The Nightingale Legacy (32 page)

Polgrain looked around the parlor and said, “It doesn’t look like a ladies’ parlor. It shouldn’t ever look like a ladies’ parlor.”

“It will by tomorrow evening,” Caroline said easily. “Light yellow draperies will make all the difference, don’t you think so, Polgrain? Yes, lots of silks in lovely pastel shades, pale, just like ladies are pale. Oh yes, and soft cushions for the chairs and the settee.”

He swallowed, but couldn’t bring himself to nod agreement. She saw a spasm of pain cross his gaunt features. He was as old as Tregeagle, shorter, but just as lean, with grizzled dirty hair and a very sharp chin. There was a wide space between his front teeth. He didn’t have any laugh lines at all. It made him look younger than he undoubtedly was, but not as human. Of the three of them, the butler Coombe was the youngest and quite dapper in his dress and manner. So he’d been flirting with the owner of the cake shop, had he?
She wished she’d been with Miss Mary Patricia to have seen that. She supposed as long as the females weren’t close to Mount Hawke, they could be tolerated, perhaps even liked and courted.

Caroline sat back in her chair, folded her hands in her lap, and said, “Tell me what you have in mind for our dinners, please.”

When Polgrain left twenty-three minutes later, Caroline was shaking her head, trying to keep her hands from fisting up. She rolled her neck, feeling the knots in her shoulders. She had known she would have to do a lot of the suggesting because Polgrain would probably be perverse because she was female and not male and thus shouldn’t even be here, much less giving orders to
him.

When she’d asked him what he had in mind for their dinners, he’d merely stared at her blankly. She gave him one of her father’s looks and said, “Very well, I am quite fond of potted venison.”

“There is no venison available.”

“You’re resourceful, Polgrain. I’m certain you will manage.”

“Resourcefulness is part of the Polgrain heritage. However, the managing of venison could be in doubt.”

“Doubt is unacceptable, Polgrain, in the Derwent-Jones heritage. Now, Miss Mary Patricia is fond of pork with apples and sage, and Miss Evelyn told me her mouth watered for steak pie, you know the kind—with all the potatoes and fresh green peas. Miss Alice adores oxtail soup.”

“There is no sage. I do not make steak pie without sage.”

“Ah, you will have someone fetch some from the village. Old Mrs. Crimm grows all sorts of condiments in her garden. Didn’t you know that, Polgrain?”

“I knew that. I merely don’t understand how you could have discovered Mrs. Crimm in such a short time.”

“I am a woman, Polgrain. I am very smart. It’s very possible I see things you don’t see.”

“His lordship detests oxtail soup.”

“Then you can make him turtle soup. He is quite fond of that, isn’t he?”

Polgrain chewed on his lip but remained silent as the faded dark wallpaper on the three walls, wallpaper he’d always admired, with the dubious gray gobs that were probably clouds, that or dust swirls that Timmy the maid had missed or Robert the former footman hadn’t even noticed. Oh yes, she doubtless saw things because she was female, curse her eyes. But now she was going to ruin this precious room. He did love that wallpaper that he knew would soon be on its way to the dustbin. It wasn’t to be borne. Doubtless one of the females would clean it now and not Timmy the maid, who didn’t see all the things that he should perhaps see, but it surely wasn’t all that important that every single little dust mote be wafted away. Timmy was learning. He would have been the perfect maid if the females hadn’t descended on Mount Hawke.

“Oh yes, some Italian bisket bread, cassia biscuits, and orange cake. Ah, and Shrewsbury cakes for Miss Alice. They’re quite delightful, don’t you think? It’s the lemon and ginger, I think.”

He shook his head, opened his mouth, but Caroline beat him to it. “I imagine it’s difficult for you, being a man and being called upon also to cook. Perhaps cooking and being male don’t go well together. Perhaps men simply aren’t fashioned to be good cooks or learn new recipes easily. Perhaps I could speak to Mrs. Mayhew—”

“I assure you, miss, that I am quite the best cook in all the county! I can prepare anything using ingredients women don’t even understand and I—”

“I’m pleased, Polgrain. Some baked cod and soaked
mussels would also be a treat. You will please incorporate the other things you think will complement these dishes. Here’s my list of requests. Thank you, Polgrain. This time next week? If you need my assistance or advice or the actual help of any of the females in the house, do ask. All of us—all
seven
of us—are quite willing to help you. Oh yes, the new servants will, naturally, eat with you in the kitchen. They really didn’t like having to take trays to their bedchambers. They say it makes them feel like outsiders. They want to be a part of the Nightingale family. No, they will eat with you.” She gave him a smarmy smile and handed him the foolscap with her neat handwriting. “Oh yes, until further notice, there will always be six to meals.” She patted his arm and left him to wonder what had befallen Mount Hawke.

