The Nightingale Legacy (Legacy 2)

“Thank you, sir.”

He sat down in his former chair and stretched out his legs toward the fireplace. He looked meditative, then he frowned. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Those men. They looked like a devil-may-care lot, well into their cups, but then this Mackie fellow is nearly on his knees to you vowing eternal devotion. How did you do it?”

“I really don’t know. I liked them, nothing more, really. They reminded me of farm laborers where I live, just men, just drinking to ease their cares. They were very kind, once they realized it was the right thing to be.”

“I daresay they aren’t all that kind at all to lone females who wander into their preserve, but they were to you. Well, then let it remain a mystery. Ah, the weather, then. The miserable night has become less miserable.”

“Yes, but I just woke up so I really wouldn’t know as of yet, but at least it’s stopped raining. I do so hate riding in the rain, and it really slowed us down.”

She clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide on his face, looking like a loyal soldier who’s just accidentally spilled all his military secrets to the enemy.

“If your brother is ill,” he said, his voice dispassionate, “then you won’t be riding anywhere tonight.”

“We got soaked clear through all last night and this morning. I thought a good sleep would keep us healthy. Owen isn’t all that sturdy.”

“Owen has the weak chin?”

“So you heard Walt say that, did you? I suppose he does. I believe I will talk him into trying to grow a beard to cover it. What do you think?”

“I think that I must first take a long look at this weak chin before recommending hair.”

“There will be no need of that, sir. When Mr. Mackie comes back with the doctor, why, he will quack Owen with some sort of tonic and we’ll be on our way tomorrow again.”

“May I ask where you are going, ma’am?”

“To Cornwall.”

He waited, a dark brow raised in silent question.

“I would just as soon not reveal everything to you, sir. Indeed, I can’t believe I already told you so very much. You’re a complete stranger. I don’t know you. You could be dangerous. You could have accomplices waiting outside the inn for a sign from you.”

“Yes,” he said. “All of those things.”

He said nothing more, merely looked straight ahead into the glowing embers. He looked perfectly relaxed, perfectly at his ease. She had the feeling that it didn’t matter to him if she were there or not. He would have looked and acted and felt just the same. She said, “You’re alone, aren’t you? There’s no one waiting outside.”

“Yes, I’m quite alone.”

Then she heard herself say, “My name isn’t Miss Smith.”

Slowly he turned his head to look at her. “No,” he said. “You said it wasn’t.”

“It’s Jones.”

He stared at her. Then he smiled. It was a small stretching of his mouth, then it became a real smile. Then he laughed.

That laugh sounded wonderful, and she heard herself saying without hesitation, “There’s more to it than just Jones, but again, I don’t think I would be wise to tell you. I really don’t understand it. You aren’t ordering me or asking me or pleading with me to tell you anything and yet I just open my mouth and everything comes out. It’s very disconcerting. You are a dangerous man.”

“Then it is just as well we stay with Smith, although Miss Smith isn’t all that inspiring, but then again, neither is Miss Jones.”

“Who are you, sir?”

“I? Why, I’m Chilton.”

“What Chilton? What sort of Chilton? Mr. Tewksberry called you ‘my lord.”’