“Get off my land, all of you!” the planter commanded, his eyes ablaze. “We’ll see whose side the court takes tomorrow afternoon—because you’re not going to get a shilling from me, Adam Thornton. You’ll discover instead that Virginia law looks more favorably upon a well-respected member of the council than a former indentured servant who believes himself to be a gentleman simply because his fortuitous marriage has given him wealth!”
Glancing at Adam, Susanna was relieved to see that Dominick’s insult hadn’t affected him. His expression was as hard and resolute as ever.
“If you find comfort in lying to yourself,” he replied in a low voice, “then enjoy it while you can. Mr. Booth and I will await you eagerly before the magistrate in Williamsburg.” Taking Susanna’s arm, he began to steer her back toward the carriage, but he paused to add sarcastically, “If you decide not to appear, honorable councilor, believe me, there will be guards sent to Raven’s Point to accompany you to court.”
“How dare you threaten me on my property! Leave or by God, I’ll take a whip to you and no one would fault me for it!” Dominick ranted at them, shaking his fists.
Glancing at the planter over her shoulder, his mottled face made ugly with rage, Susanna shuddered, silently thanking Adam again for saving her from this brutal man. She spied a movement at an opened upstairs window and was startled to see Cleo, wearing a silk dressing gown, also staring down at them. Though Susanna couldn’t read the expression in the beautiful slave’s eyes, her tight, close-mouthed smile held sheer triumph.
“Here are the documents, Mr. Spencer,” William Booth said tersely, clearly disgusted by Dominick’s foul display of temper. He set the papers on the step below the planter and brushed past Susanna and Adam on his way to the carriage.
“You son of a bitch, take your papers with you!” Dominick shouted. “I swear you won’t have a legal practice when this is done! I have influence! I—”
“Mr. Spencer!”
The planter’s tirade was checked as one of his overseers rode up and reined in his snorting, lathered mount at the foot of the steps.
“Three convicts … just tried to escape,” the man rasped, out of breath, sweat dripping down his face. “We had unlocked their leg chains so they could work … and they bolted across the field. We caught two” — he jerked his head over his shoulder as another overseer rode toward them, half-dragging behind him two bedraggled prisoners bound around their upper chests by ropes which were tied to the man’s saddle— “and I’m going to set the dogs after the last one. I think … he’s hiding somewhere in the field. The tobo’s so high we can’t find him.”
“Do it, then!” Dominick shouted. “What are you waiting for?” As the man kicked his mount and rode away, the planter rushed down the steps to meet the other overseer, his unwanted guests clearly forgotten. “Give me your whip!”
“Get into the carriage, Camille. You don’t want to see this,” Adam firmly bade Susanna, but she scarcely heard him, staring in horror as the two unlucky convicts collapsed in exhaustion on the ground a short distance away.
One of the men was russet-haired and slight, and he screamed piteously as Dominick lit into him with a vengeance, the snapping whip cutting viciously across his bony shoulders. The other convict, dark-bearded and of stockier build, gasped for breath on all fours, then he raised his head, his narrowed amber gaze fixing upon her. Recognition flitted across his pocked features, but it faded into an agonized grimace when the whip slashed into his flesh. Yet his eyes never left her face.
Susanna inhaled sharply, her heart hammering, her blood roaring in her ears. No, it couldn’t be him … It wasn’t possible …
“I said to get in! Now!” Adam repeated, grabbing her around the waist and lifting her inside, where Mr. Booth was already waiting for them. “Drive, Elias!” he shouted, slamming the door behind him before turning on her. “Good God, Camille, what were you thinking? Dominick is furious enough to flay those poor bastards alive and you were standing there like a statue, watching! I can tell you from long experience that it’s not a sight you would have enjoyed.”
“I—I’m sorry, Adam. It was so awful … I didn’t mean to stare …”
He immediately softened his tone, as if sensing the depth of her shock, and switched his seat to sit beside her. “I know, Camille, I know. Everything happened so fast. It’s understandable. Forgive me for being so harsh with you, my love.”
