“I-I’m a rec-rector,” Mr. Barhold managed, “n-not a vicar. The bishop d-didn’t think I c-could be a-a v-vicar with my ve-ve-very slight s-s-stammer.”
“Now, lookee ’ere, boy, I got his shooter on ’is lordship and—”
“Shut up, you damned fool,” Caroline shouted. She was on her feet now, weaving a bit, but she was walking quickly toward North, her eyes pinning Treffek. “Don’t you dare hurt him, you bloody ass. It’s all over. If you have a single brain in that ugly head of yours, you’ll take Trimmer and leave.”
“But me shooter, and the guv there promised me five guineas! Five guineas is more than enuf money fer four pints a night fer six months!”
“I’ll give you six guineas, good for at least eight months. You may accompany me back to Scrilady Hall and I will give you six guineas tonight, no waiting, no killing anyone, no nothing.”
“I’ll make it seven, Treffek! Keep the gun against his lordship’s mouth, do you hear me? Don’t listen to this idiot girl here, don’t listen to my idiot son, don’t—”
“Very well,” North said. “Now, Treffek, if you don’t put down your shooter, if you don’t release me, I swear to you that not a single pint of Mrs. Freely’s best Goonbell ale will swill down your throat ever again.”
Treffek looked closely at North. He sighed then and let the gun hang loosely at his side. “Sorry, guv,” he said to Ffalkes, “but it do seem that all be against ye. Even yer son, and the good Lord knows a son is the last to defect from ’is pa. Meybe yer not such a lovin’ pa and that’s the trouble. Meybe yer even a bad man like the little bite said.”
“Shut up, you bloody coward!”
“Now, guv, ain’t no call to be callin’ me names. This lordship ’ere, ’e’s not a man to go again’; ’e’s a bloody military man, I can tell, and ’e’s tougher than those old boots of Trimmer’s. Now, miss, I’ll bring poor Trimmer here back to Scrilady Hall. Eight guineas, ye say?”
“No, you thief, six guineas, one more than Ffalkes was going to pay you.”
“Yer a tough little bite,” Treffek said, shaking his head, but taking it in stride. “I surely do like tough little bites.” He picked Trimmer off the floor and threw him over his shoulder. He gave one last look at Ffalkes and left the cottage.
Caroline quickly untied North. He rubbed his wrists to get back the feeling as he said, “Owen, you have done well. Thank you for telling me what you knew. And thank you for saving the day, for save it you certainly did.”
“I had to,” Owen said to North. “I just had to. You and Caroline took care of me and, well—” He turned to Caroline. “You won’t take me hostage again, will you?”
“No, Owen, I will give you anything you wish. Now, North, what do we do with Mr. Ffalkes here?”
“Well, this is the very first thing—” North calmly walked to Ffalkes and sent his fist hard into his jaw. Ffalkes moaned, grabbed his jaw, and fell backward on the filthy cot. He came up again and North struck him again, much harder this time. Mr. Ffalkes fell onto his back, limp and unconscious. “Sorry, Owen, but he struck Caroline twice. Actually he deserves much more. We will talk about it. Now, the rector.”
“Well, he’s just a worm when all’s said and done, North, but—” She looked at him, a very startled expression on her face. She weaved where she stood, clapped her hand to her head, and collapsed on the filthy wooden cottage floor.
12
“MY HEAD HURTS like the very devil.”
“Sorry I couldn’t prevent him from slamming that pistol butt on your temple. You scared the devil out of me when you fainted again in the cottage. You weren’t supposed to do that. Just one faint per injury from now on, all right? Ah, but here you are awake and clear-eyed again. Do you always bounce back, Caroline? I would that you say yes. I don’t want to be scared into an old man as of yet.”
She looked embarrassed that she’d fainted, and he recognized it and laughed. “Don’t be a ninny. I would have probably fainted dead away myself, just not a second time. A man would never swoon a second time. Men would have more consideration for a lady’s feelings.” He sobered quickly enough when she said in a voice that was surely too soft and warm, “You saved me. Thank you, North.”
He said nothing, just gently felt the bump above her left temple. She tried to keep the moan behind her teeth, but couldn’t quite manage it. “Shush, it’s all right. Now, I’m going to carry you in front of me on Treetop. Actually, it was Owen who came through for us this time. Now, we’ll take Mr. Ffalkes to Mount Hawke and let my bully boys be host to your former guardian until I decide what to do with him. They might not care for females, but they detest villains. I’m just not sure that they would consider Mr. Ffalkes a villain, since he was simply trying to rid the neighborhood of a Young Female Person.”
“Lie to them, then maybe Mr. Polgrain will feed him some poison.”
“Seems a good idea. Or maybe Timmy the maid can visit him in the middle of the night like he did you, and scare the evil out of him.”
“Or Tregeagle can put him in with the hounds.”
North laughed and eased her more closely into his arms once he was on Treetop’s back. “Just lie still. We’ll be home soon enough. Dr. Treath will be waiting for us.”
She felt the pain in her head pulling at her and couldn’t say anything. She just closed her eyes and pressed her face against his chest. He’d said home. It sounded marvelous to her.
Owen was downstairs in the Mount Hawke library swilling brandy, wondering exactly where Tregeagle and Polgrain and Coombe had put his father for the night. Probably someplace cold and damp and nasty, with rats and no candle. North had been very angry. Owen sighed over the events of the evening. He was depressed and wondered what the hell he was going to do, both with himself and with his father. He drank more brandy. Life didn’t look particularly agreeable for either his father or for him at the moment.
Coombe watched the dejected young man a moment from the open doorway, then said, “Now, sir, don’t fret yourself. Lord Chilton will see that everything will be done properly. His lordship owes you a debt. He will pay it and he will pay it well. He is a Nightingale and Nightingale men always pay their debts. Don’t think of those soft white birds when you think of his lordship. No, all Nightingale men are tough, no softness anywhere in them. Now, as I was saying, they do pay their debts and they do a particularly fine job paying when the debt is one of honor. His lordship’s grandfather and father were particularly to be trusted when the debt was one of honor. It was the other sorts of debts, ones that involved gambling—well, that’s neither here nor there, is it? Besides, they’re dead now, so who’s to care?”
Who indeed, Owen wondered, as he stared at Coombe and drank more brandy, his father’s parting curses ringing in his brain: ungrateful, unnatural wretch, worthless, disowned. There were more names, but thankfully he’d forgotten them. He shook his head and said, “I don’t know, Coombe. I don’t see a neat way out of this mess.”