The Nightingale Legacy

by Catherine Coulter

  “Now, guv, ain’t no call to be callin’ me names. This lordship ’ere, ’e’s not a man to go again’; ’e’s a bloody military man, I can tell, and ’e’s tougher than those old boots of Trimmer’s. Now, miss, I’ll bring poor Trimmer here back to Scrilady Hall. Eight guineas, ye say?”

  “No, you thief, six guineas, one more than Ffalkes was going to pay you.”

  “Yer a tough little bite,” Treffek said, shaking his head, but taking it in stride. “I surely do like tough little bites.” He picked Trimmer off the floor and threw him over his shoulder. He gave one last look at Ffalkes and left the cottage.

  Caroline quickly untied North. He rubbed his wrists to get back the feeling as he said, “Owen, you have done well. Thank you for telling me what you knew. And thank you for saving the day, for save it you certainly did.”

  “I had to,” Owen said to North. “I just had to. You and Caroline took care of me and, well—” He turned to Caroline. “You won’t take me hostage again, will you?”

  “No, Owen, I will give you anything you wish. Now, North, what do we do with Mr. Ffalkes here?”

  “Well, this is the very first thing—” North calmly walked to Ffalkes and sent his fist hard into his jaw. Ffalkes moaned, grabbed his jaw, and fell backward on the filthy cot. He came up again and North struck him again, much harder this time. Mr. Ffalkes fell onto his back, limp and unconscious. “Sorry, Owen, but he struck Caroline twice. Actually he deserves much more. We will talk about it. Now, the rector.”

  “Well, he’s just a worm when all’s said and done, North, but—” She looked at him, a very startled expression on her face. She weaved where she stood, clapped her hand to her head, and collapsed on the filthy wooden cottage floor.

  12

  “MY HEAD HURTS like the very devil.”

  “Sorry I couldn’t prevent him from slamming that pistol butt on your temple. You scared the devil out of me when you fainted again in the cottage. You weren’t supposed to do that. Just one faint per injury from now on, all right? Ah, but here you are awake and clear-eyed again. Do you always bounce back, Caroline? I would that you say yes. I don’t want to be scared into an old man as of yet.”

  She looked embarrassed that she’d fainted, and he recognized it and laughed. “Don’t be a ninny. I would have probably fainted dead away myself, just not a second time. A man would never swoon a second time. Men would have more consideration for a lady’s feelings.” He sobered quickly enough when she said in a voice that was surely too soft and warm, “You saved me. Thank you, North.”

  He said nothing, just gently felt the bump above her left temple. She tried to keep the moan behind her teeth, but couldn’t quite manage it. “Shush, it’s all right. Now, I’m going to carry you in front of me on Treetop. Actually, it was Owen who came through for us this time. Now, we’ll take Mr. Ffalkes to Mount Hawke and let my bully boys be host to your former guardian until I decide what to do with him. They might not care for females, but they detest villains. I’m just not sure that they would consider Mr. Ffalkes a villain, since he was simply trying to rid the neighborhood of a Young Female Person.”

  “Lie to them, then maybe Mr. Polgrain will feed him some poison.”

  “Seems a good idea. Or maybe Timmy the maid can visit him in the middle of the night like he did you, and scare the evil out of him.”

  “Or Tregeagle can put him in with the hounds.”

  North laughed and eased her more closely into his arms once he was on Treetop’s back. “Just lie still. We’ll be home soon enough. Dr. Treath will be waiting for us.”

  She felt the pain in her head pulling at her and couldn’t say anything. She just closed her eyes and pressed her face against his chest. He’d said home. It sounded marvelous to her.

  Owen was downstairs in the Mount Hawke library swilling brandy, wondering exactly where Tregeagle and Polgrain and Coombe had put his father for the night. Probably someplace cold and damp and nasty, with rats and no candle. North had been very angry. Owen sighed over the events of the evening. He was depressed and wondered what the hell he was going to do, both with himself and with his father. He drank more brandy. Life didn’t look particularly agreeable for either his father or for him at the moment.

