The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5

by Catherine Coulter

  THE COLD air grew suddenly colder. The sky, until just five minutes before, had held nothing but rippling white clouds. Now those same clouds were fast becoming bloated and dirty gray.

  Jack carefully tied the horses’ reins to a yew bush, then ran to Gray, lying beneath that oak tree. She knelt beside him, her fingers finding the heartbeat in his neck. Slow and steady, thank God. There was a thin line of blood from his forehead down his left temple, where he’d struck the tree as he fell.

  She sat back on her heels. What now?

  It began to rain.

  Durban neighed.

  How to get a full-sized man back to the carriage and into it? Gray wasn’t a giant of a man, but he was still nearly twice her size. There was no hope for it. She could but try.

  She clutched him beneath his arms and began to drag him back toward the road. It was uphill, and strewn with rocks. She wasn’t going to be able to do it.

  She stared at Durban.

  She tied his reins around Gray’s chest, then urged Durban to back up. She was inutterably relieved and frankly dumbfounded when Durban began taking tentative steps backward—a plan of hers and it was actually working! Durban dragged Gray beside the open carriage door. She kissed Durban’s nose, told him he was magnificent. Then she stared down at her betrothed, once again flummoxed.

  How to get him into the carriage?

  The rain was coming down harder. She shoved her wet hair out of her face. Somehow she had to get him to stand up. Then she could tip him onto the carriage floor. She knelt down and slapped his face. “Gray, please, wake up. I’ve got to get you warm. Please, Gray.” She slapped him several more times, but he didn’t respond at all.

  She propped him against the side of the carriage as best she could. His back was against the step-down. She was winded when she stood.

  “Now, Durban, you’ve got to back up again, only this time go very slowly. You’re going to pull your master toward you and upright, I hope.” Durban took a step backward. The reins tightened and Gray came a foot off the ground. She crouched down behind him, pushing him more upright as Durban took another step back. Then another.

  He was nearly standing. She guessed it was as high as he was going to get. She untied Durban’s reins from around his chest.

  She raised her face to the heavens and prayed, choking on the rain.

  She climbed over him, keeping him steady, until she was kneeling on the carriage floor. Now, she thought, now. She drew a deep breath. She pulled with all her might.

  She couldn’t get him off the ground. She nearly yelled her frustration. Saying one “damn” and instantly tasting turnips, she jumped down from the carriage, got beneath him, sucked in another deep breath, and tried to stand and shove inward at the same time.

  She couldn’t lift his weight. Durban neighed, poked his nose beneath Gray’s lower back and lifted his head. Gray slowly slid into the carriage. She and Durban had done it.

  She quickly pulled the burlap sack over him and straightened him as best she could. She closed the carriage door, tied Durban to the back of the carriage, and climbed back onto the box. This time, she only lightly flicked the reins and spoke just above a whisper. “Let’s go, boys. There has to be a village back this way. Find it for me, please.”

  The small market town of Court Hammering was battened down, everyone off the streets, including all the animals, as the rain drenched land and buildings. The road was already muddy. Jack was careful to keep the horses at a very slow walk. Finally, she saw an inn at the far end of the small town, set back from the main street—King Edward’s Lamp.

  There was no one in the yard. No wonder. She jumped down from the carriage box and ran inside. A very tall woman suddenly appeared from the small taproom to the left. The woman looked as if she would quite enjoy eating a board or two for her luncheon, perhaps nails for her dessert. She wasn’t at all fat, just very tall and very well filled out. She was also, actually, very lovely, Jack saw finally, with surely much more beautiful pale blond hair than a single woman deserved to have, woven in fat plaits over her ears. Jack looked down at the light gold flagstones beneath her feet. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m getting your lovely floor wet.”

  The woman crossed her arms over her magnificent bosom. “I see that you are,” she said. “What do you want?”

  Jack pointed back to the carriage. “Please, help me. Gray is in the carriage. He’s unconscious.”

  “You look like a little drowned sparrow. You stay here, and I’ll see to Gray. Who are you? Who is he?”

  “I’m Jack, and he’s nearly my husband,” she said, immediately on the woman’s heels. “By that I mean that I’m going to marry him tomorrow.”

