The Nightingale Legacy

by Catherine Coulter

  It was King Mark’s treasure trove, it had to be. The Nightingale men had been right. His treasure was here, buried a thousand years before, more treasure than a single mortal man deserved.

  She walked closer, her hand stretched out to touch the sword. But she held back. She was afraid of it, it was that simple. What was it doing here, buried in that stone? She knew it was something beyond what a human should know, beyond what a human should see and experience. It wasn’t of this earth, of this time, yet it was here, as if it was waiting. It glittered like gold but it was made of steel. It was magnificent: hard and long, ferocious. Its blade was a glittering silver in its sharpness, the brilliant edge glittering. It still looked deadly after one thousand years.

  She stared at that sword. There was something about it that drew her. Without really thinking, she clasped her hands around the hilt and tugged. To her absolute astonishment, the sword moved. She pulled harder now and the sword simply slipped out of the stone, and she realized that the stone couldn’t be solid as it appeared. There had to be a chamber built within it for the sword, a scabbard for it, a place of honor for it, to display it as she’d displayed the armlet. But for whom?

  She’d pulled it free, and now just stared at it lying there atop the stone amid all those incredible gems, those piles of gold. How could she lift it? It was at least four feet long, perfectly straight, its top so pointed, so deadly, that just looking at it made her shiver.

  But it was a weapon.

  She gingerly tried to raise it with both hands wrapped around the handle. Again, to her astonishment, she discovered she could lift it easily. She brought it up with but one hand clutching about the jewel-encrusted handle. It fit well into her palm. Her fingers closed easily around it. But it had looked so big, so foreboding thrust into the rock. She swung it. It weighed so little, but that didn’t make sense, simply couldn’t be real. She didn’t care. She swung it again. It seemed an extension of her arm, flowing and smooth. She felt powerful; she felt the strength of it, or she fancied she did. She felt as if it had been fashioned for her and only her.

  She smiled. Now she had a chance. Then she remembered the shot. The man had a gun. Even this wonderful sword would have no chance against a gun. She turned again toward the light, the other opening. She could escape him.

  She followed the shadow light. To her despair, not six feet behind the stone slab she stood beneath the light. It was not more than a small circular opening, more a narrow tunnel that seemed to twist back on itself, back toward the edge of the cliff. There was nothing else.

  She felt bowed by defeat. Then, very carefully she eased the sword behind her back and walked forward again, back toward her killer. The sword felt so light. It lay so easily pressed against her legs, her single hand holding it without effort. Odd that the handle had looked so massive, but it wasn’t. It didn’t strain her arms at all to keep it from dragging on the ground.

  She walked now toward the light from where she’d crashed through the cliff, back toward the man who wanted to kill her, the man who was insane, the man whose voice terrified her, drew at her confidence, her strength.

  She heard him call again, his voice soft now, echoing deep and dark, forming and reforming like shadows off the rock walls. “Caroline, how much longer can you hide from me? Come to me now and I will slip my knife quickly into your heart. You won’t suffer, Caroline, and Lord Chilton will be free of you, all of us will be free of you, me most of all.”

  She was closer to the man now and his voice sounded that much more frightening, more inhuman, more like a specter’s than a human being’s. She pulled back close to the wall, becoming part of the darkness, and sang out softly in a voice that made her shiver herself, “Why has a madman come into my burial chamber? It is forbidden. You are not one of the chosen. That girl who dared enter now lies dead, as will you very soon now.”

  She heard a yelp, she was certain of it. She heard a quickening of breath, she heard no more movement. She pressed herself even closer against the wall.

  “Well? Who are you? Why do you come here?”

  The killer’s voice now, coming like a thread of fear, low and hoarse, fright filling it: “I will leave but I must have the girl’s body. She is an abomination. If I leave her here, she will be a scourge to this chamber. Her very presence will curse you. I will take her.”

  “You will take no one! I will kill you now just as I killed her. Prepare to die.”

