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

Chapter Fifteen

A laric felt like crowing, but he could not, of course, show Bea the disrespect of sharing her revelation with anyone else. Not even Colyn or Luke, who were the nearest he had to friends on the Isle of Claddach.

He parted from Bea at the foot of the stairs and went to her father’s study. The earl was probably there already—he seemed to be an early riser. And sure enough, when Alaric knocked on the door, the earl’s voice told him to enter.

“You again,” said the earl. “Have you solved the third clue, Redhaven?”

“I believe I have, sir. The verse is about Narcissus, and possibly also Echo. Though mostly Narcissus. The statue of Narcissus is in the sunken garden, staring into a pool, and Echo is there, too.”

“Ah,” said the earl. “That was where you and my daughter had been when I saw you coming back through the courtyard.”

Does Claddach have eyes everywhere? But that was a silly question. Of course, he did. “Yes, my lord,” Alaric admitted.

“And was it you or my daughter who solved the clue?” the earl asked.

“Both of us.” Alaric’s lips twitched into a grin at the memory. “At the time, Lord Beverley was admiring himself in the mirrors of the whatnot in the drawing room.”

That surprised Claddach into a bark of laughter. He and Alaric exchanged an amused glance.

“Lady Beatrice did show me the statue, though, sir.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” said Claddach. “Everyone who finds it will have help from someone. It is not something people are likely to chance on. I suppose you want your next clue?”

“Yes, please, my lord,” Alaric said, wondering if the earl’s tolerance of his cheek would extend to telling him who else had solved the third clue.

Claddach pulled out a drawer and removed a folder. Alaric was startled to see his own name on the front. The earl pulled out a folded sheet of paper, much like the ones that held the previous clues, and handed it over.

“Your fourth clue, Redhaven. The answer to the question you are too polite to ask is yes. You are still the leader in the treasure hunt. No one else has solved the third clue. If you plan any more early-morning excursions with my daughter, or excursions at any other time of the day or night, you will oblige me by including a chaperone. Enjoy your breakfast, young man. You might mention to the other suitors that I will see you all in the entry hall at ten o’clock.”

Did his early morning spy also see our kiss? Alaric bowed toward Bea’s father. The man who would be his father-in-law if all went well. Suggesting a chaperone could just mean that the earl had been young himself, once. Either way, his suggestion was fair, but also kind. The earl seemed to like him. Alaric vowed to do everything he could not to let the man down. “I will, my lord.” The earl inclined his head and then turned his attention back to his desk.

Alaric stopped by a window on the stairs to read the clue.

“To save his liege requires a fee—

“A loyal man, he must agree.

“His bride he finds a dear delight.

“Choose wisely. Day? Or dark of night?”

Another cryptic verse. Nothing immediately occurred, but at least he knew—or at least he thought he knew—that the answer would be a set of lovers. Narcissus didn’t count as a set, but he was still a lover. Chuckling at his own rambling thoughts, Alaric hurried on up the stairs to leave his outdoor coat in his bedchamber.

Colyn was there before him, and his eyes lit up when he saw Alaric. “Mr. Redhaven. Ye’re to go out today, sir. Lord Claddach is after givin’ all the suitors a list of tenants to visit. And this evenin’, the gentlemen are to entertain the ladies.”

“Thank you, Colyn. That explains why Lord Claddach wants to see us all in the entry hall at ten. I have my fourth clue, Colyn.” He waved the piece of paper. “No idea what it means, yet.”

He read it to Colyn, who commented, “Sounds like the boyo in the verse has to get married to rescue his lord? Lucky fellow gets a bride he likes.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t say more than that, sir.”

A man who marries a woman he loves to save his lord, and after that has to make a choice between day and night. I know that I’ve heard a story like that. But try as he might, he could not call it to mind.

*

Each of the suitors had been assigned a gig with a groom to drive it. The back was loaded with baskets for the tenant families they were to visit. They had been paired with a lady each, and Alaric found himself escorting Miss Radcliffe.

Bea was with Meadowsweet. Alaric followed them with his eyes, and then recalled his manners and looked at Miss Radcliffe instead. “We have five houses to visit,” he said, handing over the list he had been given. “Do you know the families at all, Miss Radcliffe?” Might as well take advantage of local knowledge.

“Two of them,” Miss Radcliffe answered. “They have children at the school my mother supports. And another by reputation.”

From her tone, Alaric guessed the reputation was not good, and she confirmed it when she said, “The husband is a drunkard, and the children are wild, though my mother says the wife does the best she can.”

The groom had been given the route, it seemed, for he did not ask for directions but drove down the hill from the castle and turned left, away from the town. They stopped first at the home of one of the families Miss Radcliffe knew through the school, where they were greeted cheerfully and invited in, “For Da will be that cross if he does not see ye, Miss Radcliffe, and the gentleman, too. One of Lady Bea’s suitors are you, sir?”

