The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5

by Catherine Coulter

  “Thank you, Darnley.”

  When Darnley returned, Gray asked, “Oh, yes—who is Mrs. Finch?”

  “She,” Darnley said, drawing himself up, “is a widow who recently bought the Cit Palace over in the village of Brimerstock.”

  “Cit Palace?”

  “I believe it is still called Curdlow Place by folk who are steeped in its local history and regard the past twenty years as the present and not at all history. However, since your lordship has your left eyebrow raised in further question, I would add that an ironmonger named Greeley from Newcastle bought it some twenty years ago and moved in his family, which consisted of thirteen children, all of them ill-bred boy louts and muffin-faced girl chits. Iron seemed to fall into decline and Mr. Greeley was forced to sell to Mrs. Finch. I would have to say that the lady is an improvement.”

  Although he didn’t want to say it, Gray thought, wondering about Mrs. Finch. Darnley paused, hearing his master’s voice from the entrance hall. “Excuse me, my lord. I believe Sir Henry and Mrs. Finch have returned. Please, wait here.”

  While Gray waited, he reviewed a possible course of action—a fist straight to Sir Henry’s jaw, a knee to his kidney, an elbow to his neck. No, if he ended up selecting one of those satisfying options, it would only be fair to let Jack select her preference first.

  Sir Henry had locked her in her bedchamber for three days? Amazing that in modern days such a thing could still happen. It was odd to remember that Gray had known her for fewer than three weeks. It was perhaps even stranger to realize that he had grown quite fond of her in a very short time, that she had a fighting spirit that pleased him.

  He turned to look up at the portrait of a very lovely woman above the fireplace. She couldn’t have been older than twenty-five when the portrait was painted. The angle of her head, yes, that reminded him a bit of Jack. Her mother, then. Whereas the woman looked exotic with her dark hair, golden complexion, and brown eyes, Jack was fair, blue-eyed, with white, white skin. There was no portrait of Thomas Bascombe, Jack’s father. Had he been as fair as Jack? Probably so.

  Gray turned at the sound of heavy boots. The door opened and Sir Henry strode in. Behind him was an older lady who looked flamboyant and very sure of herself. She was nearly as tall as Sir Henry, showed a plentiful bosom, beautifully swathed in dark blue satin, and looked as if she knew just about everything that would make a man slobber in his brandy.

  “My lord,” Sir Henry said after a moment of staring at Gray. “This is Mrs. Finch. Maria, this is Lord Cliffe, my stepdaughter’s husband.”

  Gray bowed over her hand. She gave him a smile that, had he been in a brothel looking for skill and utter complaisance, would have hardened him on the spot.

  “We finally received your message, Sir Henry, in Brighton. Jack is upstairs with her sister.”

  “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Finch said, stripping off her gloves as she walked toward the sideboard. “Poor little creature. Ah, well, it is probably for the best, Sir Henry. Who would like a brandy?”

  Sir Henry nodded. Gray just shook his head.

  “Who is Jack?” Mrs. Finch asked as she placed the brandy snifter in Sir Henry’s large, smooth hand.

  “Jack is my wife and Sir Henry’s stepdaughter.”

  “Oh? I thought her name was Winifrede.”

  “Things change,” Gray said. “Now she’s Jack.”

  “How perfectly hideous,” said Mrs. Finch and laughed, which was meant to remove the sting but didn’t.

  “Who cares?” Sir Henry poured the brandy down his throat. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “Whoever or whatever she is now is of no concern to me.”

  Mrs. Finch said, moving just a bit closer to Gray, “I understand you were just married.”

  “Yes,” Gray said. He looked down at his fingernails, then over at Mrs. Finch. “As you said, Mrs. Finch, the poor little creature.”

  “I wish she’d taken ill when she was with my sister in York,” Sir Henry said. “I don’t like to see the servants as overworked as they are now. Everyone is unsettled. My meals are late. My valet nicked my neck shaving me this morning. I don’t like it. It isn’t comfortable.”

  Gray smiled. “I can see how that would disturb you, having your throat cut.”

  “I suppose you and Winifrede want to remain here until the little girl either dies or manages to survive?”

