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

Chapter Sixteen

O nce a couple of constables had collected Gorry, Alaric held Padeen still while Dr. Bryant set his arm, and meanwhile Miss Radcliffe collected the four other children, a boy and three girls, all smaller than Padeen. The smallest could barely toddle after the others, and sometimes the biggest girl picked her up and carried her. They emerged from hiding around the cottage, and Miss Radcliffe coaxed them into helping her to take ingredients from the castle’s basket and turn them into supper.

By the time Dr. Bryant had seen to Padeen and inspected Mrs. Gorry’s injuries, a delicious smell was rising from the pot on the trivet near the fire.

“Earl will send him away, my Eamon,” Mrs. Gorry said, suddenly. “Off Claddach.”

“And he should,” said Dr. Bryant. “This is not the first time I’ve patched you up, Mrs. Gorry.”

“He were a good man once,” Mrs. Gorry insisted. “Afore he started with the drink.” She looked at her son and her eyes grew hard. “Last week, he slapped Cissolt so hard a tooth flew right out of her head, poor cailin veg. Aye, and it’s not the first time he has hit Padeen or punched him, and so it isn’t.”

“He hits our Mam,” said the smaller boy. “When I’m a wee bit bigger, me ’n Padeen are going to hit him so hard he’ll go away and ne’er come back.”

“Shush now, Dolen,” said his mother. “The earl will send Da away. And what will become of us, I dinna know.”

Padeen’s eyes were clouded by pain and the spot of laudanum the doctor had given him, but he piped up. “We’ll be right, Ma. You’ll see.”

They left the family eating the dinner Miss Radcliffe and the children had made. Miss Radcliffe had promised she and Lady Beatrice would call again the next day, to help Mrs. Gorry make a plan.

“Though as far as I can see, they will be better off with Gorry gone,” she told Alaric as they drove away. “Mrs. Gorry has a good job, but Gorry lost his as a fisherman because he could not be relied on. I believe Gorry spends Mrs. Gorry’s wages as fast as she can earn them. He is supposed to be supervising the children, but he ignores them. Padeen and Cissolt look after them when Mrs. Gorry is at work, while Gorry drinks. I would like to see them, all but the baby, in school. Perhaps now, Mrs. Gorry will agree.”

They were heading straight back to the castle, having sent the groom to deliver the last basket with their apologies. As it was, they would be late for dinner, but it could not be helped. And Alaric had given next to no thought to entertaining the ladies this evening. What on earth could he do?

*

Bea had been paired with Ambrose Howard for the tenant visits. Probably just as well, for Mr. Howard just stood around exuding arrogance and superiority, and said nothing. That left Bea to talk to the tenants, which suited her. Howard was useful for carrying the basket and little else, she decided.

And then, on the third visit, she discovered Mr. Howard’s outward appearance was merely a mask, behind which he hid that he was completely out of his depth talking to farm laborers and their wives.

This household comprised three generations—the couple, their seven children, and the husband’s parents. Howard, as usual, carried the basket into the house, demanded to know where he could put it down, then retreated to stand by the fireplace and glower at the room.

Perhaps the littlest of the tenants, a wee girl not yet walking, did not notice his expression. Certainly, it was far, far above her head height, and focused on the room at large, rather than her in particular. The tassels on his boots were much closer to her level. They were rather grand—lush bunches of gold and silver thread, hung from gold cord so they swung briskly when Mr. Howard walked.

The baby shuffled forward on her bottom, closer and closer. Bea watched from the corner of her eye, ready to intervene if Mr. Howard frightened the little girl. He didn’t seem to notice. She settled perhaps two feet away, gazing at the tassels. Mr. Howard stamped his heel and the tassels swung. The little girl smiled.

The first time, Bea thought it was a coincidence, but then he moved again, both heels, one after the other. The little girl giggled. Mr. Howard didn’t appear to be paying her any attention, but a smile played at the corner of his lips, and he set up a little jiggle with both heels.