  “I completely understand. I’m Helen. Now, don’t move. Yes, stay.”

  Jack watched Helen stride into the rainstorm, her head up, paying no attention to the mud puddles that were slopping over the tops of her boots and dirtying the hem of her gown or the rain that was drenching her.

  She watched Helen open the carriage door and look inside. Then Jack thought she heard a deep laugh. She saw Helen lean into the carriage. When she straightened a moment later, backing away from the carriage, she had Gray over her shoulder. She wasn’t even breathing hard when she returned to the inn.

  “The water is so deep right here in my inn yard,” Helen said, “that I could most certainly launch a thousand ships from my very front door. Come with me, Jack, and let’s get your nearly husband to bed.” As she climbed the narrow inn stairs, Gray hanging down her back, she called down to the three men who were staring at them from the doorway of the taproom.

  “Go on, you codbrains. See to the horses and the lady’s carriage. Rub down the horses, they’re all prime horseflesh, particularly the gelding tied to the back. Have a care or I’ll discipline all of you, and I’ll do it in such a way that you won’t like it a bit.”

  If Jack hadn’t been so scared for Gray, she would have laughed. Just how would Helen discipline three codbrains? She watched the men run outside into the rain.

  • • •

  Helen said over her shoulder as she gently let Gray down onto the oak-planked floor, “No reason to get the bed all wet. You, Jack, go downstairs and ask Gwendolyn to give you some dry clothes. Just tell her that Helen requests it.”

  “But—”

  “I’m starting to speak to you like I do to my pug, Nellie. No matter. Just do as I say. Go, Jack. I’ll see to your Gray,” and Jack went.

  When Jack returned carrying a dry petticoat, a thin muslin chemise, and a voluminous gray cotton dress over her arm, Gray was in bed, covers to his nose, and Helen was looking down at him.

  “Please, is he all right, Helen?”

  “He’s a finely knit man,” Helen said. “Fine indeed. Now, we must keep him alive so the two of you can marry. Help me spread his clothes over the back of the chair so they’ll dry. Yes, that’s it.”

  “We’re to be married tomorrow morning,” Jack said, as she smoothed out Gray’s breeches, “but Arthur grabbed me at Portman Square this morning and stuffed me into his carriage. That’s the one outside that the three codbrains are taking care of. The prime horse is Durban. I stole him once, but he belongs to Gray.”

  Helen held up a large, very lovely white hand. “I wish to hear all about this, but first let me call for Dr. Brainard. The only reason I’ve allowed him to remain in Court Hammering is because he doesn’t go out of his way to kill off his patients and he occasionally amuses me. You change into dry clothes and sit beside this fine young man and hold his hand.”

  Gray opened his eyes to see Jack not an inch from his face. He blinked and pressed his head down into the pillow. “Good God, Jack, back away or my eyes will cross.”

  “You’re alive. Thank God, Gray, you’re alive. How do you feel?” She’d taken his face between her hands and was stroking his chin, his ears, his nose.
Then she kissed him, over and over, light, sweet kisses all over his face that would have made him smile if—

  “Jack, quickly! Mathilda—chamber pot.”

  It was under his chin just in time. When he fell back against the pillow, white-faced, his head pounding, utterly exhausted, she said, “Here’s some water.”

  He washed out his mouth.

  “Ah, puked up your guts, huh, boy?”

  Gray closed his eyes against the sight of the very small, completely bald man, thin as a windowpane, who stood in the doorway, water dripping off his thick black eyebrows.

  His eyes flew open again, disbelieving what he was seeing. A mountain of a woman towered behind the little man, and she was really quite beautiful. She looked to have huge blond wheels over her ears.

  He slowly turned his head on the pillow. “It really is you, Jack? Wearing a gown I’ve never seen before? How are you here? Where are we? Why am I in bed and you’re not?”

  “There is quite a bit to tell you, Gray, but first, this is Dr. Brainard. Helen said he won’t kill you.”

  “Why do I need a doctor, Jack? What happened?”

  “I was driving the carriage around the bend and you were riding Durban toward me and I couldn’t stop the horses and Durban was terrified and you got thrown and hit your head against an oak tree.”