  There was utter silence. It seemed to grow even darker. The air was so dry she wanted to cough, but she didn’t dare to. She held herself perfectly still. It was then Caroline felt the warm dry breath against her cheek. “That was a good show, but not good enough. Couldn’t you tell I was coming toward you even as I spoke? No? The echoes in this chamber distort everything, more’s the pity for you. Hold still now, Caroline, I want you to know who will kill you before you spend eternity in hell.”

  Caroline didn’t move. She clasped the sword more firmly behind her back and readied herself. She couldn’t do anything yet. The man was holding the gun against her ribs.

  “Come, Caroline, you can’t see me here. Come.”

  Slowly, the man’s hand around her arm, she walked back toward the opening in the cliff wall.

  It took only a moment or two. So close she’d been. Then the man shoved her away. She struck a wall, but managed to keep hold of the sword behind her, and her balance. She watched the cloaked and booted man walk until he stood directly beneath the collapsed opening. Then he straightened and threw back the hood of his black cloak.

  She looked into the face of Bess Treath, and she said, “I thought you were a man.”

  “Yes, I know. I deepened my voice for you. I knew it terrified you even more to think a madman was chasing you. But I’m not a man and I don’t have to pretend with you any further. You’ve given me a good chase, Caroline, but it’s over now. You even found a treasure trove for me.”

  “Bess Treath,” Caroline said aloud, wondering if saying the woman’s name would make any of this any more real. She stared at her now, still unable to grasp what she was seeing, what she’d heard. “But why? Why did you call me a slut? Why do you want to kill me? And my aunt? Why Aunt Eleanor? She loved to laugh, there was no one to betray, she wasn’t married.”

  “She would have, though…”

  “Yes, she would have married your brother, she—” Caroline’s voice fell like a rock from the cliff wall just beyond her.

  “Yes, I see you understand now. I couldn’t allow my brother to marry Eleanor. He would have left me and that I couldn’t have borne. He was mine, Benjie was, all mine. I was only eleven years old when our parents died and he became both mother and father to me, and eventually lover, but that was just for one night when he was drunk, when he’d lost his sweet little wife, that slut, who dared believe she could keep him to herself.”

  “But you told me she died in childbirth.”

  “Yes, she did, and let’s say that I helped her along. Poor Benjie was so exhausted, for the weak little ninny couldn’t even birth the babe easily, not like I could have if only I’d ever had a chance. No, she screamed and struggled, and I finally told him he had to rest, that I would watch her, that I would call him if anything happened. Ah, but she knew when she opened her eyes and saw me smiling down at her, she knew that she was going to die and I didn’t disappoint her. I stuck my hand inside her body and I tore her. That was all, just those few seconds and she died so quickly then, with Benjie weeping over her, begging her not to leave him, and I just stood there and watched, and when he chanced to look at me, I found tears and I shed them but I still smiled inside and I knew that I’d won.”

  The sword seemed to tingle in Caroline’s palms. It was all the gems, she thought, the gems were growing warm, even hot, against her flesh.

  Bess Treath leaned back against the stone wall, the gun still pointed at Caroline. “Don’t you want to know more? Don’t you want to know everything, about those other women, about your dear aunt, wh
o died really very easily, too easily, for I wanted her to suffer more.”

  Caroline raised her chin and smiled. “Why? You’re nothing but a madwoman. Whatever you have to say is a lie, and if it’s not an outright lie, then it’s so distorted because you’re distorted, you’re twisted, just as everything you could say is twisted.”

  “Shut up! Damn you, you miserable slut, just shut up.”

  Caroline shrugged, the smile still on her mouth. “It sounds to me like you’re the slut and the evil one. You seduced your brother? How old were you, all of thirteen?”

  “No, I was the same age as that miserable little Alice.” Her eyes narrowed and there was regret there. “No, I didn’t have the chance to dispatch that one, and I fancy she deserved it. Benjie wouldn’t leave her, nor would that damned Owen Ffalkes. But then she croaked herself. I was pleased, but I missed smiling at her, stroking her child’s cheek even as I told her that I was killing her.”

  “So you were the slut. You seduced your brother? And you were fourteen?”

