twenty-one because my husband died of old age.”

  “How old are you now?”

  “I am nineteen. That would give us two years of bliss before you croaked it.”

  He stared at her, as if she were, Meggie thought, some strange bird that had just dropped out of the sky, as if he didn’t know whether to shoot her or stroke her feathers. Then he laughed, threw back his head and laughed and laughed.

  Meggie just looked at this beautiful man, and now that he was laughing, he looked more than beautiful, he looked dazzling, surrounded by overgrown yew bushes, a watery sun shining down on his head.

  “I understand that Libby isn’t at all certain that you are serious about admiring her.”

  He was still grinning when he said, “That’s true. But we will see, won’t we?”

  “You will, certainly. What do you want, Lord Kipper? You are certainly far afield from the castle as well as far afield from your own home.”

  “I heard that someone struck you on the head. You saw absolutely nothing at all?”

  “I heard some harsh breathing when the thunder had just boomed and the lightning had just lit up the bedchamber, and I saw a shadow of someone, wearing black. Nothing more. Why? Were you the one in my bedchamber, Lord Kipper?”

  That remark sent one of his perfectly slanted eyebrows straight up. “I? No, my dear, I was sleeping, as I recall, in the arms of a very pleasant young woman in Cork.”

  “I did ask, didn’t I?” Meggie looked heavenward.

  “Yes, you did. You are not at all what I would expect from a vicar’s daughter.” He paused, his eyes darkened. “Thomas doesn’t deserve to be a widower when he is so young.”

  Meggie laughed, just couldn’t help herself. “Indeed he doesn’t. You have been a terror, haven’t you, sir?”

  “Oh yes,” he said, and looked around. “I am still able to, thank God.” He looked about for a moment, then pointed. “There was a lovely old bench here at one time. It’s quite a mess, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Ah, there’s the bench, but it’s very dirty.”

  “No matter.” Lord Kipper pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and wiped off the bench. “Do sit down, my lady.”

  Meggie sat.

  “Does your head hurt?”

  “Just a bit now. Do you know what is happening here at Pendragon, sir?”

  “Call me Niles. No, I don’t.”

  “Someone tried to kill me. I’ve only been here two days. Surely that’s too short a time to make anyone hate me enough to crack open my head. I have been thinking about this. Someone knew I was coming and because I was me—Meggie Sherbrooke—I was hated enough for that someone to want to kill me. Does that make sense?”

  “You mean,” Lord Kipper said slowly, looking deeply into her Sherbrooke blue eyes, “that someone hated you before they even met you?”

  “Or hated my family perhaps. Or the person believed Thomas would be with me, only he wasn’t. I am very worried that this person is after Thomas, not me.”

  “I also heard that Madeleine wants you pregnant, by tomorrow if that’s possible. She was even mumbling about putting an aphrodisiac in your tea. She even asked me to give you advice on how to seduce Thomas if he tired after only one or two encounters.”

  Meggie nearly fell off the bench she was so shocked. “I—sir, you can’t speak like that, surely. An aphrodisiac? You’re making that up just to make me turn red and stutter.”

  “Oh no. Thomas’s mother, you know, she’s always told me everything, asked my advice endlessly, even things I had no interest in. She is single-minded, is Madeleine.”

  “Have you been her lover, too?”

  “Of course.”

  Meggie slowly got to her feet. Her head was pounding. She felt light-headed. The morning sun had disappeared behind a mass of soft gray clouds. It would rain soon.

  He was beside her in an instant. “Meggie, lean against me. I can see you’re not well.”

  She didn’t want to. His hands were around her arms, pulling her closer, then she jerked away, fell to her knees, and vomited. There was little enough in her belly, so her body shook with dry heaves. She felt as though she were jerking apart, from the inside out. She just wanted to fall over and not move, maybe for the rest of the morning, or maybe for the entire day. The thought of her mother-in-law putting an aphrodisiac in her tea made her dry-heave some more.

