The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5

by Catherine Coulter

  There was light coming from several windows, but she couldn’t see anything, no shadows, no sign of her uncle or of Thomas or any of the servants. Where the devil was Jeremy?

  She ran bent over from bush to bush, getting closer and closer to the great house. She slithered up onto the side veranda to where her uncle’s study was located. It was then she heard the voices.

  It was Uncle Theo, and he sounded amused. He also sounded quite drunk. “So, you little bastard, you decided to come back here and whip me, eh?”

  “Yes. I’m not a bastard. My mother was your sister and she was my father’s wife. I’m here because of what you did to Sophie. I can’t allow you to hurt my sister and get away with it. You beat her!”

  “She deserved it, and as soon as I get my hands on her again, I’ll whip her until she’s begging for mercy.”

  “I won’t let you. Ryder won’t let you.”

  Ryder Sherbrooke, the young man Theo wanted very much to kill. Ah, but he had the boy here, the useless little cripple. He grinned down at Jeremy. “And just how do you think you’d ever stop me, whelp? You couldn’t even keep your whip. I have it now, don’t I?”

  “I will think of something.”

  There came the hissing sound of a whip cutting through the air. Then she heard a sharp cry. It was Jeremy. Uncle Theo had struck him with the whip.

  She thought she’d felt all the rage of which she was capable. She’d been wrong. The wooden door was partially open. She slipped through it very quietly to see Uncle Theo, his shoulder heavily bandaged, wearing a dressing gown, standing over Jeremy, the whip raised again in his right hand.

  “I’ll give you another taste, Master Jeremy, just to show you how important you are!”

  “If you do, you filthy wretch, I’ll put a bullet through your belly. I don’t want you to die quickly. I want you lie on the ground, holding your belly, feeling your guts rotting from the inside out while you scream and scream.”

  Theo Burgess froze, but just for an instant. Slowly, very slowly, he lowered the whip and turned to face his niece.

  “So, you discovered the little cripple was gone and came galloping to his rescue.”

  She ignored him. “Come here, Jeremy. Keep your distance from him. That’s right, come to me now.”

  Jeremy’s face was white with pain, his eyes hollow with failure. She understood both feelings very well, and said, “It’s all right. This time, we’ve won. You’re very brave to come here. That’s good, come to me now and we will leave soon.”

  “You think so, do you, slut? Don’t count on it. All I have to do is call out and at least ten slaves will be here to do my bidding in an instant.”

  “It won’t matter because you’ll be belly-shot. Go ahead, Uncle, yell as loud as you want because it’s the last sound you’ll make without agony. I want to kill you very badly. You’re a coward, whipping Jeremy, who’s half your size. I suppose your utter lack of any feeling surprised even me, but just for a moment.”

  Theo Burgess didn’t know what to do. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts from all the rum he’d had to drink for the damnable pain in his shoulder. He believed the girl. She’d stabbed him, hadn’t she? Lord, he should have continued hitting her until she was dead, but he’d had to stop because the blow she’d dealt him was making him dizzy and light-headed. He looked at her now, feeling renewed pain in his shoulder, despite the huge amounts of rum he’d drunk, remembering the bitter torture of that damned letter opener, remembering how Thomas had pulled it out and how he’d tried to keep silent but had failed and screamed. Even then it hadn’t been fair. He hadn’t fallen into blessed unconsciousness. Oh no, he’d stayed with the torment and it hadn’t let up for a very long time. He’d sworn to make her pay. He had to make her pay and he would.

  He said at last, very pleased with the indifference of his voice, “You know, my dear, if you kill me, you won’t have a thing.”

  “The rum has curdled your wits. Jeremy is your heir. He will have everything.”

  “Oh no. He isn’t my heir for the simple reason that I don’t have a will.”

  “Will or no will, we are your closest relatives, and thus when all is said and done, Jeremy will inherit Camille Hall. Of course my father’s house in Fowey is also his.”

  “Did dear Oliver Susson tell you that when he was plowing your belly?”

  “That you believe your own fiction rather points to a failing mind, doesn’t it, Uncle? I have two bullets in this derringer. Jeremy, let me see how badly he hurt you.”