At promptly six o’clock, Caroline was staring at the clock in the drawing room wondering where the devil North was. She listened with half an ear to Owen, who was speaking very quietly to Alice.

Then she heard him, his steps fast and solid on the stairs. Then the door opened and he strode in, his hair still wet from his bath, dressed in evening black, and looking more delicious than any meal she’d ever seen. There was no chance of Polgrain preparing something that could look better than North. She realized she was just staring at him when silence fell and she heard Evelyn snicker.

North was standing in front of her then, smiling in a satisfied way down at her, his knuckles lightly stroking over her cheek. “Good evening,” he said, and he looked at her mouth. She swallowed, opened her mouth, aware that she was trembling here in front of all her pregnant ladies, and managed to say, “It was overcast today.”

“Yes, and the clouds didn’t move much in the sky, just hung there.”

“I ate an apple in the orchard.”

“I know. So did I.”

“Where have you been?”

“In Goonbell. It was business, all business, and to be honest, I quite enjoyed it.”

Owen said, “I say, North, did you discover anything more about Mrs. Pelforth?”

He stilled, the laughter gone momentarily from his face. He turned to Owen and said, “Nothing of import. Bennett was drinking at Mrs. Freely’s inn, damn and blast. I’ll tell you the rest of it later, though there’s little to tell.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” Caroline said.

“Later,” North said. “I don’t wish to upset anyone before dinner, or after it, as a matter of fact.”

M
ISS
M
ARY
P
ATRICIA
said, “Please, my lord, our ears are quite capable of taking in talk of this dreadful business. Indeed.” She paused for a long, dramatic moment. “Indeed, my lord, Evelyn just might know something.”

Over a magnificent serving dish of potted venison, which North praised to the heavens, Owen said, “The men in the villages are all up in arms. They say that everything was peaceful and quiet here until—” His voice fell into an abyss.

“It’s quite all right,” North said. “I found Caroline’s aunt’s body at St. Agnes Head. I am the stranger. I don’t blame them for talking.”

“Yes,” Evelyn said quickly, “but that other lady who was killed. My lord, you were nowhere in the vicinity, and it was hoped that that toad Bennett Penrose was.”

“However do you know that, Evelyn?” North said.

Evelyn blushed. It was fascinating, and Caroline could but stare at her. She finally said, “It was Mr. Savory who told me, my lord. A smart fellow he is and ever so nice. He told me he was assisting you in your investigations. He said you were ever such a smart gentleman.”

He did, did he? North thought. He’d told Flash everything was confidential. He gave Evelyn a long look, saw the pitfalls for Flash, and gave it up. Even with her belly protruding, she was a remarkably fine-looking girl. Oh well, it was done.

“I’m sorry to tell you, Evelyn, but the toad Bennett wasn’t here then either. It’s a pity.”

“There was something else, my lord,” Evelyn added.

“Yes?”

“I know that Dr. Treath was a close friend of Mrs. Pelforth.”

“Yes, I know that as well,” North said. “When we found her washed up on the beach, Dr. Treath was very upset. He told me she had been very kind to him after your aunt was killed, Caroline. He was distraught.”

Caroline’s mind raced ahead and she opened her mouth to say something, saw North shake his head, and went back to the delicious buttered peas on her plate.

Owen, oblivious of any pitfalls at all, said, “I say, Dr. Treath was fond of your aunt, Caroline, and then he was fond of Nora Pelforth. Do you think perhaps he’s mad, North? That he likes to jolly up to women and then kill them?”

“No,” North said. “That’s ridiculous. Eat your dinner, Owen. You’re frightening Alice.”

Owen immediately turned to her and patted her hand as if he were her uncle or her father confessor.

But Caroline was thinking: Did Dr. Treath know the woman who was killed some three years ago? What was her name? Oh yes, Elizabeth Godolphin.