  “Thank you,” Gray said and closed his eyes again. “Yes, it’s starting to come back to me now.”

  “Here, eat a bite of this.”

  He didn’t want to open his eyes again, it required too much effort. He just opened his mouth. He tasted a scone that rivaled the best of Jenny’s. He chewed, then opened his mouth again. After three bites he managed to have both his eyes and his mouth open.

  It was that beautiful behemoth of a woman and she was leaning over him. “I’m Miss Helen Mayberry. I own King Edward’s Lamp.”

  “I didn’t realize King Edward even had a lamp, particularly one that anyone would want.”

  “Sir, mind your irony. Miss Helen is the owner of this inn, and the inn is named King Edward’s Lamp.”

  “I fancy, Ossie, that our young sir here is really a my lord. Am I right?”

  Gray said, “Could I have some more scone?”

  “Of course. Just rest and open your mouth. When you’re full, Ossie can tap your chest, peer into your ears, scratch your scalp, all to determine what sort of dreadful potion he wants to pour down your throat.”

  “I fancy that you’re not just in the common way yourself, Miss Mayberry,” Gray said.

  “Here’s your scone, my lord.”

  Jack just shook her head as she watched Helen feed Gray. Her day had begun very strangely, what with Arthur pulling a burlap sack over her head, and now here she was in King Edward’s Lamp watching Gray eat a scone from the white hands of a beautiful, very large woman.

  Suddenly a boy not older than ten years banged open the door. “Helen! Hurry, there’s this man who’s shouting and waving a gun about. He wants somebody named Winifrede.”

  Jack jumped a good foot in the air and whirled about. “Oh, dear. It’s Arthur. I’ll just wager he got that burlap sack out of the carriage and he’s vengeful.”

  Gray threw back the covers, saw that he was naked, and pulled them back to his chin. “Jack, hand me my clothes and be quick.”

  “I can’t, Gray, they’re all wet. You’ll become ill and—”

  “Damn you, Jack, do as I tell you. I’m going to be your husband in less than twenty-four hours. You can begin your duties by obeying me now.”

  “My lord,” Helen said, rising even as she shoved the last bite of scone into Gray’s mouth. “Allow me to see to this Arthur. Now, quickly—this Arthur is the man who kidnapped you, Jack?”

  “Yes, he wanted me to marry him. He was going to force me all the way to Scotland.”

  “Helen, he’s coming up here!”

  “It’s all right, Theo, let him come.” She turned to Jack. “What do you want me to do with Arthur?”

  “Break his right arm,” Jack said. “Maybe his left as well if you think he deserves it.”

  “Hmmm, a woman who knows her own mind. His right arm? We’ll see,” Helen said and walked to the bedchamber door.

  “No,” Gray shouted after her, “don’t break any of that little swine’s body parts. Bring him here, to me. I’ll do all the breaking. Oh, yes, if you would please give me a gun. I must protect Jack.”

  “Arthur and Jack,” Helen said to herself. They heard Arthur yelling, his boots heavy on the oak stairs. Then he was coming down the corridor toward them.

  “Don’t worry,” Helen said over her shoulder, calm as a sail in a windless sea. She planted herself squarely in the open doorway.

  “My lord,” Dr. Ossie Brainard said, “breathe deeply. I need to listen to your breathing. No, don’t jump when I tap your chest. Miss Helen will see to this fellow.”

  “Jack, for God’s sake, go behind that screen. I don’t want Arthur to see you. He might start frothing at the mouth. He just might use that gun on Helen.”

  Jack wasn’t about to leave his side. She compromised and moved one foot closer to the very old dressing screen.

  “My lord, your breathing gallops. It is far too erratic. Please breathe deeply and don’t excite yourself—something men never seem to learn not to do.”

  “If you were marrying her less than a day from now, I daresay you would be exciting yourself as well, particularly with her kidnapper not a dozen feet from her.”

  “My lord, you shouldn’t speak of such marital sorts of things in Miss Helen’s hearing. And don’t forget, the fellow has to get past Miss Helen, which even her sire can never manage to do, and Lord Prith is a gentleman of great courage and charm.”