Ambrose Howard is a fraud. How much of the behavior she had abhorred in him came from awkwardness with people?

The little girl shuffled closer, one inch at a time, and Mr. Howard continued to swing his tassels for her delight. When she was close enough, she put out a hand and one pointed finger touched the nearest tassel. She snatched her hand back and giggled again.

Mr. Howard momentarily lost control of his smile. It spread across his face until he was able to impose control over it again and force his lips to—almost—straighten.

The baby’s mother noticed what her child was doing and said, “Marlo, leave the gentleman be.”

“She is not bothering me, ma’am,” Mr. Howard intoned, his voice cold and lofty. The father, though, swept the little girl up into his arms, and she wailed a protest.

Bea was sorry to see it, and Mr. Howard remained mute for the remainder of the visit, but when they were leaving, the father put his daughter down, and Mr. Howard caught her eye and then shook a leg at her.

“You haven’t done this sort of thing before,” Bea stated, as they headed to the next house. “Tenant visits, I mean.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Mr. Howard blurted. “One talks about one’s horses and one’s tailor. Or a hunt or… What does one say to a farm laborer? Or his wife!”

Mr. Howard’s horror at the mere idea could not have been worse if he found himself visiting a village full of cannibals on a tropical island.

“The weather is a universal topic,” Bea suggested. “Or the wellbeing of the children, perhaps?”

“Hmmm,” said Mr. Howard.

At the next two houses he made an effort. Stilted and awkward, but even so, an effort. She was feeling much more kindly toward the man by the time they arrived back at the castle. Especially since he didn’t bother her with the insincere—or perhaps awkward—flattery of the sort he’d tried in the early stages of the house party.

Actually, he had bothered her very little in the past week. Was he more comfortable with her, or had he lost interest? Perhaps the answer lay in the way he hurried to help her cousin Dorrie when they arrived back at the stable yard at the same time as Dorrie and Mr. Meadowsweet. If he had transferred his interest to Dorrie, it would certainly suit Bea!

She washed and dressed for dinner, and came down to the drawing room, where she chatted with Christina, who had been out with Mr. Fairweather. Mr. Howard, when he appeared a few minutes later, made a beeline for the Hetherington sisters.

The other houseguests gathered, one by one, joining the conversation as they waited for dinner to be announced. Not Alaric. Nor Reina, either. They had not arrived by the time dinner was announced. Indeed, it was halfway through the first setting before Reina finally appeared, stopping at the foot of the table for a quick word with Mama, who waved her to her place a few seats along the table next to Mr. Maddrell.

Alaric slipped into the room quite ten minutes later, also stopping to talk to Mama. He shot a quick grin at Bea as he seated himself opposite her, and applied himself to the serving dishes nearest to him.

He was just in time, for the footmen—after a moment’s hesitation resolved by an instruction from Mama—began replacing the first setting with the second. They must have wondered if they should wait for the late guest to eat what was on his plate.

Bea was burning with curiosity. What made him late? Him and Reina? Mama would not tolerate speaking across the table, and the ladies either side of him—Dorrie Hetherington on one side and Sarah Howard on the other—did not ask him.

She had only to wait until the end of dinner. She was able to speak to Reina as soon as they were together in the drawing room. “What happened to you and Mr. Redhaven? Problems?”

“Gorry,” Reina replied. “He was beating Mrs. Gorry. We arrived just as Padeen tried to stop him, and Gorry broke the boy’s arm.”

“Oh dear.” Bea had had her own altercations with Gorry. He was mean when he was drunk, and he was always drunk. “I hope Mrs. Gorry has finally had enough.”

“I think so. Now he has started beating the children. Apparently, he hit Cissolt, too, a few days ago. Your Mr. Redhaven stopped Gorry and held him so he could do no further harm. And he sent for my father and the constable. He was wonderful, actually. Mrs. Gorry says the earl threatened to exile Gorry for his next offense?”

“Yes. I hope Mrs. Gorry won’t want to go with him,” Bea said.