North looked up to see Tregeagle, Coombe, and Polgrain all standing in the doorway. “Yes?” he said.

Tregeagle cleared his throat and said, “Er, my lord, we were just attending to what the Young Female was saying. We are telling all those buffoons that to believe you culpable of anything at all untoward is ridiculous.”

“I thank you,” North said. “Have you perhaps other duties that need your attention?”

“There are always duties in a dwelling this large, my
lord. In addition, with so very many people now in residence, the duties have multiplied alarmingly.”

Caroline said, “Shall I have Mrs. Mayhew—”

“Not at all,” Coombe said quickly. “We will contrive. We always have, even under the most desperate and strained circumstances.”

“My admiration for the three of you constantly assumes even more amazing proportions,” North said. “Oh, Polgrain, the round of beef is excellent. The dumplings are tasty, as is the turtle soup.”

“Since you are pleased, my lord, it is enough.”

North merely nodded, caught his wife’s eye, and smiled widely at his chef. “Actually, it seems that everything her ladyship requests is quite to my liking, Polgrain.”

“One will assume, then, that the result is what we should prefer, my lord.”

To everyone’s surprise, Alice said, “I think the oxtail soup be, er,
is
very good, Mr. Polgrain.”

A spasm crossed Polgrain’s face. He said, looking directly at the rather ugly epergne in the middle of the table, “It is the maturity of the cloves that makes the difference. His lordship isn’t fond of oxtail soup.”

If anyone thought it odd to be discussing the dishes on the large table with the trio of male servants all lined up in a row, as stiff as Blücher’s Prussian soldiers, no one remarked upon it until much later that evening, when Caroline eased off North’s chest, up onto her elbows, saying, “I love the taste of you more than anything Polgrain could prepare.”

“Is it the maturity of my flesh?”

She smiled as she kissed his shoulder, his throat, his chin, and finally his mouth. “A dash of salt overlaying the taste of damp exerted man,” she said, and kissed him again. “Ah, North, are you already asleep?”

“Yes,” he said, and pulled her down into his arms. “This business about talking after lovemaking, Caroline, it’s difficult. You nearly kill me with your enthusiasm and then you want me to discuss philosophy with you.”

“No, I just want to know where you went this afternoon. Was it about Mrs. Pelforth? And why didn’t you tell me about Dr. Treath knowing her? Why didn’t you tell me that our locals are wondering if you’re some sort of madman?”

“No, it wasn’t about Mrs. Pelforth. I went to see Timmy the maid’s father.”

She reared up, staring down at him, her thick hair dropping like a curtain on either side of his face. It was dark and erotic, the feel of her hair. “Why did you do that?”

“So Timmy wouldn’t accidentally kill the drunken bugger.”

“But I told you I’d teach him, work with him—”

“His father had just struck Timmy’s mother when I walked into their cottage in Goonbell. I pulled him off her, dragged him by the scruff of his neck outside, and you won’t believe this—Timmy’s mother was running after me, shouting not to hurt her husband, all the while wiping the blood off her mouth. The three little girls were yelling their heads off.

“I told her to go back into the cottage and I sounded as mean as I could. Then I had a talk with Jeb Peckly.”

“Peckly. Timmy the maid
Peckly?
That’s quite an ugly name, North. Well, what happened? What did he say?”

“Not much of anything until I had his full attention.” He unconsciously rubbed his knuckles.

She was smiling down at him as if he were the lord of the world. He’d never had someone look at him like that. He was suddenly embarrassed and mumbled, “I just made sure he understood what would happen if he ever hit anyone again. The thing was, Caroline, if old Jeb was really drunk
and he went after them and Timmy got out that pistol, it would make his father go right over the edge. Someone could easily get killed. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“Oh, North, you’re wonderful. There can’t be another man as wonderful as you are in the whole of Cornwall or even the whole of Britain. I am the luckiest woman. Goodness, I love you so much.” She was kissing him, laughing, stroking his shoulders and arms, the palm of her hand then on his belly, caressing him, and not a moment later, he came into her, moaning deeply into her mouth as she took him even deeper.

Then he stopped cold. He was balanced above her on his hands, panting like one of his old hounds, Cardaloo, after he’d run across Tyburth Moor. “What did you say?”

“I said you’re wonderful, more than wonderful. Actually, you’re quite the grandest man—”