  “You’re stupid, Caroline. You keep repeating yourself. Do you hope to rattle me, make me shriek then hurl myself to the beach below because you twist my mind through your manipulations? You are stupid. Do you know that Benjie didn’t remember? He never knew that when he was so drunk from the brandy and the whiskey that his damned sex so shrank that I had to take him in my mouth and when he finally became part of me, he became mine that night and I vowed that he would remain mine. No, he didn’t remember, or if he did, he kept it to himself.

  “No matter. He was mine and I vowed he would remain mine, no other woman would ever have him. There were other women after him, but none serious until that whore Elizabeth Godolphin. She got him into her bed before I realized what was happening. He was all smiles, all distracted, going about humming and grinning. He fancied himself in love with the trollop, but I took care of her, yes I did, as soon as I had the opportunity. I waited until he was off at a tin-mine accident, then I went to her and I stabbed her and hurled her off the cliff near Perranporth. She blubbered and wept and swore to me she’d release him, but she’d already sullied him, already put her mouth and her hands on him, already opened her legs to him and offered him her womb.”

  It was simply too much. Caroline leaned over and vomited. It was the drugged tea mainly, for she’d eaten none of the cakes Coombe had brought her. Then she stood there, bent over, head down, and her body heaved in upon itself, but she didn’t bring her right hand forward, she held on to that sword handle with all her will and all her strength. Suddenly the sword seemed even lighter, and she didn’t even consider it, not really, just held it there behind her back with one hand. With her left hand, she lifted her skirt and wiped her mouth. Then she looked up at Bess Treath. She even managed a smile as she said, “You know, old Miss Bess, this turns my stomach, as you’ve just seen. Now, if you’ve killed a goodly number of women, I’d just as soon not hear you bray about all of them. Do you want to kill me? Well, you may certainly try. Yes, come on, you withered mad old crone, come try to kill me. You might as well let me kill you, for your brother will look at you after this and he will vomit just as I did. He will revile you. He would kill you himself were he here. Come, you pathetic old woman.”

  Caroline beckoned to her with her left hand, taunting her, knowing that she wanted it to end, one way or the other. She just couldn’t stand here, listening to that madness, that filth. She knew she couldn’t bear to hear about her aunt Eleanor’s death at this woman’s hands.

  “Well? Are you a coward as well as old and quite mad?”

  “Shut up, damn you! You want to die, Caroline? Now? That’s fine with me.”

  “Before you try to dispatch me, why don’t you tell me how I’ve tried to seduce your brother, who, if you hadn’t noticed, is old enough to be my father. Besides being mad, evidently you can’t even understand what’s right before your nose. I love my husband very much. Not your damned brother.”

  “But you will come to want him. You see, he wants you, I’ve seen the lust for you in his eyes. He can’t hide his feelings from me anymore. I know him, have known him all my life. I have wondered, though, what it would feel like to have him touch my belly and my breasts as he did you. Ah, and he put his fingers inside you. Did you enjoy it? Did he caress you?”

  “No, he didn’t. He’s a doctor. I was horribly embarrassed.”

  “You’re lying. Every woman wants Benjie. I’ve seen it over and over again.”

  “He’s old, even older than you are. But you know, Bess, when they put you in Bedlam, you’re not so old that you won’t survive another twenty years or so. I do hope you will enjoy telling all your stories to others as mad as you are. Do you think they’ll listen or just start scratching their lice?”

  Bess Treath yelled her fury, threw the gun to the ground, drew a knife from her cloak pocket, and ran at Caroline.

  “No, damn you, no! Stop!”

  Caroline whipped the sword from behind her back at the same moment Coombe dropped through the opening, yelling, “No, Bess Treath, leave her alone!”

  Bess Treath whirled about, immobile for just an instant. “I shot you, you mangy little bastard. I shot you! You damned little pest, you left Goonbell, and I knew you’d run away in your shame, in your mortification. That’s why I left the bloody knife in your room, so everyone would know you’d killed all those women. Why did you come back?”

  “I always planned to come back. I brought his lordship’s mother back with me, and his sister.”

  “A lie, you little bastard. His mother is dead. She betrayed his father, like all the lying sluts. I’ll bet he even killed her. I wasn’t told about her so I know you’re lying to me. No, he didn’t tell me and he would have. Aye, that lying slut would have wanted Benjie just like all of them did and then I would have killed her too.