Thoroughly shaken, Susanna was scarcely aware of the special emphasis Adam had given his apology, or his endearment, as her mind raced over and over the last few moments. She tried to tell herself that she had only imagined she had just seen Keefer Dunn, but some deep inner instinct screamed that it had been him.
No, no, no, it wasn’t him! she countered desperately. Such a coincidence simply wasn’t possible. Any number of men might bear such marks from the pox and possess those same amber-colored eyes!
She flinched when Adam’s arm encircled her waist and he drew her against him.
“There’s no need to tremble, Camille. It’s over. Dominick has lost, no matter what he says. By tomorrow afternoon, he’ll be on his way to a debtors’ prison. Isn’t that correct, Mr. Booth?”
“I have every reason to believe that will be the case. The enormity of his debt will sway the magistrate. Mr. Spencer will have many long years to regret the cruelty of his ways.”
“As he so justly deserves.”
At the harsh satisfaction in Adam’s voice, Susanna knew she should be elated. Maybe now there was some hope for them. Maybe now he might set aside his suspicion and begin to trust her. Yet any joy she might have felt was bitterly tempered by what she had seen at Raven’s Point.
Laying her head against his shoulder, she closed her eyes and tried to shut out the horrifying image of Keefer Dunn. She should tell Adam about him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. At least not here, not now, and especially not with the lawyer present. To wrest away Adam’s revenge when it was so freshly won? No, she just couldn’t do it!
“That’s it, my love, just rest. It’s been a trying morning for all of us. I’ll wake you when we arrive at Briarwood. “
But Susanna wasn’t resting. She was praying, a terrible, brutally urgent, selfish prayer that the one man who could yet destroy the happiness for which she longed so desperately would not survive Dominick’s whip.
Oh, please, God, please let Keefer Dunn die …
Chapter 24
Dominick sat alone in his darkened library, the shabby draperies drawn against the bright midday sun. The shadowed room perfectly suited his mood, which was a very dangerous one indeed. He felt trapped, like a wounded animal in a snare, and there didn’t seem to be any way he could save himself.
His stomach twisting painfully, bile burning his throat, he again surveyed the legal documents in front of him on the desk. He hadn’t wanted to read them at all, but he had forced himself, needing to know the extent of his financial trouble. He had quickly discovered that the situation was far worse than he had imagined.
He could never pay the sum that Adam Thornton demanded. Never. And despite his influence and highly respected position, he doubted the magistrate would rule in his favor. Men had been sentenced to debtors’ prison for far less than what he owed. What the devil was he going to do?
Murder wouldn’t solve his dilemma anymore, unless he figured out a way to dispatch not only that vengeful scum Adam Thornton but his damned attorney as well, and before noon tomorrow. Then, of course, there was the small matter of Camille calling him a monster, something he had never expected to hear from her lips.
Yet he supposed he should have anticipated it, considering she fancied herself in love with that low-class abomination who thought himself a gentleman. Adam had doubtless filled her head with all kinds of sordid stories and she had swallowed them whole, which was probably why she had slighted him at the Tates’—
Dominick slammed his fist down upon the desk, cursing violently.
If he m
anaged to rid himself of both Adam Thornton and William Booth, he could certainly deal with that little chit and her mewling protests. After a bit of coercion and a threat against her life, she would trip down the church aisle with him merrily enough, and then his troubles would be over.
A theft, that’s what he could make it look Re, he reasoned suddenly. It might be a little risky, but he was a gambler used to taking chances. What other choice did he have anyway? If he was found out, he would rather face hanging than rot for years in some prison cell. But he wouldn’t be caught, not if he was careful.
First he would take care of William Booth at his office in Yorktown. Then tonight, he would go to Briarwood and slit Adam Thornton’s throat. After that bastard’s death it would be a simple matter to frighten Camille into permanent silence … oh, yes, and he couldn’t forget the big black buck who had driven them here. If that coachman valued his balls, he would keep his mouth shut, too.
“The devil take you, Spencer, why didn’t you think of this sooner?” Dominick muttered under his breath. His plan was so perfect! Here he had been sitting in this library for over an hour since they had left, wasting precious time, although in truth, he hardly remembered their carriage pulling away.