  “Miss Helen isn’t listening to my outpourings or to yours, so close your mouth. Jack, dammit, get behind that bloody screen.”

  “All right,” Jack said and moved another foot toward it.

  They heard Arthur yelling just outside the bedchamber door, “Move aside, you big woman. I am here for Winifrede. Is she in here?

  “No, don’t even think to lie to me, I know she’s in there. I saw my carriage. She tried to murder me. She actually kicked me out the open door of my moving carriage, then she stole my carriage and my horses and left me for dead. I’ve come to remove her. Give her to me now.”

  Helen turned back into the bedchamber at Gray’s call. One very fair eyebrow was climbing upward. “What do you say, my lord?”

  “I’ve never met Arthur, just heard of him. Do show him in, Miss Mayberry. This should prove a treat.”

  Arthur Kelburn, eldest son and heir of Lord Rye, ran into the room, then pulled up short at the sight of the young man in the bed and the small, older man hovering over him. It was Gray St. Cyre, Baron Cliffe, the bastard who planned to marry Winifrede and her groats. His chest was naked. What was going on here?

  Yes, Arthur had seen the baron once outside of White’s on St. James. How was it possible that he was here, and obviously the center of everyone’s attention?

  “Lord Cliffe,” Arthur said, trying his best to stride manfully toward the bed, for the large blond woman was watching him, eyebrows raised. Then the large blond woman was directly in front of him. He shouted around her, “What the devil are you doing here? How could you possibly be here when my carriage is also here? Why the devil are you in bed, with this pathetic little bald man leaning over you?”

  “Jack,” Gray said, “you may come out now.”

  Jack peered around the end of the screen to see Arthur, red-faced and wet, standing toe to toe with Helen. Jack was quite sure that Arthur wouldn’t go anywhere. Sure enough, he was carrying the burlap sack under his left arm, the bounder.

  “There you are,” Arthur yelled, waving his fist toward Jack. “Come out this minute. I will punish you with the sack. You deserve it.”<
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  “I’ve never before disciplined anyone with a sack,” Helen said, stroking her chin thoughtfully. “I will observe to see what you have in mind.”

  Jack came out. Arthur nearly leapt at her. Helen said to Arthur with absolutely no inflection at all in her voice, “Move back right this instant or I will throw you out of that window.”

  “You’re a female, you’re—” Then Arthur, his survival instincts finally engaging, shut his mouth and took three quick steps back. He cleared his throat. He shoved the sack behind his back. He said, in a winsome voice, “Ah, there you are, Winifrede. Come, where’s your cloak? We must leave now.”

  Jack could only stare at him. “Are you mad?”

  “No, but if you don’t obey me quickly, I just might become very angry indeed.”

  “I wouldn’t go with you if you promised me my favorite sweetmeats.”

  He pulled out a gun and aimed it in her general direction. “You’re stubborn. So be it. Come, Winifrede. Now. Oh, I understand what you meant. I believed you were calling me insane when you said ‘mad,’ but you weren’t. I’m not as yet mad or angry with you. You are the mad one, what with kicking me out of my own carriage and then stealing the carriage and my horses.”

  Jack sat down on the floor, the old too-long gray gown spread out about her. “If you will just look toward the bed, Arthur, you will see Lord Cliffe, my betrothed, lying there. Unfortunately, I ran him down. If I hadn’t escaped you, then he would have caught up with us quickly enough, and he would probably have wrung your miserable neck. All in all, you’ve been very lucky, more lucky than you deserve.

  “Now, you will please leave. Go home. Tell my stepfather and your father that neither of them will get their hands on my dowry. All my groats will be in Gray’s hands. Go away, Arthur.”

  “Yes,” said Helen, “do go away. I would also recommend that you change out of those drenched clothes. I wouldn’t want you to become ill.”

  “Change out of your wet clothes elsewhere, Arthur,” Gray said. “Leave—now.”

  16

  “NO,” ARTHUR HOWLED. “It isn’t fair. I need a new waistcoat, this one is nearly a year old. I loved it last year, but it’s served its time and I need a new one.”