The Nightingale Legacy

by Catherine Coulter

  “I don’t like this at all,” Caroline said to Dr. Treath.

  “I wouldn’t either, my dear, but as I told Bess, it must be done. I do it on every one of my female patients who is with child. I’ll be careful not to hurt you, but I must examine you.”

  Before he did that, he felt her breasts, and she tried to think of other things. His fingers were long and dry and she hated the way they felt on her flesh. When he eased two fingers inside her, he was careful and gentle, she’d give him that, but it was mortifying. His fingers were large and that hurt and he pushed, and with his other hand pressed down on her belly until finally she gasped with pain.

  “Done,” Dr. Treath said, and eased his fingers out of her. “Well, my dear, it appears that you’re just fine, quite healthy, actually. We won’t have to do that again until you’re much farther along. Now, North, let’s go downstairs whilst Bess helps your wife get dressed.”

  “That was awful,” Caroline said when the men had left the bedchamber.

  Bess Treath was frowning as she assisted Caroline to rise from the bed. “You’re not feeling nauseous, are you?”

  “Oh no, just horribly embarrassed. I know it’s silly since he’s a doctor, but true nonetheless. Thank you for helping me, Miss Treath.”

  “Yes, he is a doctor.” Bess Treath smiled down at Caroline, who was still very flushed in the face, and handed her her chemise and stockings.

  The Duchess was depressed. She’d searched every single foot of that area Caroline had told her about, she said, and not a thing, not even a clue to be found anywhere. She then sighed, forked down a bite of blancmange, and said, “Of course, it’s been over a thousand years. Doubtless many feet have walked over that entire area and many eyes looked to see what they could find. If only your great-grandfather could have been more precise about that wretched armlet, North.”

  “Sorry, Duchess, but believe me, that wretched armlet never existed, or if it did, it didn’t have a thing to do with King Mark.”

  The earl patted his wife’s hand. “You tried, sweetheart.”

  The large clock that sounded like it had swallowed a frog began chiming seven strokes.

  Alice shivered. “How I hate the sound that clock makes. Has it always done that, my lord?”

  “As long as I can remember. I was telling Caroline that if only the bloody thing would stop, I’d dump it in the kitchen midden.”

  “I rather like the sound of it,” Owen said. “Rather like a king with a very bad cold.”

  Caroline laughed and shook her head. “All of you are vastly romantic and far too imaginative. It just sounds to me like it needs a good oiling.”

  After a sumptuous dinner of carbonnade of beef, baked anchovy pie, roasted lamb with white beans, innumerable side dishes, and blancmange and macaroons for dessert, the earl and countess announced that they would be leaving for London on Wednesday.

  Caroline was down in the mouth. She liked the Duchess and was finally at her ease with her and her outrageous husband, who said exactly what he wanted to say, teased his wife mercilessly, then kissed her hard, and was very amusing, not as amusing as North, but nonetheless, he did occasionally make her smile.

  “Come, sweetheart,” North said to her later that night in their bedchamber, “and climb on my lap. I don’t like to see you depressed. That’s right, face me, ah, yes, the feel of you, how much I love the feel of you.” He kissed her then even as his hands were pulling up her dressing gown and nightgown, his fingers on her bare flesh, stroking her and caressing upward.

  “Goodness, North,” she said into his mouth and promptly moaned when his warm fingers touched her. When they slipped inside her, she suddenly stiffened.

  “Whatever is wrong?”

  “That’s what Dr. Treath did. It was awful.”

  “Well, I didn’t like it either, but if it had to be done, then so be it. Now, just relax. It’s me, not Dr. Treath, and I have scarce a thought about the babe, just its mother and making her scream with pleasure. That’s right, Caroline, you’re becoming softer. I like it. Kiss me some more.”

  When he lifted her onto him, she sighed with the pleasure of it. When his fingers wove their magic, she screamed. North felt the wet of her tears against his neck when she was slack against him.

  He froze. “What the hell is wrong? Did I hurt you?”

  “Oh no, it’s just that I love you so very much, it’s sometimes too much, that’s all.”

  “I see,” he said slowly, “nothing more than that. Good, that relieves my mind. Let’s go to bed, Caroline.”

