The Trials of Alaric (Twist Upon a Regency Tale #8)

Chapter Twelve

A laric went straight down to the fête in the morning. The previous night, workmen had been putting up the pens for the contests involving animals, and marking off a ring in which the animals could be paraded. He needed to check those, and also the areas set aside for the other contests, some of them in tents and some out in the open.

“Mr. Redhaven, sir.” It was the stablemaster, looking grave and shifting his hat from one hand into the other.

“Good morning,” Alaric greeted him.

“It will be if we can get this judging thing sorted,” grumbled the stablemaster.

“You need Viscount Beverley, then. I haven’t seen him yet.” Alaric looked around. Several of the other suitors were down on the jousting grounds, checking the preparations, but he saw no sign of Beverley.

“Your pardon, Mr. Redhaven, but Lord Beverley is the problem,” the stablemaster said.

Bother the man. What has he done now?

As it turned out, quite a lot. For a start, he had given the judges a reordered schedule of contests that didn’t fit with the order Alaric had inherited, through Maddrell, from the last fête. “It makes no sense, man. Sir, I mean.” the stablemaster insisted. “What he has done is order the contests by the rank of the judges, so first up is Viscount Sugden’s lady judging bonnets and then the viscount and his roses. Bonnets and roses don’t get stressed waiting around, sir, and they don’t need to be fed and watered, neither. Nor do they have pens that need to be mucked out, begging your pardon, sir.”

To make matters worse, several judges had been called upon to judge more than one contest, and Beverley had grouped such contests, so they fell one after the other.

“It means you’re going to have crowds tramping halfway round the fête and then back again,” the stablemaster grumbled.

Beverley had also demanded the use of a second and even a third tent so judges who were gentry could take refreshments in a separate location from those who worked for a living, and those who were in trade or the professions were apart from servants and laborers.

Beverley, in other words, had made a right royal mess of things.

Alaric was inclined to countermand all the idiot’s changes, but he’d better do things properly. “We’ll fix this, Mr. Mugtin,” he promised the stablemaster. “I’ll get together the rest of the gentlemen, and we’ll address these issues to make changes.”

Luke was the suitor closest to him. Alaric called out, “Luke!

“We need a meeting,” he said, when the other approached. “Beverley has made some changes to the contest timetable that will mess up the contests. I need the authority of the group to change things back again. Can you fetch as many of the suitors as you can find? I’ll do likewise, and we can meet…” he looked around and then pointed to a giant oak that grew on the castle side of the field, “there.”

Predictably, Beverley was not anywhere to be found on the fête grounds, so only Luke, Fairweather, Meadowsweet, and Dashwood gathered in the appointed spot. “The contestants have all been given a time by which to have their entry ready, according to the schedule, which has also been posted in various places around the town and in the villages,” he explained a few minutes later. “Also, though this is a more minor matter, the prizes are laid out in order of contest. That’s apart from the issues Mugtin raised. The easiest solution is to notify the judges that we are going back to the original schedule.”

“Tell them Beverley did not tell anyone about his changes, and it is now too late,” Luke advised.

With the agreement of the others, Alaric figured that he had a majority. He could change the tent arrangement himself, but the big task would be to let the judges know the change of schedule, and it would be best if Beverley cooperated on that task.

“Not a snowball’s chance in hell,” Luke figured. Alaric was inclined to agree.

Maddrell had a copy of the lists of judges, though he warned Alaric that Beverley might have been forced to find replacements. Alaric could deal with the servants who were judges easily enough, simply by sending Colyn to find them, present his apologies, and explain the conflict.

As to those judges who were coming up from the town or in from the countryside— ah, there’s Beverley now. With Bea on his arm, more’s the pity.

“Beverley!” Alaric called. “Beverley, I need your help.”

Beverley sneered at him from a distance and would have walked away, but Bea, bless her, said something that had him reluctantly changing direction. “What is it, Redhaven? You had your job and I had mine. If you have any problems, I don’t see why I should help you.”

Alaric kept his temper with an effort. “Someone has drawn my attention to a conflict between the schedule of contests that has been circulated to the contestants, and the one you have arranged with the judges, Beverley.”

Beverley glared. “My schedule was organized to respect the most important people on the island, Redhaven. Change your own.”

