DEVIL’S COVE
R.C. Matthews
Avon, Massachusetts
Copyright © 2016 by R.C. Matthews.
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.
Published by
Crimson Romance™
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, OH 45242. U.S.A.
www.crimsonromance.com
ISBN 10: 1-5072-0124-9
ISBN 13: 978-1-5072-0124-4
eISBN 10: 1-5072-0125-7
eISBN 13: 978-1-5072-0125-1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © Getty Images, © Period Images.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
More from This Author
Also Available
This book is dedicated to my father, who loves a story full of suspense and horror.
Prologue
1865
Devil’s Cove Manor, England
As Josephine slithered between the humans littering the ballroom floor, a wicked grin curled up her lips. Their anguished cries vibrated like sweet music through her scales. Sliding her long tail back and forth, rhythmically, she bumped against their mangled forms, enhancing their pain. She rather enjoyed the cacophony of cries, a symphony of vanquished souls. But there was little time left to wallow in the beauty of it. The waning taste of her dark magic slipped over her forked tongue as she lapped at the air, and she knew its effects would soon wear off, finally allowing her victims to succumb to the darkness of death.
All but one.
Lord Marcus Deveraux would not fall peacefully into oblivion. He would feel the weight of her body as it wrapped about him, crushing him. He would hear his bones snap and stare into her red eyes as she squeezed his throat with her hands, taking his life. He deserved nothing less for his heinous deeds.
She raised herself high on her tail, above the carnage, swaying in each direction, allowing her tongue to guide her to her prey. Ebony hair fell in a waterfall of waves over her shoulders to the middle of her back, and she knew she must make a frightening sight, half-woman, half-serpent.
Marcus lay in a puddle of his own excrement and blood, a sonorous wheeze emitting from his chest. She coiled her tail around his body and lifted him toward her. His eyes flew open, and the terror encapsulated in his stare filled Josephine with a euphoric high.
“Before I escort you through the gates of Hell,” she said, leaning closer to ensure he heard every word, “know thissssss: Your dirty little secrets aren’t safe from me. Beatrice Mitchell warned you of the evil lurking on this land. You chose to ignore her, and now you’ll pay a dear price. Your friends and family are dead, save one helpless child. But fear not, Marcussssss, the day will come when Eveline is old enough to understand your crimes, and then I will collect the last of your debt.”
Saliva dribbled from his lips, and an intense gurgle erupted from his throat as a mouthful of blood gushed forth. She’d never beheld anything so glorious.
“No, please,” he rasped. “She’s innocent.”
Josephine grinned and squeezed the last breath from his lungs amid the splintering of his bones. He roared in agony, and more blood spewed from his lips, spraying over her bare breasts.
“Yesssss, I know,” she acknowledged, discarding his disfigured corpse.
Revenge the second time around would be oh so sweet.
Chapter One
1880
Devil’s Cove, England
Moonlight reflected off the inky water, rippling over the surface as The Savior dropped anchor in the harbor. The ship’s captain stood solemnly on the forecastle deck, flanked by his first and second mates. He surveyed the village with keen interest until his eyes settled on the dark silhouette of a mansion looming in the distance, its spires and turrets clawing eerily at the night sky. Blood strummed through his veins. He would even the score at last.
“Destiny lures me to the mansion,” the captain said, crossing his well-muscled arms over his chest. A smirk tugged at his lips as he turned to his first mate, Victor. “Will I crash into the rocky cliffs and perish or reap the rewards of my long-awaited revenge? What say you?”
Victor grunted and wiped away the moisture clinging to his forehead from the clammy summer night air. “Revenge will be yours, no doubt.”
The captain nodded, and they strode across the deck, boarding the longboat and giving the signal for his crew to lower it. Water lapped harshly against the hull of the ship, the sea as dark and restless as the three privateers huddled together. Their intense discussion came to an abrupt halt when the vessel crashed against the wooden dock of the wharf.
The captain’s head snapped up, and he skewered the oarsman with a glare. “Bloody hell, Bilge!”
“Sorry, Captain,” Bilge said with a toothy grin. “Eyesight ain’t what it used to be, especially in the dead o’ night.”
The captain leapt onto the dock, and his gaze met the curious stares of the riffraff loitering nearby. Men lingered, chatting in groups of three or four, eyeing his expensive clothing. The captain snorted. The scurvy dogs would turn tail the minute he flashed them a glimpse of the Colt Frontier Six-Shooter resting on his hip. Ignoring them, he turned to address his second mate, Hatchet. “Send Bilge back to the ship with instructions to return here in three hours.”
“Aye,” Hatchet said. “Watch the bloke with the dagger at ten o’clock.”