  “You were supposed to stay gone, then when Caroline died, all would think you’d sneaked back and done it. Damn you to hell!”

  She lunged toward him, the knife arched high, ready to come down into his chest.

  Caroline raised her own sword, so light it was, and its steel blade glittered silver and sharp in that dim moonlight, and she screamed, “Here, Bess! Here, come to me! Coombe is wounded, he’s no worry to you, leave him be.”

  Bess Treath turned and stared. “That sword, where did you get it?”

  “Why, it was here, just for me, here for me to kill you. Come here, Bess, yes, that’s right, come here.” Again, Caroline held the mighty sword easily in the grip of her right hand, and beckoned with her left hand to Bess Treath. From the corner of her eye, she saw Coombe easing toward the gun Bess Treath had flung to the ground. She saw the blood dripping from his shoulder. He looked weak and pale. Suddenly she knew she didn’t need him to get that gun, she just knew it.

  Bess Treath screamed, a scream filled with madness and fury and perhaps even of acceptance, and lunged at Caroline.

  Caroline lifted the sword, swung it back and forth in front of her, the fine steel hissing cleanly in the air. Bess Treath stopped suddenly so that glittering sharp blade tip wouldn’t slash through her. She was heaving with madness, with fury, and again she raised that knife, but she couldn’t get past that long swinging blade.

  Caroline jumped forward, that magnificent sword extended its full length. Bess Treath managed to leap to the side, and the sword only slashed through her cloak over her right shoulder. She yelled in pain and rage.

  “I’ll stick this knife in your belly and kill that bastard of yours first!” She ran straight at Caroline, straight into that high swinging sword.

  The blade slid cleanly into Bess Treath’s chest.

  Bess Treath just stood there a moment, hanging on that massive sword, a good foot of it protruding from her back, and she just looked down at it, then back at Caroline, who stood so close to her now, holding the handle, just holding it there as it drained her life away. “I knew it would have to end someday,” Bess Treath said. “But this sword, how do you ho
ld it so easily? It’s huge. It must weigh as much as you do. You’re but a weak woman. It’s not possible.”

  “It seems you’re wrong,” Caroline said. She watched Bess Treath weave there, silent now, then fall hard sideways.

  Caroline pulled the sword from her body. She looked at Coombe, who now held the gun in his hand, standing there, staring at her, down at Bess Treath, pale and sweating, and Caroline said, “I’m so glad you weren’t the one to drug my tea. Your shoulder is bleeding. We must get you back to the top of the cliff, Coombe.”

  “It isn’t really all that bad,” he said, trying to keep a grip on himself. “I managed to climb down, but I feared I would be too late. She was strong, so very strong. What is this chamber?”

  “It is King Mark’s treasure chamber.”

  Coombe just stared at her.

  “Come,” Caroline said. “I’ll show you.”

  “But I must tell you first—” Coombe gave her an oddly helpless look, took one step, sighed, then slowly crumpled to the sandy floor.

  “Tell me what, Coombe?”

  He opened his eyes for just a brief instant and she could see the pain it was costing him. “Tregeagle,” he whispered. “Tregeagle.”

  39

  CAROLINE FOUND COOMBE’S dangling rope as she eased herself out of the collapsed cliff wall. She hadn’t had time to wonder how he’d gotten down to her, but now she knew. Where had he gotten the rope? Then she recognized it. It was the rope that had bound her wrist and ankles. He’d knotted the ends together.

  She grasped it firmly and pulled herself out against the cliff face. She didn’t look down. The wind was strong, tearing at her cloak and her hair. She drew a deep breath and began to climb. She had to save Coombe now. She’d wrapped his shoulder in strips of material she’d torn from Bess Treath’s cloak and wrapped him against the cold as best she could. He’d remained unconscious after he’d managed to say Tregeagle’s name.

  Tregeagle. He’d drugged her? Evidently so. Evidently he’d been the one to put the note in her bedchamber. Had he tried to kill her by stringing the wire that felled her mare?