  Her brother turned his back. The single stroke of the whip had cut through his shirt. Thank God the skin wasn’t broken, but the long diagonal welt was ugly and red, the flesh rising around it. She sucked in her breath. “You’re a monster, truly. Now, as I said, I have two bullets. If that whip had drawn even a fingertip of blood, I would have shot you in your belly. However, you are lucky, Uncle. I won’t shoot you at all, this time. I’m simply taking Jeremy back with me to Kimberly Hall. You will leave us alone, do you understand? You won’t come there nor will you send Thomas again. Now, we will leave. Don’t move an inch.”

  “And just what will you do when Ryder Sherbrooke tosses you and the boy out of Kimberly?”

  “That isn’t your concern.”

  “Thomas told me you were installed in Ryder Sherbrooke’s bedchamber. Everyone knows now that you’re his mistress. Your reputation is—”

  She actually laughed. “Look at my face. Can even you imagine a healthy man being interested in bedding me now? My ribs are even more violent shades of purple and green than my face. Believe me, even if I wanted to be in his bed, even if he’d wanted me there, I would have been unable. You saw to that. Now, Uncle, I want to leave here with Jeremy.”

  “To go back to that damned Englishman?”

  “You’re a damned Englishman, remember?”

  “As I said, he’ll remove you quickly enough. I hear he bores easily and no one woman could ever hold him. My agent in England wrote that he had women climbing over themselves to become his mistress. No, you ugly little slut, you couldn’t hold him for more than a night.”

  “I don’t want to hold him. I don’t even want to be in the same room with him. He can have a dozen more mistresses for all I care. However, he does seem honorable, something new in my experience in a man. He has protected Jeremy. I grow tired of this. Jeremy, go outside. I’ll follow.”

  “But, Sophie—”

  “Go!”

  The boy backed away from her, his face white and set.

  She lowered the derringer to the level of Theo Burgess’s left knee. “Perhaps,” she said in a very low, very mean voice, “just perhaps I’ve changed my mind. I would like to know that you’re hobbling about for the rest of your damned life, a cripple, a no-account cripple.”

  Theo Burgess shrieked, “No, damn you, no!” He rushed toward her, flailing his arms madly.

  Suddenly the candelabra crashed to the floor and the room was plunged into darkness.

  Sophie’s finger inadvertently jerked the trigger. The derringer fired, a monstrous loud noise in the small room. She heard an anguished yell. Someone struck her arm but she managed to hold onto the derringer, and this time she pulled the trigger on purpose. Then something struck her on her temple and she slumped to the floor. She heard Jeremy yelling and she smelled something acrid, something she vaguely recognized. She managed to open her eyes, trying desperately to hang on. She saw only darkness and a strange glowing orange light. And the sounds—snapping and hissing and a windy sort of whoosh.

  The light muslin draperies were aflame, billowing upward as if caught in a great wind, flaming outward, the heat intense. The room was on fire.

  “Jeremy,” she whispered, “run, please, you must run. Go to Ryder. He’ll take care of you. You can trust him.” She choked on the smoke even as she closed her eyes and her head lolled back on the wooden floor.

  She awoke coughing, her throat raw and burning. She felt someone’s arms around her, f
elt a man’s hands rubbing her back as she coughed and wheezed. She heard his voice: “It’s over, Sophie. Jeremy is safe. It’s over. Shush, don’t worry now and don’t try to talk.”

  Ryder. His voice, his hands on her back. She leaned against him, shuddering from the rawness in her throat, trying not to swallow because it hurt so much.

  “Where is Jeremy? Is he all right, truly?”

  “Be quiet and I’ll tell you everything. We’re here at Camille Hall. Jeremy had very nearly managed to pull you out of the room all by himself by the time Emile and I got here. The fire is out and the damage isn’t too bad. Only the study was pretty well destroyed and the veranda outside charred a bit. Naturally there’s smoke damage and the smell in the house is godawful. Uncle Theo is quite dead.”

  It hurt so much to talk, to say the words, but she did, wheezing them out. “I must have killed him. My derringer went off and I heard him yell.”