He didn’t bat an eye at the warning but smirked as Victor jumped onto the dock and donned a broad grin, brushing past him to swagger straight toward the nearest group of men. Upon his approach, they began to fan out in an unspoken dance, forming a circle around him while reaching for their weapons.
“Good evening, mate,” Victor said, coming face to face with a bald-headed chap the size of an ox. “Do you know where Captain Devlin Limmerick might find transport in town?”
The men halted
and glanced at the captain, wide-eyed, before drawing back and offering apologies, nodding their heads respectfully.
“Heard they call him the Devil,” whispered one of the men, rubbing his hand along his neck. He dared another stealthy look, then swallowed hard and headed toward town, never looking back.
“Well?” Victor asked, lifting his brow.
The ox cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Best to speak with the bartender at The Black Serpent on Main Street. Henry always has a man waiting to do his bidding for the right price. It isn’t far,” the man said, gesturing in the direction of the tavern. “Just down the road a bit.”
The men scattered, clearing a path. With a nod of thanks, Devlin led the way toward town with long, confident strides. The cobbled streets were nearly deserted, but he followed the boisterous cries emitting from an establishment on the far end of the street. He stopped in front of The Black Serpent and eyed the sign hanging above the massive oak door. An intricately carved half-woman, half-serpent with lustrous, black hair beckoned customers to join the frivolities within.
Victor cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes on the sign.
“What’s wrong?” Devlin asked. “Afraid the black serpent lies in wait within?”
Victor grinned and shook his head. “For a moment, I thought the sign looked familiar. But I must be mistaken,” he said, reaching for the wrought-iron handle and yanking the door open. A blast of warm air rife with the scent of fish and chips accosted them as the men stepped over the threshold. A mixture of upper and lower class citizens filled the tables and booths. Devlin ignored the gawking stares penetrating his back as he strode to the long, oak bar. He leaned casually against it while Victor motioned to the bartender.
A stout man with thick, bushy eyebrows ambled toward them, wiping his hands on a towel before tossing it across his shoulder. After eyeing Devlin and Hatchet, the bartender’s steady gaze turned deliberately to Victor’s. “What’ll you have?”
“Three ales,” Victor said, gripping the edge of the bar. “And the name of a coachman for hire.”
The bartender grabbed three mugs and poured the dark brown liquid. “At this late hour? It’ll cost you. What’s your destination?”
Leaning into the bar, Victor said, “Captain Limmerick requires a coach to escort him to his new residence, Devil’s Cove Manor.”
The bartender blanched and stared at Devlin with wide, buggy eyes before making the sign of the cross over his chest. “Good Lord, man, don’t you know the place is haunted by the devil himself?” He lowered his voice and glanced at the neighboring patrons. “Nobody has entered the manor in years, you crazy fools. You’ll not find a coachman willing to take you there—not in the dead of night, not ever.”
So, his reputation was surpassed by that of his newly acquired mansion. It was all Devlin could do to hold back a chuckle.
Victor’s jaw clenched, and he slapped a gold sovereign on the bar. “You sure about that, mate? There’s more where this came from for anyone willing to hire on and clear out the cobwebs.”
“Can’t spend it if I’m six feet under, now can I?” asked the bartender. “Keep your coins! I’m not a bloody idiot.”
Devlin’s shoulders tensed, and he bit back a reprimand. He hadn’t survived years of torture only to be deterred from his goals by a blithering fool who wet his knickers over toothless rumors.
The bartender’s outburst gained the attention of the other patrons sitting at the bar, and Devlin used it to his advantage. He accepted a mug of ale and grinned, soothed by the fact that he’d never met a man who didn’t fold when his courage was questioned.
“I beg to disagree with you, Henry,” Devlin said boldly, taking a long draw of the brew. He wiped the foam from his top lip and stared down his nose at the bartender. “Anyone who believes in haunted houses is an idiot.”
But the man would not be swayed. “Better a live idiot than a dead one, I say.”
Hatchet snorted and plucked the gold sovereign off the bar, holding it high in the air between his finger and thumb. He waved his hand to gain everyone’s attention and bellowed, “Who’s brave enough to escort Captain Limmerick to Devil’s Cove Manor?”
The room fell silent. Men and women alike shifted in their seats, avoiding eye contact with Hatchet and each other. Devlin searched the crowd, but there wasn’t a single soul bold enough to seize the offer. Cowards, the lot of them.
“Begging your pardon, Captain,” a man sitting at a nearby table said, lowering his gaze to his clenched hands. “There’s not a soul that’ll go near the mansion, sir, even at the risk of your wrath.” He licked his lips and glanced up. “We beg for your mercy.”