  Coombe watched the dejected young man a moment from the open doorway, then said, “Now, sir, don’t fret yourself. Lord Chilton will see that everything will be done properly. His lordship owes you a debt. He will pay it and he will pay it well. He is a Nightingale and Nightingale men always pay their debts. Don’t think of those soft white birds when you think of his lordship. No, all Nightingale men are tough, no softness anywhere in them. Now, as I was saying, they do pay their debts and they do a particularly fine job paying when the debt is one of honor. His lordship’s grandfather and father were particularly to be trusted when the debt was one of honor. It was the other sorts of debts, ones that involved gambling—well, that’s neither here nor there, is it? Besides, they’re dead now, so who’s to care?”

  Who indeed, Owen wondered, as he stared at Coombe and drank more brandy, his father’s parting curses ringing in his brain: ungrateful, unnatural wretch, worthless, disowned. There were more names, but thankfully he’d forgotten them. He shook his head and said, “I don’t know, Coombe. I don’t see a neat way out of this mess.”

  “Trust his lordship, sir.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “None at all, sir. None at all. However, his current lordship, despite his lack of proper raising by the men of the house, does seem to know his duty and carry it out with a good deal of efficiency.”

  “What duty?” Owen asked, but Coombe merely shook his head and looked wise.

  Upstairs in the Pink Oval Room, Dr. Treath touched the bump with fingers so gentle and so knowledgeable he could probably tell her what she was thinking just by touching her head. He nodded to his sister, Bess, then looked at North. “Concussion, my lord. No laudanum as yet. Keep her awake. Now, Caroline, how many fingers do you see?”

  “You’re waggling three fingers, Dr. Treath, and North is looking like a black thundercloud. Also, I’m here and still have most of my wits, so you can talk to me.”

  “His lordship looks a bit disordered, Caroline, thus it’s better if I speak to him until he has himself together again. You scared the devil out of him when you vomited.”

  “I know and I’m sorry for it. It was the motion of riding Treetop that made me sick. I meant to ask you to stop but there wasn’t time. Did I throw up on your boots, North?”

  “No, you missed my boots by a good two inches. Just lie still. Would you like some barley water?”

  “Oh yes.”

  If Dr. Treath thought the viscount was uncommonly tender with the young lady, he didn’t remark upon it. No Viscount Chilton had been tender with a young lady in all the combined local memory, both present and historic, of folk hereabout. No, Nightingale men were a breed apart. He thought briefly of the young viscount’s late father and shuddered. Jesus, all of it was highly irregular. He saw her eyelashes flutter closed and said sharply, “Caroline, wake up. I’m sorry, my child, but you must fight falling asleep. How many fingers now?”

  “Five. I’m very sleepy, Dr. Treath. And I’m not a child. I’m nineteen and my inheritance is mine if only Mr. Ffalkes would just admit it, or if he insists on marrying me for my money, then I’ll shoot him, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to be hanged, at least not for a long time.”

  “Admirable,” North said. “I’ll see that she stays awake. Will you stay the night, sir?”

  “I can’t, my lord. Mrs. Treboggan will be birthing a child tonight. It won’t be an easy birth. I must be with her and do what I can. If something happens, just send one of your men to me.”

  Tregeagle appeared in the doorway and cleared his throat. “My lord.”

  “Yes, man, what is it?”

  “A villainous-looking young fellow is here demanding guineas.”

  “Ah, Treffek. Please give him the six g
uineas, Tregeagle, but not one pence more, mind, else Caroline won’t be pleased with you. He’ll probably whine or claim that the young miss promised him at least a hundred guineas. Be firm. Six guineas.”

  “He’s quite good, Tregeagle,” Caroline said, trying to focus her fading vision on the beautiful older housekeeper. “You’d best be on your toes.”

  Tregeagle ignored her, saying to North, “Yes, my lord. Er, how is this Young Person feeling, this one who is again in the Pink Oval Room?”

  “She will be fine.”

  “If I may say, my lord, it is a pity she must needs be here so soon after she was here not a long enough time ago.”

  Caroline moaned from the bed.

  “Go away, Tregeagle.”

  Dr. Treath called out, “Let’s talk to Polgrain, Tregeagle, about what he’s to make for her to eat.”

  “Perhaps, Dr. Treath, the Young Person will be fit enough to return to Scrilady Hall before Mr. Polgrain must prepare nourishment.”