  “Did you now? Well, that was well done of you. However, when you’re well enough again, I will have to thrash you at the very least for what you did. If Coco hadn’t seen you running barefoot down the Kimberly Hall drive, why then you very probably would have died in that fire, Jeremy along with you, for the boy wouldn’t have left you in there to die.”

  “The magistrate, Mr. Sherman Cole, will see that I’m hanged.”

  “I see no reason why he would want to hang you.”

  She tried to pull away from him but he held her firmly.

  “Yes he will. He wanted me to take him as my lover but there was no reason to and so Uncle Theo had me refuse him. He was nasty about it, and threatened me. Uncle Theo thought it was amusing. He said he could handle Cole if the need ever arose. And he also said I was to keep up a light flirtation with him so that if Uncle Theo ever needed something from him, he’d come running when I smiled at him.”

  “But you didn’t keep flirting with him?”

  “No, I slapped him and stomped on his instep when he tried to kiss me. He’s repellent. It was about three months ago.”

  “I see. Well, then, my dear girl, I guess it must be I who shot Theo Burgess, trying to save you and Jeremy. But why? After all, Burgess is known only as the loving, ineffectual uncle, isn’t he? I must think on this. Perhaps there is another resolution to all this. Yes, let me think on it.”

  “Where is Thomas?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him. I’ll ask.”

  “I wanted to shoot Uncle Theo in his knee so he’d be a cripple like Jeremy, to make him live with a limp just as Jeremy has had to do—dear God, he’d actually taken a whip to Jeremy—but I swear to you, I didn’t pull the trigger intentionally. The candelabra suddenly crashed to the floor and everything was dark and I jerked accidently on the trigger. Then someone hit my arm and I pulled the trigger on purpose to protect myself.”

  “Tell me all of it and don’t leave out a thing. Quickly, I don’t know how much time we have.”

  By the time she was finished speaking, her throat was so raw she could barely speak in anything but a hoarse whisper.

  “I’m giving you over to Samuel now, both you and Jeremy. He’ll take you back to Kimberly Hall. Now, no more words from you, no arguments, no nothing. I’m in charge now and you will do exactly what I tell you to do. The first order is that there is to be no talking from you for at least twenty-four hours.”

  “My head hurts.”

  Ryder frowned down at her and lightly touched his fingertips to the bump over her temple. “Good God, you didn’t tell me that someone struck you on the head.”

  “I forgot.”

  “All right, talk, but make it quick.” When she’d finished, he was frowning. She opened her mouth, only to feel his palm over her lips. “No, now be quiet. Here’s Jeremy. Emile was seeing to him while I talked to you.”

  The boy was on his knees beside her, stroking her filthy face, her hands. “Oh, Sophie, your feet! What happened? What did you do?”

  She’d forgotten her damned feet.

  Ryder yelled for a lantern. When a slave brought it, he lowered it and looked for a long time at her feet, saying nothing. Then, “From the top of your head to your very toes, you’ve managed to do yourself in. Jesus, Sophie, your feet are a mess. See that Coco bathes them when you get back to Kimberly.”

  Ryder watched Samuel drive away with Sophie and Jeremy. He himself had carried her to the carriage. He was hot and sweaty and covered with smoke and grime from the fire. He was also in a devil of a mess and in an equally foul mood.

  Where the hell was that bastard, Thomas? Actually, truth be told, Thomas worried him more than Theo Burgess. At least Theo tried to keep up appearances; Thomas couldn’t give a good damn about anything. Ryder had no doubt that it was Thomas who had struck Sophie and hurled the candelabra to the floor.

  Ryder left Emile in charge of Camille Hall and took himself back to Kimberly for a few hours’ sleep. When he awoke he was told that Miss Stanton-Greville was still sleeping. He frowned but said nothing. He was thinking about her damned bloody feet, curse her. Just after he’d finished eating breakfast, Mr. Sherman Cole arrived from Montego Bay.

  Sherman Cole looked like the father of one of Ryder’s mistresses, a draper in Rye who was greedy and sly. He was very fat, double chins wobbling over his collar, had a monk’s tonsure of gray hair, very sharp eyes, and thick lips. The thought of him trying to kiss Sophie made Ryder want to gag.