Devlin gulped the rest of his ale and glared at the spineless man who dared to beg for mercy in front of the entire establishment. While his reputation as the Devil was well-known among sailors, he had hoped to pass himself off as a wealthy privateer among the good people of Devil’s Cove. Tension crackled between the hunched bodies as they awaited his response.
An elderly woman at the far end of the tavern suddenly stood and called out in a strong voice, “My husband and I will take you to Devil’s Cove Manor.”
The woman’s blond hair was streaked through with gray, yet the loose bun atop her head softened her square face and gave her a youthful air. Her delicate features stood out in stark contrast against her mate’s salt-and-pepper cropped mane and austere sideburns.
After several moments, the diners released a collective sigh and resumed their chattering, returning the tavern to its normal state of chaotic noise.
“Wait here,” Devlin said under his breath to his companions. “Don’t want to scare away our only hope of reaching the mansion tonight.”
He weaved through the tables and studied the grim faces of the couple awaiting him. Of all the people present tonight, they were the last ones he would’ve imagined would stick their necks out and accept his offer. What was their motivation?
“Good evening, I’m Captain Devlin Limmerick,” he said, bowing and gesturing to the empty bench across from them. “May I?”
“Of course, Captain,” the man said with a nod. “You’re a bit of a legend. It’s an honor to meet you. This is my wife, Abigail Stevens, and I’m Samuel. Welcome to Devil’s Cove.”
Devlin clasped his hands and rested them on the table. “Thank you. It’s been a long day, so I’m going to get straight to business. Are you interested in my generous offer to escort my small party to Devil’s Cove Manor?”
“Yes, Captain,” Mr. Stevens said, clearing his throat. “But under two conditions.” The slight squeak in his voice betrayed him but didn’t deter him from his intended path.
Devlin cocked his head and regarded the older man closely, intrigued by such courage in making demands. Courageous, indeed, considering his towering height and fierce reputation. “And those are?”
“First, you must hire my wife as your cook and I as your stableman, with one year of wages paid in advance.”
Although Devlin had no intention of remaining in the manor for a full year, that minor detail wouldn’t prevent him from accepting the terms. He was anxious to restore the mansion to its former glory and search every room for signs of the existence of the gatekeeper to Hell. Both were paramount to attaining his goals, and he would do anything to get what he wanted. Money was not a concern.
Devlin nodded. “Done. And your second condition?”
Mrs. Stevens’s mouth dropped open, and she stared at her husband a moment, confusion lighting in her eyes. She returned her gaze to Devlin. “But we haven’t named a wage.”
Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on the table. “I’m certain we can come to agreeable terms. Now, tell me your second condition, Mrs. Stevens.”
“Call me Abigail,” she said, her eyes softening.
Devlin nodded. “Abigail, your second condition?”
She swallowed hard. “You must hire a medium to exorcise evil spirits from the mansion.”
Devlin folded his arms over his chest as he settled back against the wood booth. “What utter nonsense! If you’re terrified of ghosts, then why have you agreed to work for me?”
The woman’s brow furrowed, and a disgruntled huff exploded from her nostrils. “It doesn’t matter what I believe. You heard the man earlier; this entire village believes Devil’s Cove Manor is haunted. You’ll not find dedicated servants unless you ease their fears. So do you want to be right, or do you want servants?”
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Devlin’s mouth as he regarded Abigail with an ounce of respect. He most certainly wanted servants, at almost any cost. Yet he was shocked to discover this old woman didn’t quake at the thought of entering the manor.
“You’ve agreed to work for me,” Devlin countered. “Why aren’t you terrified of the manor?”
She worried her bottom lip with her teeth and then sighed. “What makes you think I’m not afraid?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Believe me, madam, I’ve seen fear in many a man’s eyes. You’re far from frightened. Tell me why you want this position.”
Abigail clasped her husband’s hand, and he nodded his encouragement. “My brother, Crispin, was cook at the manor,” she said, her voice trembling. “Everyone died during the massacre that night. You must’ve heard the harrowing stories of the manor, and Josephine’s rampage. I would like to reclaim his belongings and several family heirlooms, if you please.”
“Then it’s true?” Devlin whispered, barely able to contain his excitement. He didn’t wish to be disrespectful, but this was the first time he’d spoken with anyone so close to the horrifying events proclaimed to have occurred in the abandoned house. What good fortune that he’d won the vast property in a game of baccarat.
She nodded.
He held his elation in check out of respect for her feelings. “I’ll strike you a deal,” Devlin said. “Let’s give it one month. I personally don’t believe in evil spirits. It’s hogwash, if you ask me. But, if after a month of living in the mansion you still want me to hire a medium to exorcise evil spirits, I will. Agreed?”
Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls) Page 1