Alaric bowed as he said, “I am. I’m the one who was shipwrecked on your beach, ma’am. Redhaven is my name.”

“Ma’am,” the woman giggled. “As if I was a fine lady. Come along inside, sir. Lucky you were to come off alive, Mr. Redhaven.” The front door opened directly into a small but clean and tidy sitting room. The woman of the house raised her voice as they entered. “Da, here’s that pretty Miss Radcliffe come to see ye, and Mr. Redhaven, too, he that was washed up on the beach.”

“Da” was sitting right next to the fire and, despite the warmth of the day, was wrapped in blankets so that nothing showed but his hands and face. He raised a scrawny hand and displayed a gap-toothed smile. “More dead nor alive,” he quavered.

“I was, yes,” Alaric told him, raising his voice in imitation of their hostess. He put the basket he had been carrying on a low table and squatted down on his haunches, so that his head was more on a level with the old man’s. “But I am well again now.”

“Fine doings up at castle, eh?” the old man asked.

“Fine doings,” Alaric agreed. “Most nights, the ladies sing for us, or play the piano. Tonight, it will be the turn of the gentlemen to entertain. What should I do, do you think? I am not a great singer, and I cannot play the piano.”

“Dost juggle, lad?” The old man asked, and made a wheezing sound that Alaric figured, after an alarmed moment, was a laugh.

“One ball at a time,” Alaric answered promptly. “If that.” Miss Radcliffe and the woman had disappeared, taking the basket with them.

The old man wheezed another laugh. “Ye’ll have to tell a tale, then,” he said. “Tell it me, lad, and I’ll give ’ee a report.”

Alaric laughed and complied, making a story out of a hunting trip hosted by the Portuguese Court, that the British delegation had attended. He was just completing the story with the words, “…chased by the alligator,” when the man’s daughter and Miss Radcliffe returned.

“Da” was cackling so hard that it set him coughing, and his daughter had to thump him on the back before he could say, “Tell ’em that one, lad. I nigh wet meself, and so I did. Tell ’em that one.”

“Miss Radcliffe and Mr. Redhaven need to go now, Da,” their hostess shouted. “’Ee, but he enjoyed your visit, Mr. Redhaven,” she added in a more normal tone, as she ushered them out of the house.

“It was nice of you to entertain Mr. Whittle while I chatted with his daughter and grandchildren in the kitchen,” said Miss Radcliffe to Alaric, as they drove away.

“I hope,” said Alaric, “if I grow to be that old, someone will visit and tell me stories of far-off places and make me laugh.”

“‘I nigh wet meself, and so I did,’” quoted Miss Radcliffe in an uncanny imitation of the old man’s tone, and then blushed bright red. But he laughed to let her know he appreciated her skills of mimicry, and she should feel no shame.

Miss Radcliffe was not the staid demure cipher she appeared on the surface!

On the next two visits, they were met by children, who hovered politely but impatiently as Alaric lifted the basket from the rear of the gig and carried it inside for the woman of the house, who had been attracted by children’s shouts.

At both houses, Miss Radcliffe talked to the mother while Alaric did his best to entertain the children. The first house was easy enough. The boys who greeted them had abandoned a game of knuckle bones when they arrived. After receiving a biscuit from the basket, they were happy to usher Alaric outside and let him join their game.

He hadn’t played since he was a boy himself, but the skill quickly returned, and when Miss Radcliffe emerged from the house, he was showing them some of the tricks he had learned years ago, when he used to play with Tarquin and the stable boys.

He was more at a loss at the next house, where they ran to daughters. However, he worked on the principle that even such small morsels of femininity would respond well to being asked what they wanted to do, and soon found himself being taught how to skip. His efforts—exaggerated to amuse his audience—had them collapsing with laughter, until they took pity on him and “taught” him to make daisy chains instead, so that he was wearing a crown of flowers with Miss Redcliffe emerged from the cottage.

Some thought teased at him throughout the visit, and as they drove away, it coalesced. “What do women want?” he declared.

Miss Radcliffe must have thought the abrupt question was intended for her, for she answered, her voice crisp. “It depends on the woman, Mr. Redhaven. Is this about Bea?”

He shot her a smile. “Indirectly. It is a legend from the court of King Arthur. Sir Gawaine and the Loathly Lady. The knight goes on a quest to find out what women want. Now all I need to do is to find a statue or a painting that illustrates the legend.” In the legend, the knight was offered the answer to his question, in return for which he promised to marry Dame Ragnall, a spectacularly ugly lady.