  He didn’t sleep for a very long time, but he didn’t let her away from him, holding her close the entire night. He knew he’d give anything to keep Caroline with him. He knew he’d give his life for her.

  But it wasn’t North who saved Caroline’s life the following day. It was the Duchess.

  34

  CAROLINE AND THE Duchess were riding close to the sea, high above on the narrow cliff road, before cutting inland to search about the series of hillocks and in the midst of the oak tree copse again. Ah, and there was that long stone fence with perhaps some crevices between the stones that held something, a clue perhaps, another armlet like the one North’s great-grandfather had claimed he’d found. At the moment, though, the wind whipped at their riding hats and they were discussing why Coombe would leave evidence behind that surely proved his guilt.

  They pulled up their horses a moment to look over the Irish Sea. “It makes no sense,” Caroline said, tucking her hair up beneath her hat.

  “And that relative of yours, Caroline, Bennett Penrose?” the Duchess said. “No chance at all that he was responsible, at least for your aunt’s death?”

  “No,” Caroline said. “North looked into everything, probably even checked Bennett’s teeth. Unfortunately he just wasn’t here when Aunt Eleanor was killed. As for poor Nora Pelforth, Bennett had many witnesses to claim he was at Mrs. Freely’s inn in Goonbell until he had to be carried back to Scrilady Hall, so drunk he couldn’t even crawl.”

  “A pity.”

  “Yes indeed, the little worm. Did I tell you that North got a letter from Mr. Ffalkes and he sounds horribly pleased about having Bennett dropped on him, just like North guessed he would. He is probably torturing Bennett, rubbing his hands together in glee the whole time. He also wrote that he’s giving the lackwit gambling lessons. They wager for chores, of all things. He said Bennett might even have an arm muscle by the end of next week.”

  “From what you’ve told me about both gentlemen, they deserve each other.”

  “At the very least. I must admit that I do feel just a dollop of pity for Mrs. Tailstrop—rather, Mrs. Ffalkes now. I imagine she has to protect that ratty little pug of hers from her husband’s hands. Owen said his father hated Lucy.”

  The Duchess laughed, threw back her head, closing her eyes a moment, and Caroline knew she felt the beauty of the crisp autumn wind to her very bones.

  “I’ve never been to Cornwall before. It is so very different from any other place I’ve ever seen. It’s wild and fierce and magnificent. And the smell of the sea, with you all the time, and you can fancy you hear the waves no matter where you are. I used to live near Dover, but it isn’t the same thing at all. There’s a pull to it, isn’t there?”

  “I think it’s magic.”

  “All right, enough rhapsodizing. Now, who else is there who could have killed the women? You know, the question Marcus and I should have kept asking ourselves when I kept getting hurt: Who would gain the most if I died?”

  “Marcus would.”

  The Duchess laughed, then looked surprised that she had actually laughed about that time at Chase Park. “Let’s not tell him that, all right? I can see him completely go over the edge. He’s very possessive, you know.”

  Caroline grinned and click-clicked Reggie forward. “I had guessed that.”

  “Just as is North.”

  “North? No, not really. He just feels great responsibility for me and—�
�

  “Bosh.”

  “What?”

  “I said bosh. He is tail over tip in love with you. Don’t be a fool, Caroline, you can’t begin to imagine how he looks at you. You come into a room, you giggle, you just sit there and drink tea, you even yawn, and he looks utterly hungry and at the same time, content. He is a very happy man.”

  Caroline didn’t say a thing, but she was wondering if the Duchess could possibly be right. The trick would be to catch him looking at her lovingly.

  “Now, I’ve gotten us off track. Back to Coombe. Everyone believes he’s mad, clearly and completely mad, that the women rejected him and he killed them, that he perhaps even believed that they betrayed him, that he wanted to perhaps avenge all the Nightingale men by killing women he saw as faithless. But your aunt, Caroline? Didn’t you tell me that she and Dr. Treath were in love? How could she possibly fit into any madness of Coombe’s?”

  “She couldn’t.”

  “And where did Coombe go? I know everyone local is saying that he went off to kill himself, and left the knife so everyone would know—a sort of expiation—but still—”

  Regina stumbled forward onto her knees, sending Caroline flying over her head to fall in a huddle on the ground beyond.

