The Nightingale Legacy (30 page)

Alice, Caroline noticed now, was still staying very close to Evelyn, now pressed firmly against her side. Evelyn patted her hand every so often.

“My lord.”

North turned. “Yes, Tregeagle?”

“The three female servants aren’t pleased with their bedchambers.”

Caroline frowned. “But I selected their rooms myself, Tregeagle. The three rooms next to each other on the east side of the nursery. They’re quite lovely rooms.”

Tregeagle was mute as the great oak front doors.

“Tregeagle,” North said in a very soft voice. “I think it wise that you speak to me.”

“Er, very well, my lord. It’s just that we didn’t believe those rooms were fine enough for the female servants we don’t want to be here and who aren’t necessary in any case. We wanted them in more elaborate chambers.”

“Where did you take the female servants, Tregeagle?”

“To the third floor.”

“Where on the third floor?” North asked in that same soft, dangerous voice.

“Just beneath the attic, charming chamber, really, so warm during the winter.”

To North’s surprise, Caroline laughed. “It was a good try, Tregeagle, but surely you couldn’t have believed you’d get away with it.”

“One only hoped that they would take a disgust of us and leave without saying a word.” Tregeagle sighed deeply, staring over Caroline’s right shoulder. “The oldest one, Mrs. Mayhew, she threatened to speak to you and thus I thought it would be more prudent if I gave you my words first.”

Caroline just shook her head at him. “Do see them all in the original chambers, Tregeagle. Do try to be patient. I know this is difficult, but you see, his lordship is now a
married man and in the normal course of events, when this happens, females have to appear in the house.”

“No more nonsense, Tregeagle,” North said. “Do you quite understand me?”

“You are speaking so quietly, so grimly and darkly, it is impossible not to understand you, my lord. It is time for dinner. That is, Polgrain has prepared your dinner and
her
dinner. As for the rest of these people, I don’t know.”

North said in a perfectly pleasant voice, “Why don’t you come with me, Tregeagle, and we will discuss it. Also, I want to talk about strange faces pressed against windowpanes.” He winked at Caroline and took his housekeeper firmly by his arm and pulled him into the house. It occurred to Caroline that she should have been the one to pull Tregeagle’s arm with his body hopefully following, into the house. She should be the one to curtail his male cronyism. She was now the mistress and she had ensured that breakfast this morning was delicious, not North. Ah, but there was lots and lots of time for that. Instead, she saw to her three new female servants, soothing upset nerves, trying to explain to them about this male household.

Whatever North said to his minion, it appeared to have been successful, for dinner was served to six of them, four ladies and two gentlemen, a wonderful diversity of concoctions, from chicken in cream of curry sauce to ducks boiled in the French fashion, that was to say, covered in a rich Bordeaux, to flounder dressed with garlic and mustard.

Owen said, “I wish I could have seen you bargaining with that sod Bennett. At least he’s gone now, just like my father. You’re sure he signed everything, Caroline?”

“Mr. Brogan stood over him, watching his every move,” North said. “Don’t worry, Owen.”

“You see,” Owen said to Alice, “I told you everything
would be taken care of. There’s no reason for you to ever be afraid again.”

“Amen,” Evelyn said. “Damned bloody sod.”

“Now, now,” Miss Mary Patricia said, “that isn’t what ladies say, Evelyn, even when truly moved by a male’s unpleasant behavior.”

Evelyn grinned impudently. “Very well. Bennett Penrose isn’t a very sterling human being.”

“Sterling,” Miss Mary Patricia said. “That’s an excellent word, Evelyn.”

“I heard his lordship say it to Miss Caroline. It had something to do with some performance of hers and his lordship sounded pleased, so I decided it must be something quite good.”

“Oh?” Owen said. “I didn’t know you played an instrument, Caroline.”

Everything continued along quite nicely until Tregeagle glided across the dining room, chin high, eyes straight ahead, stopping only when he reached North. He leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Dr. Treath is here, my lord. It seems that another Female Person has been killed.”

“What!”
North reared out of his chair. “That’s bloody impossible, Tregeagle, you’re making it up.”

M
RS
.
N
ORA
P
ELFORTH
was lying facedown on the beach at St. Agnes Head, her body rolled in by the tide. Her hair was matted ropes of dark red, one wrapped around the knife sticking out of her back. Most of her clothing had been torn off by the sea and rocks, and the large patches of bloated white flesh were scored raw and deep.