  Still, he shook the man’s hand and offered him coffee. Mr. Cole wanted not only coffee, but sweet buns, which, when a tray was set before him, he eyed with more intensity than Ryder would have had gazing upon a beautiful naked woman.

  Ryder merely sat opposite him and looked over his right shoulder, unable, for the most part, to look at the man’s face. It was not an elevating sight. He listened to the man speak even though his mouth was many times full and thus his words a bit slurred.

  “Yes, Mr. Sherbrooke, as you know, I am the magistrate, the man in charge of all civil and criminal disturbances. I am the law here on the island, the power of the law resides with me. I was shocked to learn that you were involved, that you had brought Miss Sophia Stanton-Greville back to Kimberly with you. I don’t know how you came to be involved with her, but I am certain you will tell me soon enough. Please have the girl fetched here. I will question her now.”

  My God, Ryder thought, steepling his long fingers. He looked over them at the man who had just consumed four sweet buns. The man was not only a pig, he was also pompous, condescending, and thoroughly irritating. As to his manners, he had none. There were crumbs on his coat and on his chin. The man needed to be stripped and tossed to the crocodiles in the mangrove swamps. It would doubtless keep them busy for at least several days.

  “I think not, Mr. Cole,” Ryder said mildly. “You see, she is suffering from breathing in too much smoke and thus cannot speak without a lot of pain. Perhaps in several days you can return and she might be better.”

  Mr. Cole frowned. He wasn’t used to having anyone go against his expressed wishes. He was the man in charge; he was a leader of men, truly the law here, and it was his word, his orders, that counted. “I want to see her,” he said again, obstinate as a pig.

  “No.”

  “See here, Sherbrooke—”

  “Mr. Sherbrooke, Cole.”

  Sherman Cole was quite obviously taken aback and becoming angrier by the minute. But he wasn’t stupid. Was Sophia Stanton-Greville already this man’s mistress? Was he set on protecting her? He pursed his lips. He held himself silent, having learned that a man or woman felt compelled to fill in silences and thus provide him with information, but this young man didn’t say a word. He sat back in his chair, his fingers still steepled, and, damn his eyes, he looked bored.

  It was infuriating. Mr. Cole drew a deep breath, looked quickly down at the tray but saw there were no more sweet buns there, and frowned again. Food helped him sort through his thoughts, it always had, even when he’d been a child. “I want her,” he said.

 
; “A pity. You must accustom yourself, sir. You will never have her.”

  “That isn’t what I meant! My dear young man, I am married, my wife is a charming lady, really quite charming. I mean that I must speak to her, and I must tell you, Mr. Sherbrooke, that I suspect foul play here. I suspect that she murdered her uncle in cold blood and then set fire to the great house.”

  “This is a rather remarkable theory. May I inquire as to what brought you to this incredible conclusion?”

  “The girl isn’t what she seems to be, rather she is exactly what she seems, only her uncle wouldn’t recognize it or accept it. You must have heard—perhaps you even have firsthand information—she’s a slut, a high-priced harlot with no morals at all. I think her uncle finally realized the truth and she killed him when he threatened to toss her out. Aye, that’s what happened.” He stopped, gave Ryder a patented hanging judge’s look, and announced, “I am here to see justice done.”

  Ryder laughed, a deep, rich laugh. “Your theory is beyond amusing, Mr. Cole. However, you must realize that it is also rather libelous.”

  “I have a witness, Mr. Sherbrooke.”

  “Do you now?”

  “Yes, Thomas, the overseer.”

  Ryder laughed again, more deeply, more richly, more genuine amusement than before.

  “Sir!”

  “Mr. Cole, Thomas is a villain, as I must assume you already know. I don’t believe it wise to take testimony from a villain. I propose another theory, one that differs from yours quite substantially. However, there is just as much motive, just as much rationale for mine, as for yours. Thomas is a bounder. I suspect that Mr. Burgess discovered Thomas was cheating him, that or he was abusing the slaves too much, and he fired him. Put very simply, Thomas killed him. As luck would have it, Miss Stanton-Greville and her brother were there at Camille Hall and thus she proved to be a perfect scapegoat for Thomas.”

  “Thomas is a man and she is a—”

  “No, he’s a bastard, no-account, cruel, mean as a snake.”