Nothing will be achieved by losing your temper, Alaric scolded himself. “If only I had enough time,” he said. “But the contestants will be arriving according to the timetable that has been advertised for weeks, I’m afraid.”

“Look here, you mutton-headed chawbacon…”

“I see the problem.” Bea spoke over Beverley’s angry voice. “I can only imagine how upset the judges will be when no contestants are there to present their items for judging. And imagine what Papa will say when both judges and contestants complain about there being two schedules.”

Beverley frowned and shook his head, but before he could speak, “There is only one thing for it. We shall have to explain the problem to the judges and apologize for any inconvenience. There is just no way to reach all the contestants before we have a disastrous mess that will set the entire island laughing at us. Cousin, I know you will be able to present it in the best possible light.”

That was laying it on with a trowel, and from the suspicious look on Beverley’s face, he was not buying it. “I cannot go back on my word to Lady Stowell.”

“The viscountess?” Bea asked. “She asked for the changes?”

Beverley stuck his nose in the air. “We discussed it,” he said coldly. “Her concerns were perfectly valid. Next to my aunt and uncle, she and Lord Stowell are the most important people on the island. Her wishes should be paramount.”

Alaric stiffened his neck to stop himself from turning it to catch Bea’s eye. It was typical of Beverley that he equated rank with importance. The Stowells, as Alaric understood it, didn’t even live here year-round. Their primary estate was somewhere in Lancashire, and they only spent a few weeks in Claddach a year.

“I won’t do it,” Beverley declared. “If you want to tell Lady Stowell she has to appear at the beginning of the fête and stay down here on the grounds for over an hour, then you do it.”

He was looking at Alaric, but Bea answered. “Yes, that is an excellent idea. I shall let Lord and Lady Stowell know of the change, and you will talk to all the other judges. Thank you, Beverley.”

Alaric knew better than to crow. “Yes, thank you, Beverley. You’ve been a brick about this.”

Beverley was taken aback at the compliment. “Yes. Well, of course. We are meant to work together on this stupid fête. Well. Is that the list? I’d better get started, then. I shall be blaming you, Redhaven.”

“Feel free,” Alaric answered, relieved they’d brushed through without a major temper tantrum from Beverley disrupting the entire day. Beverley stalked away without another word seemingly unaware that the whole scene had played out in front of an audience of villagers and castle servants, plus most of the other suitors. Those who mattered would know perfectly well where to place any blame.

“Now all we need to do is make sure Lord and Lady Stowell know we’ve gone back to the original timetable, soothe their ruffled feathers, and get them here on time,” Alaric said to Bea.

She gave him a smug grin. “Lady Stowell is going to be here at one in the afternoon. She is taking lunch with Mama and Aunt Lewiston, and Lord Stowell will no doubt be down by the animal pens, probably having begged a pie off one of the peddlers. He is a nice man, Alaric. We won’t have any trouble with him.”

Meaning they would have trouble with Lady Stowell. “I am beginning to think that you and I can conquer anything when we work together,” he murmured to her. “Thank you for the direction, by the way. I have my third clue.”

Her eyes lit up. “Splendid. I am so glad.” She frowned and nibbled her upper lip in an uncharacteristic indecision, then apparently made up her mind. “Alaric, I must spend time with the other suitors. Papa made me promise to give you all equal attention. But I do want to hear about the third clue. Could we, perhaps, meet to wait for Lady Stowell? Just outside the inner gatehouse, perhaps?”

So that was it! Alaric’s heart felt lighter to know she had not tired of him or become offended by some word or act. “At half past noon?” he suggested. “In case she is early?”

She smiled and agreed.

*

One hiccup followed another all morning. Alaric and Luke found themselves solving problems in every corner. Howard, who was managing the parish stalls and those raising money for other charitable purposes, complained that several visiting merchants had taken over more than their allocated space, squeezing into the places set aside for the charities.

Meadowsweet, who was meant to be managing the merchants, instead wilted under their complaints and abuse, and the pair of them came looking for help.

Alaric borrowed a measuring stick from the estate carpenter and he and Luke went and remeasured each disputed space. The encroaching stall holders grumbled, but Luke glared at them, and Alaric joked with them until the stalls were in their correct position.

A farmer bringing his prize rams into the animal pens managed to lose one between his cart and the pens. While he was searching for it, it found itself in a pen with another farmer’s ewes and had covered two of them before the two owners chanced upon the activity.