North knelt beside Benjamin Treath. “Can you tell how long she’s been in the water, sir?” There was no immediate answer, and North looked up at him. Dr. Treath’s head was bowed, his eyes closed, and his mouth was a thin line of pain.

“She was my friend,” Dr. Treath said, his voice as bowed as his shoulders. “Damn, North, she was my friend. She was so very kind to me after Eleanor was killed, listened to me, always welcomed me. She was always there whenever I couldn’t bear the pain. Damnation, North, I’m so tired of death, so very tired of it. And now more violent death. It’s too much, North, it’s simply too much.”

“Let’s get her out of here, sir. Give me the blanket so we may wrap her in it.”

It was as if he’d been in a trance. Dr. Treath raised his head and stared at North, then shook his head. “Forgive me. Yes, you’re right. She shouldn’t have to lie here any longer. Such beautiful red hair she had, and she was so proud of her hair, and now it’s all tangled in seaweed.”

Caroline was standing at the cliff edge with Owen and a
good half dozen men from Goonbell and St. Agnes when North came up the winding path, the dead woman over his shoulder, Dr. Treath following at his heels.

“Aye,” a miner said, kicking his boot toe against a clod of earth. “Another one of our women, kilt dead.”

“Fer wot?”

“Fer nuthin’, that’s fer wot,” another man said. Caroline recognized the man who served ale in Mrs. Freely’s taproom in Goonbell. “Miss Meg don’t like this, I’ll tell ye that. Who’s killing our women?”

North gently laid Mrs. Pelforth in the back of the wagon and covered her with a wool blanket. She’d been a pretty woman, no older than thirty-five, he thought, her air sprightly, her eyes a deep blue and very calm. Her husband had been a draper in Trevellas; she’d been a widow for some years, her children grown, alone save for servants. He’d known her to say polite hellos, nothing more. He had no idea if his father had known her or her husband. And now she was dead, murdered, just like Eleanor Penrose. Jesus, what was going on here?

“Well-liked were Nora,” the miner said, and spat into the sharp wind rising from the north. “Niver ’ad ’er nose stuck in the air. Who kilt her? My lord,” he continued, turning to North, “ye be the magistrate. Wot will ye do?”

North realized it was one of his miners from Wheal David, a man named Pillet. “All I can, Pillet, all I can. If any of you can tell me anything, please come to Mount Hawke.” He turned to Owen. “See where Bennett Penrose is.”

Owen nodded and slipped away.

The men spoke among themselves, shook their heads, and broke apart, heading to their homes.

It was near to midnight before North and Caroline walked into his bedchamber. He nearly tripped, looked down at the stool sitting in his path, kicked it out of the way, and said,
“I wonder if Tregeagle put this stool here. Maybe so. Maybe he hoped you’d trip over it and break your beautiful neck, the damned bugger.”

He stopped, listening to the deep, booming twelve strokes from the huge clock in the entrance hall, a monstrosity one of his distant ancestors had commissioned by a clockmaker in Brussels more years ago than he wanted to calculate. The damned thing didn’t give up. At least two hundred years old and it wouldn’t break down so it could be thrown in the kitchen midden.

“What are you thinking, North?”

“What? Oh, I was just listening to that bloody clock. It’s always had the strangest sound to it.”

“Yes, you’re right. It sounds like a person with a very gravelly voice who’s shouting but doesn’t really want anyone to hear him.”

“The way you think pleases me. I wish you hadn’t come with me, Caroline.”

“I had to. I just wish I understood any of this.”

North walked to the fireplace, knelt, and lit the fire. He didn’t rise, just turned on his heel to face her. “I sent Owen to check Bennett’s whereabouts. He’s probably gone now, but who knows? We know he didn’t kill your aunt, but maybe, just maybe, he killed Mrs. Pelforth.”

“But why would he?”

“God knows. Perhaps she was giving him money. Perhaps he was her lover and she got tired of him or he got tired of her, what with his new windfall. In any case, we’ll know about Bennett in the morning. Now, Caroline, it’s gotten chilly. Do you want to stay in this bedchamber tonight?”

“It depends on where you will sleep. I only want to be with you.”

He rose, walked to her, and clasped her face between his big hands. “Besides liking your mind, I also like you,
Caroline Nightingale. You’re a good sort.”