  “Yes, if that won’t disaccommodate you further.”

  “It will, but no one seems to care about me. That old fool Darnley was already smiling and nodding because Winifrede was back. Doubtless Mr. Potts will prepare a delicious dinner since Winifrede is here.”

  “I understand that Dr. Brace is more optimistic than you appear to be on the child’s condition.”

  Sir Henry shrugged. “Brace is a fool. I heard the child coughing hard enough to bring up her guts. If she doesn’t die of this, it will be a miracle.”

  Gray wanted so badly to smash his fist into Sir Henry’s mouth that he was nearly shaking with it.

  “My lord,” said Mrs. Finch, “you and Winifrede were on your wedding trip? In Brighton?”

  “A short wedding trip. Yes, we were in Brighton.”

  The drawing room door burst open. Jack ran in, yelling, “Gray! Hurry—oh, God, hurry!”

  He was on her heels in an instant. He shortened his step when they reached the upstairs corridor.

  “She can’t breathe, Gray. She’s been coughing, her lungs seem filled with liquid, but she can’t spit it up. I don’t know what to do. Neither does Mrs. Smithers or Dolly.”

  He was the last resort. He was terrified to his toes. He followed Jack into a large nursery at the end of the east corridor. There in the far corner of the room was a small bed. Standing by the bed was an older woman holding a small girl, shaking her, then pressing her against her bosom, crying, saying over and over, “You must spit it up, Georgie. Come, child, you must try.”

  The little girl was wheezing and struggling. She wasn’t breathing well at all. Gray could hear the horrible liquid sounds with each breath she managed to suck out.

  It was as if she were drowning. If she didn’t get her lungs clear, she would suffocate. Gray grabbed the little girl, slammed her against his shoulder, and pounded her back. The wheezing was deep and raw. He didn’t have much time.

  He kept pounding that small back, saying over and over, “You can do it, Georgie, come on now, breathe. Breathe!”

  He pounded her again, harder this time, then yet again, and a flood of dark gray liquid flew out of her mouth. He hit her back again, and more waste came out. Again and again, until finally the small body shuddered and collapsed. He felt her small chest expand, heard her suck in precious air, heard that her lungs were clear. Then she was still.

  “Oh, God, Gray! No!”

  “No, Jack, she’s all right. She threw up all the waste that was clogging her lungs, choking her.”

  “We tried to get her to cough it all up, but she couldn’t.”

  Mrs. Smithers was staring at the young man who’d just saved Georgina Wallace-Stanford. “Are you a doctor?”

  Gray smiled. “No, ma’am. I’m just a very lucky man. She sounded just like a little boy I knew who almost drowned. I pulled him out of the pond and banged on his back until he vomited out all the water. Let’s pray she got everything up. Perhaps now she can recover. She’s sleeping. Come here, Jack, you can hear her breathing. Everything sounds clear, thank God.”

  But Jack, his pillar of strength, had fainted quietly at his feet.

  When Jack opened her eyes a few minutes later, she looked up to see Gray seated on Georgie’s bed, the little girl still in his arms.

  “Hello. Georgie’s fine for the moment. What happened?”

  “I don’t know. It’s strange. I fainted, didn’t I?”

  “No wonder,” said Mrs. Smithers. “We both bel
ieved she was dying, my lord,” she added to Gray. “Here, lovey, drink some of this nice tea. Dolly just fetched it for you.”

  “Is Georgie truly breathing easily now, Gray?”

  “Yes, she truly is. Mrs. Smithers sent one of the footmen for Dr. Brace again. We’ll see what he has to say after he examines the mess that came out of her lungs. Now, drink the tea, Jack, then you can hold her and feel her lungs going in and out. That will convince you.”

  Quiet, sloe-eyed Dolly, Georgie’s nanny, said, “It was just like his lordship said. Miss Georgie was drowning from the inside out.”

  “Yes,” Gray said. “We can hope she vomited out all the liquid in her lungs.” He paused for a moment, his hand lightly stroking the little girl’s back. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do.”