  She was aware that Lord Kipper was holding her hair back. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have another clean handkerchief,” he said. “Let me help you back to the castle.”

  Meggie didn’t make it. They reached the entrance to the maze when she felt so dizzy she couldn’t stand up. She was shaking, her teeth chattering. She heard him say her name, then she didn’t hear anything at all.

  Thomas was with William when he saw Lord Kipper striding toward them, Meggie in his arms. Thomas ran.

  “I say, Thomas, what’s—”

  Thomas had her in his own arms in just a moment, so scared he thought he’d choke on it.

  “She vomited, then fell over, Thomas,” Lord Kipper said. “Put her to bed, my boy. I’ll fetch Dr. Pritchart.”

  When Meggie awoke, it was to see her husband not two inches from her nose. He looked very worried. No, it was more. She saw a thick veil of anger in his eyes.

  She raised her hand to his cheek. “Thomas,” she said, her voice as thin as gruel. “I’m all right.”

  He took her hand in his and held it. “Just rest, Meggie. Be quiet. Don’t talk now. Damnation, what happened?”

  “I nearly shook myself apart I got so sick, then I tottered beside Lord Kipper a bit, then just collapsed. I’m sorry, Thomas.”

  “Dr. Pritchart will be here soon. Just hang on.”

  “Thomas, I don’t want to die.”

  His breathing hitched. He hated this, couldn’t bear it anymore. “You won’t die, Meggie, I swear it.” The stable lad had been so scared, he’d nearly followed Thomas into the bedchamber.

  She closed her eyes against the pain. He held her hand, spoke nonsense to her until Dr. Pritchart arrived.

  “Go away, my lord,” he said, and Thomas reluctantly left the White Room.

  He heard voices coming from the drawing room. When he neared the open door, he heard his mother say, “What a weak-kneed chit. Just a small blow to the head and here she is whining and carrying on.”

  Then Aunt Libby said, “I wonder if perhaps she wasn’t trying to flirt with Niles. Did she follow him into the maze? The foolish stable lad wouldn’t say anything, just that Lord Kipper had seen him watching her ladyship.”

  Thomas said as he walked into the room, “This will stop right now. Enough from both of you.” He paused a moment, then attacked. “Mother, I think you’re the person who struck Meggie. You have yet to tell me why.”

  Madeleine slowly rose to her feet, her face pale, her eyes darkening. “No, Thomas, I didn’t strike her.”

&n
bsp; “Is she going to die, Thomas?”

  “No, William,” he said, turning briefly to his half-brother, who’d just come into the room, “she isn’t going to die.”

  Barnacle tottered into the dim drawing room. He had to yell over the sudden blast of thunder that made the crystals on the overhead chandelier shimmer and hit against each other. “My lord, Dr. Pritchart wants you upstairs for her ladyship. Oh dear, I do hope this doesn’t send her underground. I only just found her. She’s the perfect size to walk on my back.”

  Thomas, who dearly loved the old man, wanted at that moment to shoot him. He was back in the White Room in not more than forty seconds. Meggie was sitting up, leaning against a pillow, smiling at him. He nearly shouted he was so relieved.

  Dr. Pritchart, seeing that His Lordship just might leap on his bride he was so thankful, moved to block him, saying, “I have told her to remain in bed the rest of the day. We will see tomorrow how her head feels.”

  Meggie jumped when more thunder rolled overhead. Rain slashed hard against the windows. “I’m all right, Thomas. Don’t be frightened.”

  But he was. After he’d shown Dr. Pritchart out, he sat beside her on the bed and pulled her into his arms. He pressed his face into her hair. He kissed her temple, said low and deep into her ear, “You scared every ounce of wickedness out of me. I will become more reverent than your father. He will be so impressed with me he will ask me to give one of his sermons.”

  She turned her head slightly, moving very slowly, and kissed his neck. “I should like to see you in my father’s pulpit. Please don’t lose all the wickedness, Thomas. I do like it. I can’t bear this either. Don’t leave me, please don’t.”

