The Nightingale Legacy (Legacy 2)

Walt didn’t release her. She stood for an instant, uncertain, then she shrugged, gave Walt and Mackie an indulgent look, picked up a mug of ale, and drank down a goodly amount. It swirled and twisted all the way to her belly. Her eyes bugged out and she started to shake and cough. “Oh my God, what is that stuff? My insides don’t know whether to burn or to freeze.”

The men were laughing now, thumping their mugs on the tabletops. “Another fer the little birdie! ’Ey, Clorie, another fer our little friend.”

“No, thank you. That was quite enough.”

Mackie, utterly charmed by a female for the first time in a decade, pulled her down onto his lap. “I nev’r afore seen a little nit the size of ye drink down a whole pint afore. Give me a kiss, luv.”

Caroline frowned at him, seeing the dim light of befuddlement in his eyes, the tufts of hair on his jaws he’d missed shaving, smelled the odors of the stable rising from his body and clothes. “Mr. Mackie, you must let me up. Thank you for the ale, but I’ve had quite enough. Indeed it was an experience I don’t believe I care to repeat. Now, listen to me, my brother is ill and I must get a doctor for him. Won’t you help me?”

“Yer brother is that little cove wot ’as the weak chin and looks shifty?” Walt asked, leaning toward her.

“Yes, t

hat’s Owen. Where can I find a doctor? I’m dreadfully worried about him.”

Mr. Tewksberry left the gentleman and strode over to them. He did not look pleased. At last, she thought, he would assist her with these misguided men. He nearly shouted in her ear, “Miss Smith, what is this about your brother being ill? Really, missie, your brother? I never believed him anything but a young gentleman you were fleecing something shameless. Let her go, Mackie, she’s too smart for you and Walt and all the rest of you poor ignorant louts. Aye, smart she is, a strumpet who’s under my roof to conduct bad business. I wouldn’t doubt it if she hadn’t taken the poor little man upstairs for all his groats, then is just pretending he’s sick. Did you poison him, Miss Smith?”

She was utterly taken aback. He believed her a strumpet? Shameless? Her mind balked at other words.

“Don’t wet yerself, Tewks. The little one ’ere ain’t done nothing to ’urt ye or anyone else. Aye, the lad’s ’er brother. Look ye, Tewks, she’s right purty and he’s a driveling little toff. ’E’s got to be ’er brother.”

“Now, listen to me, Mackie, she’s nothing—”

“My good Tewksberry, what is all this?”

It was the gentleman who’d been sitting by himself near the fireplace. His voice was deep and calm and sounded vaguely amused. He wasn’t an affliction to the eyes.

“Excuse me, my lord. It’s this Young Person here. Claims the fellow upstairs is her brother and he’s ill. She’s—”

“Why do you disbelieve her?”

“Just look at her, my lord, sitting there on Mackie’s lap just like she belongs, like she’s quite used to doing that sort of thing. Just look at Clorinda over there, all huffy and in a great snit because this one’s trying to steal all her clients. I don’t want no trouble. Clorinda will tear her bleeding hair out and we’ll have screaming and crying and my nerves can’t abide that. Didn’t you see her toss down that ale? What lady would toss down ale like that?”

“This lady would and did,” Caroline said. “I never tasted it before and probably never shall again. It’s very strong. Is there some law I don’t know about that forbids females to taste ale?”

“Ha,” said Mr. Tewksberry.

“So,” the man who was a lordship said, “you’re a Miss Smith?”

“Not really, but it seemed wise.” She turned and smiled at Mackie. “You must let me go now, Mr. Mackie. I really must fetch a doctor for my brother. Also, I don’t want Clorinda to tear my hair out.”

“Clorie’s a tough little bird and ’er temper ain’t the nicest. Best let ’er up, Mackie.”

“We’ll git yer doctor fer ye, missie,” Mackie announced. He lifted her easily and set her on her feet. He rose then and she realized he was the tallest man she’d ever seen in her life. She smiled up at him.

“Thank you, Mr. Mackie.”

Mackie gave her a courtly bow, kissed her hand, and said, “Yer a sweet lass. Ye just stay ’ere and keep yer distance from Clorie.” He then gave her another bow, this one a bit more graceful than the first since he’d had that practice. He roared at the other men and all of them lumbered after him from the taproom, like an obedient army troop.

“Now, see here, missie, I won’t allow you to—”

“Please hold a moment, Mr. Tewksberry. I wish to speak to Miss Smith. Please fetch her a cup of tea and do tell Miss Clorinda that I will see to it that this young pigeon doesn’t migrate into her territory.” He turned to give her a vague smile. “Would you like to sit on my lap or would a chair do just as well?”

“You’re not as big as Mr. Mackie. Perhaps you will drop me. I’d best have a chair.”

He stared down at her a good long time. “You have a ready mouth,” he said at last. “I haven’t met a young lady in a very long time with such a ready mouth.”

He ushered her over to his table by the fireplace. He held back a chair for her. “Do sit, ma’am. We won’t take chances that I am too weak to hold you properly.”