  “I will give you anything you want, Gray,” Jack said, swung her legs over the side of the bed and leaned into him. He pulled her against him with his free arm. He kissed the top of her head, then kissed Georgie’s head. The little girl had black hair, just like her father. Her skin was as white as Jack’s.

  He looked up to see Sir Henry standing in the nursery doorway, his mouth twisted in distaste, watching Dolly clean the mess off the floor. “Is she dead yet?”

  “No,” Gray said. “She’s not going to die.”

  Sir Henry grunted. “Waste of money, then, to bring Brace here again. If she’s going to live, why do we need him?” He turned on his heel and was gone.

  It was at that precise moment that Gray decided how he would deal with Sir Henry Wallace-Stanford.

  Jack was standing, her hand, now fisted tightly, on his shoulder. “I’m going to kill him.”

  “No,” Gray said quietly. “There won’t be any need. Trust me, Jack. Now, I think there’s something else that might help Georgie.”

  Ten minutes later, the little girl was wrapped snugly in a very hot towel.

  Dr. Brace, a solitary young man who’d wanted very much to buy the Cit Palace from old Greeley for his mother and his grandmother, arrived to see Georgie heaving up more liquid. “Hot towels? My God, it’s working. How did you know to do that, my lord?”

  “My grandmother wrapped me in hot towels when I was once very ill. I was all stuffed up and having a hard time breathing. Since I’m alive and in good health today, I didn’t think the same treatment could hurt her.”

  Dr. Brace laid his palm lightly on Georgie’s forehead, then her cheeks. He leaned down to listen to her heart and lungs. “She’s nearly clear.” He smiled over at Jack, who was seated on the floor, her legs crossed.

  “She’ll make it, Miss Winifrede. It’s true that I feared it could become an inflammation of the lung, but it didn’t progress that far. You’ve got yourself an excellent husband here.”

  Jack looked at Gray with such naked gratitude in those very blue eyes of hers that he winced. He wanted to tell her he didn’t want gratitude from her. Exactly what it was that he did want from her, he didn’t yet know. But not gratitude, never gratitude.

  After Gray threatened to haul her over his shoulder and carry her down to dinner, Jack finally agreed to leave Georgie to Mrs. Smithers and a smiling Dolly.

  She looked back once again, as if, Gray thought, she was terrified to leave her little sister. Georgie was sound asleep, wrapped in another warm towel. For the past three hours, when she woke up coughing, Jack had been there to rub her back, to clean her mouth, to whisper how much she loved her, and to tell her to spit and keep spitting. Every time, the little girl spit.

  “Smile for me, Jack. You can do it. Just think of the divine Mrs. Finch and smile.”

  Jack rolled her eyes.

  20

  ON THE way downstairs, Jack said very quietly, “I just realized that if you weren’t my husband, my stepfather would have me in his control again. He would be able to starve me and beat me, whatever he wanted to do. That surely isn’t right, Gray.”

  “No, but on the other hand, Jack, you could always knot your sheets again and climb out of your bedchamber window. Oh, yes, Darnley told me how all the servants thought you were brave, what with your daring escape.”

  “Mrs. Smithers tried to sneak me some food, but Sir Henry caught her. He threatened to dismiss her without a character if she tried that again.”

  He caught her against his side and kissed the end of her nose. “Georgie’s sleeping, her lungs are clear, and it’s time to fill up that skinny little belly of yours.”

  The antagonism between Jack and her stepfather was so thick in the air at dinner that one could have practically choked on it. The meal could have been a disaster. It wasn’t, only because Gray engaged Mrs. Finch, a very willing accomplice, in a charming flirtation. When Jack rose, he said easily, “My dear, why don’t you and Mrs. Finch go to the drawing room? Sir Henry and I have a few matters to discuss.”

  “No,” Jack said, and he knew that there would be no private talk with Sir Henry tonight. He didn’t blame her. She sat back down. Mrs. Finch stood beside her chair, and Darnley stood just a foot away from her, wondering what calamity would strike now.

  “Very well,” Gray said. Sir Henry raised a thick black eyebrow. “Maria, my stepdaughter is showing her ill-breeding. Forgive her. I will see you home.” He flung down his napkin, nodded to Gray, and left the dining room with Mrs. Finch on his arm.