  He closed his eyes as he held her, kissed her hair, the tip of her nose, felt the softness of her through her muslin gown. “Let me get you into your nightgown.”

  27

  MEGGIE WATCHED MISS Crittenden run to the end of the long kitchen, come to an almost instant stop, then wheel about and race back toward her.

  “By all that’s wonderful,” Meggie said in awe to Mrs. Black, “that was amazing.”

  “Demned Cat’s been acting like that since the big tom, McGuffy, went to sea with the Midland’s youngest boy, Davey,” Mrs. Black said, narrowing her eyes to better see Miss Crittenden flashing by, but it didn’t help much, and Meggie saw that it didn’t. “Running everywhere to find him, but he’s no where to be found. And now it’s just habit with her.”

  “So she started all this marvelous running trying to find Davey. Hmmm. Maybe you’ve hit upon a new training technique. Mrs. Black, have you asked Dr. Pritchart about glasses?” she asked.

  “Oh aye, my lady. Dr. Pritchart has tried everything. He says it’s the cataracts that are like veils over my eyes, that they will just thicken and thicken until there won’t even be shadows. He calls it white eyes.”

  “I’m very sorry.”

  “It’s just that I would like to see Miss Crittenden race about Cook’s jugs of flour and sugar. Many the times I’ve nearly tripped over her. So many changes you’re bringing, my lady, and all of them exciting. Do you know I can smell how clean Pendragon is now? It’s a blessed thing, it is. Now, why are you interested in Miss Crittenden and how she runs?”

  “Have you ever heard of cat racing?”

  Cook came into the huge kitchen and said, “Cat racing? Now, that’s a loony thing, it is.”

  “Not at all, Mrs. Mullins,” Meggie said, and since neither of them had heard of such a thing, for the next ten minutes, Meggie told them about the history of cat racing, begun at the Mountvale Mews in the last century, brought to its premiere place in the racing world by the Harker brothers, the major trainers for two decades now. “The McCaulty Racetrack is the major venue for cat racing,” she said. “The meets are held from April to October. Mr. Cork is the current champion. He from the Vicarage Mews and I trained him.”

  “You really trained a cat to race?” Barnacle said, dragging himself into the kitchen, and one eyebrow arched up so high he looked like a bit of a demon, in agony, of course.

  “I most certainly did. I think Miss Crittenden just might take to the sport. What do you think? Cat racing at Pendragon?”

  “Oh, aye, that would be something, now wouldn’t it?” Mrs. Black beamed.

  Cook harrumphed. “It’s loony, now isn’t it?”

  “There’s nothing like seeing those sleek bodies flying by,” Meggie said. “It makes your heart gallop.”

  “Meggie.”

  She turned to see Thomas striding into the kitchen. He was carrying a package under his arm. “Here you are.” He didn’t sound at all surprised. During the past week, once he’d let her out of bed, she’d been everywhere in Pendragon, overseeing everything and everyone, and that pleased him all the way to his gut.

  “Oh, my lord,” Barnacle said and creaked into a semblance of a bow, adding a little moan as he straightened, his face a hideous mask of pain. “Mrs. Black, it’s his lordship.”

  Mrs. Black, instantly flustered that the master was in the kitchen, of all places, curtsied and knocked a teacup off the table.

  “No harm done,” Meggie said as she snagged the falling cup out of the air, and added to her husband, “Miss Crittenden just might be a racing cat. What do you think?”

  Thomas looked over at the large calico, sitting in a slice of sunlight in a corner of the kitchen bathing herself. “She’s huge.”

  “Well, I think most of it is muscle. I just watched her run. She’s amazing, Thomas. She will lean down a bit during training.”

  “Cat races at Pendragon. Let me think about that, Meggie.” He handed her the package. “This is from your family.”

  “Oh my,” Meggie said, clutched the package to her bosom, and nearly ran from the kitchen.

  “But I want to see what’s in that package!” Barnacle yelled from behind her.

  She just laughed and ran all the way to the White Room, Thomas on her heels.