And he began to kiss her. She’d believed herself beyond exhaustion, so tired she’d been leaning against the bedpost. But her weariness fell away from her like a bad dream. She felt energy bubbling up within her, buoying her up as high as the clouds, making her want to dance and kiss him until he moaned with the pleasure of it.

He turned her around, lifted her hair, and bent down to nibble and kiss and lick her neck and her ears. “Very nice, wife, quite nice, in fact.” She jumped when his tongue lightly stroked her ear.

“I want to see you,” she said, twisting back around to face him. “All of you, please.”

He cocked a dark eyebrow. “You want me naked again? At your mercy? Like last night?”

She gave him a solemn nod. “I think it’s good for me, not so overwhelming. Yes, let’s go slowly so I won’t be nervous and perhaps flee the bedchamber in terror. There’s quite a lot of you, North, and even though you are splendid, you are nonetheless very different from me.”

He patted her face, stepped back, and within three minutes he was naked and grinning at her. He flung his arms back. “Take me, Caroline. What would you have me do to please you?”

Her eyes were nearly crossed with anticipation and excitement. Her fingers itched to touch him. “Lie on the bed, North, on your back, please.”

When he was sprawled in the middle of the huge bed, he said, “Do you want to tie my arms to the headboard?”

She cocked her head to one side in question. “Why ever for?”

He laughed at her, and she knew it was at her innocence. “So you can have complete control of me. So I can’t suddenly fling you on your back and take over and overwhelm
you, overpower you with my manly strength, and frighten you. I am stronger than you, you know, and as a man, I can be overcome with lust.”

“So can I,” she said. “I don’t know about this, North. It sounds strange to me, perhaps something a new bride shouldn’t consider doing. Perhaps it isn’t all that discreet or modest or even chaste. Where are your cravats?”

She was laughing with him when she’d managed to loosely tie his wrists to the headboard.

“There, you’re now at my mercy, North Nightingale.”

“Yes,” he said, looking up at her thoughtfully. “You sound quite pleased with yourself.”

“What is it? You’re regretting giving me control?”

“No, actually I was thinking I should write my own book for grooms. Reassure them that if, on the second night, their brides want to tie them up, why then, it is just fine and they shouldn’t be worried that she’s gone over the garden wall or will begin trying to play Bach’s French Suites in her bathtub. They should allow their lady anything she wishes.”

“I like the sound of that.” She climbed off the bed, lit several more candles, and began to undress, her eyes bright with excitement, teasing him now, and knowing exactly what she was doing and the effect it would have. By the time her chemise was pooled at her feet, he was so far gone he was panting.

“Caroline,” he said. He started to yank his wrists free, then stopped himself. He realized he was quite enjoying himself. He was hard as the Carrara marble on the fireplace, his heart pounding so fast he couldn’t stop his panting. He never imagined that a wife could be so very enthusiastic about matters of the marital bed, so filled with curiosity and eager to please him until he couldn’t bear it.

“My hair,” she said, and stood there, knowing she was making him mad with lust, just standing there, taking the
pins out of her hair, combing her hands through her hair. Then she raised her arms, tossed her head, and said, “Now I am ready to give you attention, my lord.”

He fell back on the pillow and closed his eyes. His entire body was pounding. He knew she was looking at him, studying him, and he wanted her hands on him, her mouth on him so badly he thought he’d cry.

Her hands splayed over his chest and he tensed; her hands splayed over his belly and he moaned deeply; her hands came around him and he arched off the bed.

He felt himself quickly spinning into oblivion. “Caroline, sweetheart, you’ve got to stop now, please.”

Instead of stopping, she leaned down and kissed him. He gasped with the shock of it, the raw feelings that were roiling through him, and jerked upward.

He felt her palm splayed on his chest. “I’m very glad you’re my husband, North.”

His chest was heaving madly. He opened his eyes and stared up at her. Her eyes were wide and greener than the swamp grass at the base of the east slope. Her lips were slightly parted and he wanted to kiss her until they were both collapsed in a heap for want of breath.

“Will you let me go now, Caroline?”

“No, I don’t think so. I want to kiss you and touch you. I fear I got my steps out of order. It’s more exciting if one begins at the top of the mountain, it would seem, rather than starting at the, er, middle.”