At least in this instance, he was glad those convicts had tried to escape, giving him an outlet for his blinding rage. It was amazing how whipping a man to death never failed to soothe his temper. Too bad that third one had been killed by his dogs. The wretch could have joined his compatriot who had survived the lashing for the punishment he planned to inflict first thing tomorrow morning in front of every convict at Raven’s Point. When the rest of them heard the bastard’s dying screams, they’d be content enough to hoe weeds.
Dominick rose from his desk, impatient to change out of his blood-spattered clothes and be on his way. He had much to do. A knock came at the door just as he reached it, and he yanked it open to find his head overseer, a broad-shouldered, thickset man, waiting for him in the hall.
“What do you want, Dobson?” he demanded.
“Well, Mr. Spencer, you might think what I have to tell you is a little strange—”
“Spit it out, man! I’m in a hurry.”
“It’s about the convict I hauled back a while ago to the prisoners’ quarters, Keefer Dunn. He’s regained consciousness and he’s been asking for you, over and over—not just babbling but making some sense. He says he has something important to tell you—”
“And you think I should talk to him?” Dominick cut him off scornfully, remembering how the convict had pleaded the same thing with him until he had been lashed into senseless silence. “You’re going soft on me, Dobson, and anyway, the man dies tomorrow morning as an example to the rest of his surly friends. You know that. Now get back to the fields.”
“If you’d hear me out, Mr. Spencer. I told him to shut up many a time and even hit him across the face with the butt of my whip, but he kept stubbornly insisting that he see you. He said he knows something about that young woman who was here earlier, and when I told him her name—”
“You did what?” Dominick glared at the man.
“I didn’t see any harm in it, and I got the impression it had something to do with why he was asking for you. Well, when he heard that her name was Camille Cary, or used to be before she became Adam Thornton’s wife, he yelled out that no, her real name is Susanna Guthrie. He told me that he knew her in London before she went to work as a waiting-maid for a Miss Camille Cary, who was living with her aunt, Baroness Redmayne, at Fairford.”
“You’re talking gibberish, man!” Dominick shouted, yet he was stunned that a common criminal would know so much about Camille’s family background. How had the man stumbled upon such information? The only person he had told any of this to was Cleo, and she wouldn’t have dared to say anything to anybody. She knew better.
“Maybe so, Mr. Spencer, but the bloke seemed to know a lot about the lady, and since it’s common knowledge even among the slaves that you and Miss Cary had reached a decision to marry right before she suddenly wed Adam Thornton—” Seeing Dominick’s scowl deepen, the overseer quickly added, “You made no secret of it, Mr. Spencer. Anyway, I thought you might be curious as to what he’s talking about. I know I was. That’s why I came here to tell you about it.”
A vein in his temple throbbing, Dominick didn’t like at all the fact that he was the object of discussion among his laborers, but he had to admit his curiosity was aroused despite that he wanted to leave for Yorktown as soon as possible.
“All right, Dobson, five minutes. That’s all I’ll give him.”
***
The stench of sweat, urine, and filth in the prisoners’ run-down quarters was unbearable, but Dominick, after commanding the disappointed overseer to wait by the door, quickly made his way between the wooden cots to the one where the beaten convict lay on his stomach. When Dominick stopped beside the soiled, foul-smelling mattress, the man slowly turned his head, wincing from the pain that small movement cost him.
“So ye’ve come, Mr. Spencer. I thought ye might.”
Paying no heed to the convict’s bare, bloodied back, Dominick grated, “Mr. Dobson said you wanted to see me, Dunn. What is this nonsense about Miss Camille Cary?”
The man licked his cracked lips, his dark-yellow eyes turning shrewd as he answered, “She’s not wot she seems t’ be, ‘tis all.”
“And what exactly does that mean … not what she seems to be?”
“Simple. I put two and two together when I saw ‘er today, recognizing ‘er as I did, and I tried t’ tell ye when they were drivin’ away, but ye wouldn’t listen t’ me …” He shifted on the mattress for emphasis, grimacing, but when he received no words of apology, he grudgingly continued. “She was the girl ye planned t’ marry, right? The one who stood ye up fer another man?”