  “I took it out of the wooden packing box,” Thomas said, standing against the wall watching her, his arms crossed over his chest. “You feel all right, Meggie?”

  “I’m all right,” she said, not looking up from the paper she was tearing. “Really, no headache at all now. Oh goodness, my father must have sent this right after we left. What could it be? I just realized, he didn’t know where we were going, did he?”

  “Well, yes, naturally I told him. I didn’t want him or your stepmother to worry.”

  “But you wouldn’t tell me anything.”

  “No, that’s the way it’s done.”

  She pulled away the last bit of paper and lifted out a beautifully carved wooden cat. It was a perfect likeness of Mr. Cork, even the size. There was a plaque at the bottom with Mr. Cork’s name, his sire and dam, and the dates of his racing wins beautifully etched into the wood.

  Meggie held it close, then burst into tears.

  “Meggie! What’s wrong? It’s a statue of Mr. Cork. It’s a very nice statue, but tears? What is this?”

  “I miss him so much, and Cleopatra, too. All the cats, Thomas, they would run and jump, meow their heads off, or sit there and tell you, without words, that they weren’t going to move a paw, no matter what you did.”

  “I think,” he said slowly, watching her dance around the room clutching the wooden Mr. Cork to her chest, “that just maybe we should introduce cat racing to Pendragon. Did your father carve this exquisite piece?”

  “No, Jeremy.”

  “I see,” he said and wanted to howl. Couldn’t the mangy bastard just leave her alone?

  After Thomas left her to go downstairs to see Paddy, Meggie was humming as she dusted off Mr. Cork’s fine statue. Suddenly she stopped cold. At least an hour had passed since she’d thought about the person who’d slammed whatever it had been down on her head. Just the thought of it now brought a flash of pain. Even when Thomas had mentioned it, she’d been too excited about her present and hadn’t heeded it.

  She winced, walked slowly
to the window, and looked at the breezy spring day. It was cloudy, but at least right now it wasn’t raining.

  She picked up her father’s letter and read it through again. “My dearest girl, Jeremy sent this wedding present to me since he didn’t know where you would be. I am enclosing his letter.”

  Meggie didn’t want to read Jeremy’s letter, she really didn’t, but nonetheless, now that Thomas was gone and she was alone, she slowly unfolded the single sheet of paper, pressed it out with her palm, and read, “Dear Almost Cousin Meggie, I wish you and your new husband the very best. Charlotte and I would welcome a visit from you. I hope you enjoy this rendition of Mr. Cork. It took me a while to carve it which is why it was late.” And it was signed just Jeremy. His direction was written on a separate piece of foolscap. Jeremy. Jeremy and Charlotte. She walked slowly to the fireplace and stood there, staring at the three stacked logs, bits of paper stuffed around them. She shredded the letter and tossed the pieces in amongst the kindling. Then she lit the fire and watched it burn. She heard Alvy moving about behind her, but didn’t move.

  “Dr. Pritchart is here to see you, my lady.”

  She frowned, not realizing at first why he would come to Pendragon. Oh, her head. She turned and smiled at Alvy. “I will see him shortly in the drawing room. Please let Barnacle know, Alvy.”

  Ten minutes later Meggie, Thomas beside her, greeted Dr. Pritchart, who was sipping at a cup of Cook’s tea and scratching his ear.

  “There is a rash on your ear, Dr. Pritchart,” Meggie said, walking to him. “Is it all right?”

  He paused and looked at her, for a very long time, didn’t say anything, just looked. “You’ll do,” he said, snapped the cup into its saucer, and gave her a brief bow. He said to Thomas, “If she suffers a relapse, you will call me. Good day to you both. The rash comes twice a year, one of those times is right now, in April. It’s nothing at all.” And he was gone.

  “Well,” Meggie said. “I wonder how much his bill will be for that visit.”

  “He thinks you’re fine. That’s all I wanted to know. He’s had that rash twice a year since for as long as I can remember.” He crossed to her, pulled her against him, and kissed her.