The ram’s owner cried theft and the ewes’ owner wanted compensation for the assault.

“How did he get in the pen?” demanded the ram’s owner. “The blaggard opened the gate, that’s how!”

“He can’t keep track of his own ram, and now he accuses me of letting it into my ewes? Why would I want lambs from that old wreck?” the ewes’ owner enquired, plaintively.

“Old wreck? I’ll have you know that’s the finest ram on Claddach. The old blaggard is too mean to pay my fee, and that’s a fact. Why else would he bring ewes in heat to the fête?”

It took Alaric and Luke a while to calm the pair down and the incident wasn’t done until the ram had been dragged out of the pen and herded to its proper place. Neither Alaric nor Luke felt qualified to handle any repercussions from the stolen mating, so they told the men to put their dispute to one side in front of foreigners from the mainland, and, if they must, bring it up with Claddach’s steward after the fête.

The morning flew by, and Alaric was yearning for a pie, an ale, and a rest when the stable clock struck twelve. He was meeting Bea in half an hour. In fact, if he were to wash and tidy before he met Lady Stowell, he had better hurry.

He arrived still damp but clean to find Bea already waiting for him in the courtyard. She couldn’t make any more sense of the verse than Alaric, but at least they would both be thinking about it. And watching out for a tapestry or a painting with water in it.

“How are preparations going?” Bea asked, so Alaric told her about the ram. She immediately named the two farmers. “Those two are always trying steal a march on one another,” she explained. “They will curse and call names and insist that they are going to see the magistrate, but next week they’ll be at it again. The advantage goes back and forth, and they entertain the entire island.”

Alaric laughed. “I wish I’d known that. Luke and I thought we might have a murder on our hands. How Luke will laugh when I tell him. And you, Bea? I suppose you have been as busy as we are, preparing for the guests tonight.”

Lady Claddach, Alaric had noticed, spent most of her time with the ladies her own age, and otherwise in retreat in her room. It was Bea who hurried from housekeeper to cook to butler keeping the castle running. Organization for the dinner and the ball appeared to have largely fallen onto Bea, though she had some help from her aunt—her father’s sister, Lady Joan, not her mother’s sister, who was Beverley’s mother.

“You seem to be doing it all yourself,” he observed.

“Reina and Christina have been a great help,” she assured him naming her two friends from the town. “So have Sarah and Ellie.” She chuckled. “And today we persuaded Dorrie and Lucy, my cousins, that it would be fun to make garlands to hang in the ballroom. The other girls are all there now, either making garlands or arranging flowers. Look, Alaric, I think that is the Stowell carriage arriving.”

Alaric could see it, just coming up the hill from the outer wall.

They had been strolling away from the carriageway along the wall, but they turned back to the gatehouse and hastened their steps so they could go through the arch into the inner courtyard before the carriage arrived.

They were in place before the footman opened the door and put down the steps.

“Good day, Lady Stowell,” Bea greeted the lady. She was a plump, little woman richly dressed in a silk afternoon gown, fussy with flounces. She wore a spencer despite the heat of the day, and her face glowed with the heat, but she had not removed her bonnet, which, Alaric thought, must weigh a ton, given all the decoration that covered it.

“Who is that? Ah, it is Lady Beatrice. Good day, Lady Beatrice. I have come to have lunch with your dear mother. Are you here to take me to her? How sweet of you, dear.”

“Lady Stowell, may I present Alaric Redhaven? He is a guest in the castle and is helping to organize the fête.”

Lady Stowell fixed Alaric with a shrewd eye. “One of the suitors, are you? Who is your father, boy?”

Alaric bowed. “The Earl of Elsmouth, ma’am.”

“The scapegrace who was sent to Brazil because of a fight with his brother. Over a woman, wasn’t it? One hopes you have learned your lesson if you are competing for the hand of our Lady Beatrice. So odd of Lord Claddach. A contest! But I suppose, since you refused to go to let your mother and aunt present you, Lady Beatrice, you need to find a husband somehow.”

Trouble with Lady Stowell, indeed. In one paragraph, she had found fault with him, the earl, and Bea. He wondered what her reaction was going to be when she learned her plans and schedule had been thwarted. Probably much worse than Bea had hinted.