“Oh, I can tell you that,” Miss Radcliffe replied. “That is, if a tapestry will do? There is one in the little parlor on the second floor of the Tudor tower. It has three panels. Gawaine and his ugly bride, with his friends all mocking him. Gawaine and his lovely bride in the night, where she explains that the curse that made her ugly is half broken, so she can be beautiful for half of any twenty-four period, but ugly for the rest. She tells him to choose. In the third, Gawaine has his beautiful bride on his arm, out in the light of day, and his friends are all amazed and envious.”

Yes, that was the story, and an interesting selection by Lord Claddach.

“Thank you,” Alaric said. “You know about the treasure hunt?”

“Yes. Bea told me. I take it you have just figured out one of the clues.”

Alaric nodded. “With your help, Miss Radcliffe.” It had to be the answer to the riddle for in the story, the woman, Dame Ragnall told Gawaine “Their own way,” meaning women want their own way. On his wedding night to Dame Ragnall, Gawain discovered she wasn’t ugly but had turned into a spectacularly beautiful woman.

Asked whether he wanted to spend his nights with a beauty or show his lovely wife off to his mocking friends, Gawaine remembered, “What do women want?” and told Dame Ragnall to make her own choice. His choice to let her make the decision broke the rest of the spell, and she remained ravishingly beautiful day and night.

So, Alaric decided, when asked what do women want? He would answer, “to make their own choices.” It was a lesson worth remembering. And, it reminded him a bit of Bea, a woman who certainly knew her own mind and who would always want to make her own choices.

He mused on this as they drove into a little fishing village. “The next house is Eamon Gorry’s,” Miss Radcliffe disclosed.

She sounded tense, and Alaric looked at her more closely. “The one with the drunkard father and the overworked mother?” he asked.

“That is it. You are a good listener, Mr. Redhaven.”

Alaric managed not to shrug, which would have been ungentlemanly, but he was uncomfortable with the praise. He merely paid attention. People were more interesting when one paid attention.

“Are we likely to have trouble?” he asked.

“That depends on whether Gorry is at home, and how much he has had to drink,” she replied. She then looked him up and down, as if assessing his strength and size. “He would be a fool to take you on, Mr. Redhaven. You are at least half as big again as him, and twice as fit. If he is rude and belligerent, I shall rely on you to deal with him. Bullies attack the weak, and you are certainly not weak!”

She appeared to be half joking, but Alaric had dealt with drunkards before, and did not discount the risk. “If he is rude and belligerent, keep behind me, Miss Radcliffe.”

As they pulled up outside the cottage, they heard bellowing and things breaking. The groom turned to face them, frowning as he said, “Better we move on, Miss and Sir.”

“The children will need their basket,” Miss Radcliffe protested.

A woman’s scream from inside the house settled the matter as far as Alaric was concerned. “Look after Miss Radcliffe,” he ordered the groom as he leaped down from the carriage. He couldn’t stand by while a woman was being abused.

Inside the cottage, a red-faced man loomed over a little boy who was standing between him and the sobbing woman in the corner. As Alaric burst into the room, the man swept the boy to one side, throwing him into the wall. The boy let out a loud shriek, and the woman surged to her feet and took a step toward the child.

Gorry lurched toward her, his arm raised, and his fist clenched. Alaric caught his fist and twisted the arm up behind the man’s back. “Enough,” he said. He ignored the string of abuse coming from Gorry to watch Mrs. Gorry kneel beside the child.

She turned her head to glare at her husband. “Ye broke his arm, ye sodden devil.” She’d been hit in the face. Her nose was still bleeding, and both nose and one eye were already bruised and puffy.

“Little brat should’na have come ’tween a man an’ his wife,” grumbled Gorry. He tried to break away, and Alaric jerked his hand higher up his back, so he whimpered and stopped struggling.

Mrs. Gorry ignored them both, crooning to the boy, “Dinna try to move it, Padeen. Ochone, ochone.”

“We will fetch a doctor for Padeen,” said Miss Radcliffe from the doorway. “As for you, Eamon Gorry, what did the earl tell you about keeping your hands from your wife and children?”

“Besom,” Gorry hissed at her. “Ain’t no one got the right to come ’tween man and wife.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Miss Radcliffe, carefully skirting around the edge of the room to stay clear of the bully. She knelt beside Mrs. Gorry and examined Padeen. “It is a bad break, Mr. Redhaven. Will you send the groom for Dr. Bryant?”

“And what do we pay with, Eamon?” Mrs. Gorry demanded, turning on her husband. “Ye’ve drunk the rent money. Aye, and the food money, too.”

“A man has a right—” began Gorry, but Alaric twisted his arm until he turned and then forced him, stumbling, from the cottage, so that Alaric could send the groom on his errand without releasing Gorry.

“And once you’ve sent Bryant,” he commanded, “see the magistrate, and tell him that Gorry has beaten his wife and broken his son Padeen’s arm.”

“A man has a right,” Gorry mumbled.

“Aye, Mr. Redhaven,” said the groom.