  The Duchess leaped off her mare’s back, tripped flat on her face, pulled herself up, and ran to Caroline’s side. She was unconscious, lying on her back, her royal-blue velvet riding hat smashed, the feather broken in half. Her riding skirt was askew, showing her white petticoats and white stockings and her soft black leather riding boots.

  She felt Caroline’s pulse and heaved a sigh of relief. It was strong and steady. She gently began to feel Caroline’s head, unceremoniously pulling off her riding hat and smoothing out her thick hair. She’d struck her head on a very small rock, just behind her right ear. The Duchess felt her arms, her legs, nothing broken. All she could do now was wait. She pulled off her own gold velvet riding jacket and tucked it around Caroline’s chest and neck. She sat beside her to block the breeze coming from the sea.

  Caroline moaned, opened her eyes, saw the Duchess looking down at her, and said, “I’m all right. I just feel stupid, letting Reggie throw me so easily. Oh goodness, my head does hurt, only not as bad as it did when Mr. Ffalkes struck me.”

  “Just lie still for a while longer. You struck your head and I want to make certain you’re not going to fall unconscious again.”

  “What was it, Duchess? A rabbit hole? How could I have been so careless? I hope Reggie is all right.”

  “You hold still and I’ll go look. Reggie seems to be just fine. Hold still now, Caroline.”

  When the Duchess came back to her some minutes later, she was pale and there was anger and something else in those beautiful calm eyes of hers. “It wasn’t a rabbit hole.”

  North blinked when he saw his wife riding bareback in front of the Duchess, the sidesaddle gone, the Duchess’s hands securely around Caroline, holding her steady. Reggie was trailing behind them.

  Oh God. He was racing to them, yelling as he ran, “ Marcus, get out here now!”

  His heart didn’t cease its frantic pounding until Caroline was lying on a puce brocade settee in the drawing room, a pale blue knitted blanket pulled over her.

  “Tell me again you have no pain in your belly.”

  “No, North, just in my head.”

  “All right. Tregeagle has gone to fetch Dr. Treath. He’ll be here very soon now. Here, drink this tea Polgrain made for you. Alice, I swear to you she’s all right. Please don’t worry. You sit down and drink a cup of tea yourself. Duchess, please see that Alice sits down and drinks.”

  Dr. Treath and Bess Treath arrived just as the clock was painfully grinding out its four afternoon strokes, sounding like a king with an awful sore throat bellowing at his subjects.

  Dr. Treath smiled at her even as she knew he was studying her, then pulled over a chair and sat down. “Now, let me see this lump on your head.” His fingers were gentle, probing very lightly, feeling the outline of the bump that was rising. Then he sat back and just looked at her.

  “Hold still now,” he said, slipped his hands beneath the cover and her clothes. Caroline tensed up, she couldn’t help it. North took her hand and held it.

  “Do you need anything, Benjie?” Bess Treath said.

  He didn’t immediately answer.

  “Benjie?”

  “What? Oh no, Bess. She’s all right.” He smiled down at Caroline. “I do want you to rest, no strenuous exercise. If you have any bleeding, any cramping at all, you send for me. Tregeagle thought it was a rabbit hole?”

  “Yes,” the Duchess said.

  When at last the Treaths had left, and Alice was finally convinced Caroline wasn’t going to die and had retired to her room to nap, the Duchess cleared her throat and said, “Please close the door, Marcus.”

  He cocked his head at her, but did as she asked.

  “What is it, Duchess?” North said.

  It was Caroline who answered. “It wasn’t a rabbit hole like we’d first thought.”

  “No,” the Duchess continued. “It was a wire stretched taut between an oak tree and the stone fence. It’s narrow in that stretch. I didn’t want to tell anyone, best keep it amongst ourselves for now.”

  “She rides that way most every day,” North said, and felt pain and fury knot his guts.

  “Which means,” the earl said, “that the wire was meant for her, no one else. But you were with her, Duchess. How did you miss that wire?”

  “Caroline was riding a bit in front of me there, since it is so narrow. When she went over I immediately pulled up my horse. I tripped over the wire when I was running to her, though, and landed flat on my nose.”