Dominick nodded, angered anew that his private life had become a topic of keen interest to his workers. But like Dobson had said, he’d made no secret of it. From the Tuesday Camille had visited him to Wednesday, when he had arrived at the Tates’ to find her gone, he had told several neighbors his good news and a number of the house servants, including Cleo. Word of his upcoming betrothal, and its swift demise, must have flown about the plantation like wildfire.
“Well, ye should be glad ye didn’t marry ‘er because the chit’s an impostor. I don’t know ‘ow she’s done it, passin’ ‘erself off as ‘er mistress Camille Cary, but that Susanna Guthrie was always a clever wench.”
“An impostor?” Dominick queried suspiciously. “That’s not possible. Camille fits every description I’ve ever heard of her before she even set foot in Virginia.”
“It is possible and I’ll tell ye ‘ow, Mr. Spencer. But first ye must make Keefer Dunn a promise.”
Dominick’s temper flared. He should have known this wretch would demand payment.
“You’re hardly in any position to barter, Dunn. I could just as easily whip the information out of you.”
“Aye, ye could, and I could just as easily die on ye, too, like wot happened t’ me friend Tommy a short while ago. ‘E wasn’t strong enough t’ take such a beatin’ like me, but another so quickly after the first? I don’t know that I’d live through it, and then where would ye be? Left hangin’, t’ be sure.”
Realizing this man was a very cunning one, Dominick decided to humor him. “Very well. Name your price.”
“Make me an overseer. I’ll work ‘ard at it, I will, and ye’ll find none more loyal. I’ll keep these blokes in line as good as any ye’ve seen. There’ll be no more escape attempts because I know ‘ow their minds work, and I’ll be watchin’ ‘em like a hawk ev’ry second. Wot do ye say?”
Dominick was silent for a moment, feigning consideration, then he said, “I suppose that could easily be arranged, but what makes you think that whatever you might tell me is of any interest to me now? Miss Cary married someone else. The matter is closed.”
“No matter is ever closed when a wench ‘umiliates a
man,” Keefer muttered bitterly, groaning as he lifted himself up on his elbows. “The girl ‘umiliated ye, didn’t she? She turned ye down fer a man who used t’ be yer servant, didn’t she? I can’t imagine that fine turn of events made ye too ‘appy, Mr. Spencer. I’ve discovered in me year at Raven’s Point that yer a man who doesn’t like t’ be crossed. I would think wot I have t’ say is o’ great interest t’ ye. Per’aps it might help ye t’ think of a way t’ pay ‘er back … ye know, fer wot she did t’ ye. And in me own way, I’d be gettin’ back at ‘er, too.”
“How so?” Dominick asked, becoming more intrigued in spite of himself.
“Not so fast. Ye ‘aven’t said yet that ye’ll pay me price. Now, will ye or no?”
“An overseer?”
“Aye, with a good ‘orse and a whip. I’ll work off the five years left t’ me sentence, then I’ll be on me way and ye’ll never see me in these parts again. Are we agreed?”
Hating that he must strike a bargain with a common thief, even if he was only pretending to, Dominick tersely answered, “Agreed.”
“I ‘ave yer word on it?” Keefer queried, still leery.
“You have my word as a gentleman.” As the convict visibly relaxed, Dominick knew he had him. “All right, Dunn. How do you know that the woman I planned to marry is an impostor?”
“Because by some fluke o’ nature, Susanna Guthrie’s got the same ‘air and eyes as ‘er mistress, Camille Cary. I knew Susanna in London, and a fine beauty she was even at twelve years. Ye never forget such a face and figure, and I couldn’t believe it when I saw ‘er this mornin’. Her father, Daniel, was me good friend, and one night ‘e agreed t’ sell me ‘is daughter fer a night’s tumble. The chit ran away when she found out, and as me and ‘er father were chasin’ her, Daniel was run over by a hackney coach. And who do ye think was inside that fine carriage? Baroness Redmayne and ‘er grandniece, Camille Cary.”
Defiant Impostor Page 32