  Gray looked across the lovely white tablecloth at Jack. He sighed. “I suppose you and I have a few matters to discuss as well.”

  “Forgive me for not obeying you, Gray, but I don’t want you to deal with my stepfather, not alone. I thought about it. He’s a snake. I don’t trust him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled his stiletto and tried to stab you. No, I won’t leave you unprotected anywhere close to him. I can’t, not after you saved Georgie.” She crossed her arms over her chest and looked immovable.

  He took another bite of Mr. Potts’s Shropshire pudding. Mr. Potts had been generous with the brandy. His tongue was nearly numb. “I don’t want your damned gratitude, Jack.” He folded his hands over his stomach. “I guess you won’t understand this, but I’ll tell you anyway. Gratitude from a woman crushes a man, particularly if the man is her husband.”

  “That’s unfortunate, because you’ve got it for life. I would be a very strange sort of person if I didn’t feel gratitude. My intent is not to crush you, Gray. Now, what do you want to say to Sir Henry?”

  He sat forward, shoved his plate aside. “Will you trust me on this, Jack?”

  “Only if I can give you a gun.”

  He shook his head even as he laughed. “Yes, give me a gun and then leave me alone with your stepfather. I have a plan, but I doubt it would work with you in the room. It’s my only plan, there is no alternative plan waiting in the wings that would include the both of us. Now, will you trust me?”

  “All right, but I’ll be worried until I know you’re safe and sound with me again.”

  He rose, walked to her, and took her hand. “Come along. I’ll go back up to Georgie with you, then I want you to get some sleep. I’ll come to you when I’m through with your stepfather.”

  “I’m worried,” she said. “You just don’t know him as well as I do. He’s capable of anything.”

  He kissed her ear. “Give me a chance to deal with him, Jack. Trust me.”

  Dolly was wrapping Georgie in another hot towel. The nursery smelled foul. Gray wanted to open windows but knew it wouldn’t be wise. He also knew if he had to sleep in this room, he’d get ill just from the smells.

  Thirty minutes later Georgie was tucked once more into another hot towel and lying on a pallet in front of the fireplace in the Oak Room, a corridor’s length from the nursery.

  “Yes,” Jack said, “this was a splendid idea, Gray. Now if she wakes up I’ll be right here to help her. I won’t have to worry.”

  He left Jack sitting on the floor beside her sleeping sister, her ar
ms wrapped around her knees. He’d kissed her left ear, lightly stroked his fingers over her neck, then turned to leave. “Don’t forget your gun,” she called out after him. He was thoughtful as he left the Oak Room. He’d never before in his life had someone be concerned specifically about him. No one. He realized it made him feel very good, made him feel as though he was very important in another person’s life—and indeed he was.

  He found Sir Henry in his library, drinking brandy, waiting.

  “She’s still alive?”

  “Yes,” Gray said. “She wasn’t ever in any immediate danger. Apparently you panicked, Sir Henry, but no matter. I’m glad that Jack and I were able to get here so quickly. Dr. Brace is pleased and sees a complete recovery.”

  Sir Henry grunted at that, then steepled his fingertips and began tapping them together. “And you, my lord? Are you pleased as well?”

  Gray shrugged and studied a fingernail. “The child has as much worth to me as she does to you.”

  “According to Dr. Brace, you sped her recovery immensely, perhaps even saved her life, since she hadn’t managed to expel the liquid from her lungs on her own.”

  “Jack expected me to do something. The little girl will be fine now. When I take Jack from her in a couple of days, she won’t be bowed by grief.”

  Sir Henry was staring into the fire, a sullen blaze. He said finally, “I realize now that Winifrede fooled me quite thoroughly, pretending she didn’t care about Georgina. Ah, but that wasn’t at all true, was it? I didn’t realize until last night just how much she loves the child.” Sir Henry paused, then picked up a quill from his desktop and said, “Don’t you want to please your bride, my lord?”

  Gray raised a sleek blond brow. “Please her? She’s my wife. That should provide her with more than enough pleasure.”