  “Unlikely. Come, Tregeagle, be a sport.” Dr. Treath turned to Caroline, gently patted her cheek, and smiled. “I see much of your aunt Eleanor in you. She was a very fine lady, and so jolly and—” His eyes filmed with tears.

  Caroline, who was simply trying to keep her eyes open, didn’t consider her words really, just said with such gentleness that it was nearly his undoing, “I’m sorry, sir. You must have loved her very much.”

  “I still do,” Dr. Treath said.

  “I do too. I only wish I could have known her as well as you did.”

  North sat beside her bed after Dr. Treath and his sister left, his fingertips steepled, lightly tapping his chin. “Don’t go to sleep.”

  “I won’t. You’re finger-drumming, North. What are you thinking?”

  “That I’m going to break Bennett Penrose’s nose, the irresponsible sod.”

  “Let Owen do it. If I’m not wrong, I’ll wager that poor Owen is currently someplace chewing his fingernails, sunk in the depths of despair.”

  “You think Owen could deal with Bennett?”

  She was silent for a moment, then said, “Yes, I do. Owen has shown me hitherto unplumbed depths. It is gratifying since it is unexpected. I do believe I have a plan. There are details I have to sort through and my head does hurt awfully bad.”

  “You can solve all their problems in the morning, then.”

  “What are we going to do with Mr. Ffalkes?”

  North sighed. “Damned if I know. I hesitate to outright kill the bounder and I know that he would never survive deportation. Let him go again? He would simply try to steal you away, come hell or Satan. I must admit to some admiration for the man. He’s tenacious as a hound I had as a boy whose name was Dogged.”

  “You’re lying, North. Dogged? For a dog?”

  “No, for a hound. He never gave up, that damned hound. Just like Mr. Ffalkes. He sees you as his salvation. He’s beyond reason. I don’t think he’ll ever back down from this. It’s almost as if he believes your money should rightfully be his. Now, Caroline, how many fingers am I tapping against this manly chin of mine?”

  “All of them. You have very nice hands, North.”

  “Thank you. Would you like some more barley water?”

  “That first batch from Polgrain tasted rather awful. Do you think he poisoned it?”

  “If he did, he knows I’d shoot him. I know it was bad, I tasted it. This time I had Polgrain put some honey in this batch, until I approved it.”

  When Owen came into the Pink Oval Room the following morning, he was shuffling, his shoulders bowed, his head down.

  “Bloody goodness, Owen, straighten up. Stop looking like a defeated dog or a nobleman ready to lay his head on the French block. That’s it, shoulders back. Listen, now, I need you.”

  That brought his head up in an instant. “You need me, Caroline?”

  “I certainly needed you last night and you saved the day, why not again?”

  “Well, actually, North did—”

  “North tried, but it was you who saved me, and North’s hide as well. Stop shaking your head. You did save both of us. Stop acting modest. It doesn’t become you. Now, I have a proposition for you.”

  “Something to do with my father?”

  “No. We will discuss what to do with your father later today. This is just you, Owen, just you. Now listen.”

  Two hours later at Scrilady Hall, Owen tracked down his prey, namely Bennett Penrose, in the back gentleman’s smoking room. He was sitting in a very large wing chair, as unmoving as a statue. Owen strode over to him, came to a halt directly in front of him, and came right to the point, for he’d rehearsed it over and over all the way from Mount Hawke.

  “You shouldn’t have left Caroline alone, Penrose. You were a fool and she could have been forced to marry my father.”

  Bennett Penrose had a hangover that could have felled a bull. He heard the man’s words, but all he could do was moan and hold himself very still, and wish the fellow would go away.

  “I repeat—”

  Bennett raised his head, giving the man a pained look. He wasn’t much of a man, no more really than a barely grown lad, no older than he had been when his uncle had died and he hadn’t gotten any of his money. However, the fellow didn’t look as if he were in a hurry to leave. Bennett gave it up and said, “Don’t bother repeating anything. Caroline can take care of herself. She is all right, isn’t she, despite all that foolishness Mrs. Trebaw was whining about to me last night? Jesus, that damned girl gets herself into more trouble than I do, and that’s saying a lot. Besides, she cheated me, so why should I care what happens to her? I am not her keeper, indeed, I am the keeper for three pregnant girls, curses on all their heads. By the way, who the devil are you?”

