The Nightingale Legacy (Legacy 2)

He gave her a disgusted look. “Young Female Persons seem to think so. I do believe, though, that the Nightingale ancestors have felt drawn to the poor king since he was betrayed by his queen Isolde and his beloved nephew Tristan—” Tregeagle coughed behind a hastily raised hand and shook his head. “Read the entries, if it pleases you to do so. If I may add, you are looking quite fit, miss. Perhaps after a nourishing pilchard-head soup for your dinner, you will wish to take your leave on the morrow.”

“Pilchard-head soup, you say, Tregeagle?”

He nodded, his chin going up.

“How very thoughtful of Polgrain. How did he know that was my favorite dish? Cook at Scrilady Hall introduced me to the delicious concoction. His lordship must have mentioned it to him. Thank him, Tregeagle. Goodness, with pilchard-head soup, I just might never leave Mount Hawke. Such an unexpected treat. I believe I feel a bit faint and weak just contemplating it.”

Caroline touched her palm to her brow and tried to look frail and pale. “Ah, but my poor head is beginning to pain me again. The weakness of limb, the frailty of my delicate constitution, the innate delicacy of my female person, why, it’s positively—” She stopped at that for Tregeagle had turned remarkably pale.

He said, a guard to a prisoner who surely shouldn’t be there, “I will leave you now, miss. Regain your strength. Perhaps you should walk a

bit around the chamber. Perhaps you should sleep rather than engross yourself in that magnificent and interesting volume that is really drivel. King Mark indeed, sending his wretched nephew Tristan to Ireland to fetch him his wife, Isolde, who was a perfidious female as all females are, and just look what happened. The two of them drank a love potion prepared by Isolde’s maid Brangien that had been intended for King Mark and his beautiful bride, and just see what came to pass. The nephew and his wife betrayed him and it is recorded that Isolde killed her maid so she wouldn’t tell the king what had happened. Damnable betrayal, all of it. And that dear King Mark, he let them go. He didn’t behead them or tear out their fingernails and break their bones—no, the precious noble king let them go, damned idiot.”

“Yes, I suppose he was a fool, wasn’t he? A real fool with no sense of justice.”

He left quickly, giving her a ferocious frown, at a loss for words, for which she was justifiably proud, and she was left there grinning from ear to ear.

13

“CAROLINE, THIS IS Flash Savory, the young man I told you about who helped Rafael Carstairs with some trouble down St. Austell way.”

“Hello, Miss Caroline,” Flash Savory said, and stuck out his hand.

He was a handsome young man, all golden, slender, and smiling. She found herself looking at his hand closely before shaking it. “Are you right-handed or left-handed, Mr. Savory, or both?”

He grinned down at her. “Both.”

“Ah, that’s fortunate. Either pocket, with incredible speed, I’d wager.”

“Aye, true enough,” he said cheerfully. “It was before the captain caught me with my fingers in his left pocket, and me with my fast left hand. Near to broke my wrist, he did, but now I’m as honest as that poor dead pilchard whose head is floating in that bowl and is fair to turning my stomach. Is that intended to be a special treat for your guests, Miss Caroline?”

Caroline shuddered.

“Dare I ask if you ate the rest of that pilchard, Caroline?” North asked, staring down at the fish head.

“The napkin must have slipped,” Caroline said, and hastily covered the remains again. She’d grossly underestimated Polgrain or Tregeagle or Coombe, or more likely, all of those female-hating fellows. Tregeagle had positively beamed at her when he’d brought the soup to her and lifted the silver lid for her inspection. It had been close, but she hadn’t gagged, at least not in front of Tregeagle.

“Why would someone give you a pilchard broth?” Flash asked. “Are you bilious?”

“No, I don’t believe so. However, there are some gentlemen who believe culinary torture just might relieve them of an unwanted presence, namely a female presence, namely me.”

She smiled at North as she spoke, but he was frowning down at that damned bowl, now thankfully covered, then toward the door.

“North, is Flash here to discuss what happened to Aunt Eleanor?” It got North’s attention off his minions, at least for the moment.

“Yes,” he said. “I thought you might be studying your toenails by now in your boredom. I’ve told Flash everything I know. Now it’s your turn.”

He and Flash Savory sat near her bed. Flash gave her a white smile that would melt a maiden’s objections quickly, Caroline thought, wanting just for an instant to smile back, but not being able to do it because she was hungry and she was also thinking of her aunt and how Caroline hadn’t been here to help her. No one had been, except the person who had hated her so much as to stab her in the back.

“I don’t know anything, Flash. I wasn’t here. I hadn’t seen my aunt Eleanor for nearly three years. North took me to St. Agnes Head, to the spot where she was stabbed and pushed over the cliff. Did you discover what happened to her horse?”

“Yes,” North said. “I checked with Robin at Scrilady Hall. It seems her horse never left the stable, so obviously she wasn’t out riding and didn’t meet her killer that way.” He fidgeted a moment, then said, “I hadn’t realized when I found your aunt that she wasn’t wearing a riding habit, Caroline. I just didn’t think of it. She was wearing a blue gown, but I just didn’t make the connection in my mind that she wouldn’t wear a gown out riding. Damnation, I was a damned man with no sense at all.”

“I strongly doubt the fact that she was or wasn’t riding her horse makes any difference, North.”

“That’s right, my lord,” Flash said, nodding. “No use you batting yourself on the head. Miss Caroline is right. It makes no difference. Now, it seems to me that there are several possibilities that present themselves. The dear lady could have been in a carriage or gig with someone, and if that’s the case it was most likely with someone she knew.”

North said, “Yes, that’s a strong possibility. I did speak to Mrs. Trebaw about the day I found your aunt, Caroline. She said Mrs. Penrose went riding every afternoon, just like clockwork. After you and I discussed her horse, Caroline, I spoke to her again, telling her that your aunt’s horse hadn’t left the stable. It seems then that your aunt must have gone for a walk that afternoon. She was fond of walking, Mrs. Trebaw said, and she went for walks like clockwork, if she wasn’t riding, that is. As to someone coming to Scrilady Hall and taking her for a ride in a carriage, she just doesn’t remember. It appears that’s something she didn’t do like clockwork. When you go back to Scrilady Hall, you should speak to her again, perhaps several more times, try to jog her memory. Also, once you’re back at the hall, and the mistress there, you will automatically have the confidence of the other servants, who wouldn’t even look me in the face, just stood there, shuffling their feet and saying they didn’t know anything.”