  “Then,” the earl said slowly, “both of you could have been hurt. Damnation, North, I don’t like this at all.”

  North was remembering when both the earl and the Duchess had been shot, the fear, the utter rage he’d felt, that he’d seen in Marcus’s eyes. He shook his head. He remembered telling Marcus that he had to stay calm, rage wouldn’t help his wife. He wondered if Marcus would tell him the same thing now. He drew a deep breath.

  “I have spent four months now with death and mystery and tragedy sitting on my right shoulder, never far from my thoughts or my mind. I hadn’t been home two weeks before I found Caroline’s aunt, dead on that ledge beneath St. Agnes Head. I couldn’t find out who’d killed her. Then that poor woman, Nora Pelforth, and I’ve been unsuccessful there as well. Then Coombe disappears and there’s the bloody knife in his room. All of it is madness. It must be aimed at me, it must. I simply can’t figure out who’s doing it and why. I can’t figure out who would hate me so much.”

  Caroline said, even as she lifted herself onto her elbows, “You’re forgetting about Elizabeth Godolphin, who was killed three years ago, North. You weren’t here then. No, you’re wrong about this.”

  North cursed rather fluently, then said abruptly, “Then it must be revenge against my father or my grandfather. Marcus, I want you and the Duchess to leave. The thought that the Duchess could have been hurt again curdles my blood. Yes, I want you gone tomorrow.”

  “No,” the Duchess said slowly, “I don’t think so, North.”

  Tregeagle cleared his throat from the doorway. “My lord.”

  “Yes, dammit, what is it, Tregeagle?”

  “It’s the Young Person, Alice, my lord. She informs Miss Mary Patricia, who rightfully informs me since I wouldn’t allow her to come in here and disturb you, that Alice believes her time has arrived.”

  “Oh no,” Caroline said, struggling to get to her feet. “The babe is too early. He was getting really big, but it’s too early. Oh no, North.”

  It was the Duchess who remembered that Owen should be fetched immediately. Caroline sent Timmy the maid to Scrilady Hall.

  It was soon clear that it wouldn’t be an easy labor. Dr. Treath and Bess Treath rarely left Alice’s side even when Alice fell into a stupor, so weak even
the contractions couldn’t break through her exhaustion.

  Owen paced outside the bedchamber like an expectant father, pale and drawn.

  A pall fell over the house during the second day. Caroline, who’d flinched whenever she’d heard Alice cry out, now flinched because she couldn’t hear a thing. Alice was too weak and getting weaker.

  North found her in the east wing on the top floor in the storage room where she’d found all the Nightingale women’s portraits. She was furiously cleaning the frames, afraid to touch the canvas, but the frames were shining.

  He gently squeezed her shoulder. She stopped her frantic activity, looking up at him.

  “I’m sorry, Caroline.”

  “She’s dead?”

  “No, not yet, but Dr. Treath sees no hope for her now. She birthed the baby, a little boy. He’s not as small as Dr. Treath had thought he would be. Indeed, he was simply too big for Alice to birth him.”

  “Then how did she manage to birth him?”

  “Dr. Treath pulled him out of her, there was no other choice, otherwise both of them would die. Do you want to make your good-byes?”

  She closed her eyes, saying with such hopelessness that he wanted to howl with it, “Those men who raped her. They killed a young girl … just killed her and went on their drunken way. Dear God, I hope they rot in hell.”

  Alice opened her eyes a few moments after Caroline sat down beside her. Caroline smiled down at her, saying, “You have a fine little boy, Alice. What do you want to name him?”

  “He’s Owen,” Alice whispered, her voice hoarse and raw. Suddenly, with surprising strength, Alice clutched Caroline’s wrist, pulling her close. “Take care of him, Miss Caroline. Please.”

  “Of course I will,” Caroline said as she wiped Alice’s forehead with a damp cloth. “And so will you. You will rest and get well again, Alice.”

  “No, Miss Caroline, I won’t and you know it. Would you tell my son about me? That I loved him and I didn’t want to leave him, but—” She stopped and gave Caroline a heart-wrenching smile.

  “Your son will never forget you, Alice, I swear it. You must see Owen now, he’s right here, just waiting to kiss you. What do you think about that?”