  “I’m Caroline’s cousin, Owen Ffalkes. I’m not my father’s son. Well, I am but I don’t want to marry Caroline. I will live here. I am her partner in administering the Penrose estate, and the tin mines, and in being a trustee to all the unfortunate females who will be shortly arriving.”

  Bennett moaned loudly. “Oh God, I can’t take it. You’ve joined forces with Caroline?”

  “Yes, I have. Leave if you don’t like it. You will either help or you will take yourself off.”

  “You, my lad, have no say about anything.” Bennett’s hangover was receding as his anger rose. “Her damned aunt did this to me and now Caroline will follow in her footsteps. I’ve been cheated out of Scrilady Hall and all its rents. I don’t even get a pence from any of the tin mines. It isn’t fair. I was cheated. I won’t have it. Just maybe what happened to Aunt Eleanor will happen to Caroline. Yes, that sounds just exactly right. I wouldn’t mind seeing the little cheat who acts like a bloody saint on that cliff edge.”

  Owen, to his later disbelief and pride, leaned over Bennett Penrose, grabbed him by his loosely tied cravat, hauled him to his shaky feet, and planted his fist into his mouth. Bennett went limply to the floor. “If you speak like that again, I will throw you through the window. The bay window in the drawing room at the front of the hall.”

  Bennett didn’t move, but he did manage to say through his sore mouth, “You will be sorry for that, you mangy little bastard.”

  “I’m not a bastard. Just ask my father. No, perhaps you’d best not. He’s not particularly pleased with me at the moment. Indeed, I doubt he’ll ever be pleased with me again. I’ve told you what’s going to happen and now I must return to Mount Hawke. Oh dear, my father. It’s all rather too much.”

  Owen made his way, shaking his head, past Mrs. Trebaw, out the quite lovely front door of Scrilady Hall.

  “You are moving in, Mr. Ffalkes?”

  Owen gave her a distracted nod. “Yes, probably tomorrow.”

  “And that horrid man who is your father?”

  “Oh no, just I will be coming.”

  “And Miss Caroline?”

  “She’s still in bed; my father struck her on the head, but she’ll probably be home shortly.”

  “It
isn’t good, sir, and you tell her that. Mount Hawke is a man’s residence. No women have been allowed there forever and ever. She’s there with no chaperon and she’s a young lady. You speak to her, Mr. Ffalkes, yes, you speak to her and bring her home, else she’ll be quite ruined. To a Nightingale man, ruining a lady doesn’t mean anything, you tell her that.”

  “North isn’t like that, Mrs. Trebaw.”

  She harrumphed. “That remains to be seen. But I doubt it. He’s still a Nightingale man and they’ve all been alike forever and ever.”

  “I will tell her what you’ve said, but she will do just as she pleases; she always does.”

  “So did her aunt Eleanor,” Mrs. Trebaw said, and sighed. “Do your best. Tell her the Nightingale men aren’t to be trusted. Black-hearted devils, every last one of them. You wouldn’t believe what the current viscount’s father and grandfather did, but that’s not important right now. Poor little girl.” She shook her head and walked back into Scrilady Hall.

  He didn’t mean to do it, he really didn’t, but she was lying there sleeping, looking so soft and inviting, that he simply didn’t think, just sat down on the bed beside her, leaned down, and began kissing her. She had the softest mouth, he thought, just lightly running his tongue over her lips. So very soft and warm and…

  Her mouth opened and North knew he had to stop, he simply had to while he could. Nightingale men were passionate, impatient, and a female couldn’t stop them even if she wanted to once their lust was stirred, as his was right now with naught but a few kisses from a sleeping girl. Except now she wasn’t asleep, her lips were parted, and she was kissing him back and it was beyond anything he could have imagined, beyond what he ever wanted to imagine, and thus refused to.

  “No,” he said into her warm mouth, and with the greatest effort imaginable, he pulled himself back. He just stared down at her, his eyes nearly black in his hunger, his hands fisting, then opening, again and again at his sides, to keep them off her.

  “No,” he said again, and he rose, stepping back from the bed where she was lying on her back, her breasts heaving slightly—from what? he wondered—and she was looking at him, and it was a wonderful look she was looking.