“I told her you and I would visit tomorrow, to help her make a plan. I think if she knows she will have work, and the children will be safe and cared for, she will stay on Claddach and let Gorry go where he will.”

Bea nodded. “Perhaps we can finally get the older children into school. Now, who might be able to take the little ones during the day?”

They talked for several more minutes, pulling Christina into the conversation. The three of them were accustomed to cooperating on matters concerning the welfare of the families in the care of their fathers.

Bea was called away by her mother to pour the tea, but the day—and the problems of the Gorry family—were a good reminder of the true reason for this house party. The people of Claddach depended on the castle in so many ways, and her choice of husband would directly affect their wellbeing.

This evening, the suitors had been given the task of entertaining the ladies. Lord Luke Versey and Mr. Meadowsweet went first. Mr. Meadowsweet played a guitar while Luke sang several plaintive ballads in a pleasing tenor. Sir Henry Dashwood’s contribution to the evening was to declaim a rather long poem in which horses featured prominently.

Mr. Howard gave them a juggling act, first with five and then six balls, and then with four objects offered by his audience—a snuff box, a hip flask (empty), a quizzing glass, and a fan. Mr. Howard had hidden depths!

Beverley read a passage from Mr. Coleridge’s “Rime of the Ancient Mariner.” He was followed by Mr. Fairweather, who took his place at the piano, and gave them two lovely Bach sonatas.

Finally, it was Alaric’s turn. It suddenly occurred to Bea that he would not have had time to prepare anything. What was he going to do?

“My ladies, my lords, gentlemen,” Alaric said, bowing to the company. “I have been awed by the display of talent this evening. I face you with some trepidation in light of your many accomplishments, but dare to offer you that most humble, yet ubiquitous of fireside offerings, a story.”

With that, he launched into the story of the White Hart, the story of a white deer that appeared at the wedding of Arthur and Guinevere, and of the knights who followed it, and what happened to them.

He bowed to the enthusiastic applause his narrative deserved, and Mama declared that fresh tea had arrived, while Papa asked who would prefer a port or a brandy. “Oh, by the way,” he said. “Tomorrow, gentlemen, you will be helping to move the castle’s bulls.”

There was a stir among the gentlemen, a couple of them exclaiming in alarm and others smiling.

Mama poured the tea this time, and Bea carried around the cups, and at last was able to greet Alaric for the first time since the morning. “Were we right?” she asked. “Was it Narcissus?”

“It was. And I’ve solved the next one, too. I have made you a copy.” He handed her the piece of paper, folded small enough to pass to her unseen. “Miss Radcliffe can tell you the answer. She told me where the tapestry was, and I went to see it before dinner.” He bent slightly closer. “I’ve told your Papa and he is going to give me the next clue at the end of this evening,” he murmured.

At that point, Mama called Bea away, and she did not have another opportunity to speak with Alaric that evening.

Bea was pleased he had solved another clue. She really was. She wasn’t at all disappointed he had done it without her. If he had asked Reina for her advice while they were off visiting the tenants, he had every right to do so. It would be petty of her to feel otherwise.

And there she was, arguing to convince herself, and not succeeding. She went up to bed at evening’s end with a persistent sense of dissatisfaction she did not want and did not feel entitled to. She was disappointed in herself.

But the feeling lifted when her maid Eunys handed her a sealed note. “I don’t know if I should give ye this, my lady. A note from that there Mr. Redhaven. Colyn Mugtin guv it me. Lady Claddach’ll have my head if’n she hears.”

“She will not hear it from me, Eunys. It is nothing to worry Mama. Just a poem that Mr. Redhaven promised to copy out for me.”

And that was true, she discovered, for when she opened the note, it was a copy of yet another verse.

“She keeps the hearth, defends the home.

“He far across the seas does roam.

“Which is her lord? The bow’s the test—

“Revealed, triumphant, still the best.”

He must have hurried straight up to his bed chamber when Papa gave it to him and written out the copy. It didn’t make sense to her. Not yet, at least. And neither did the third clue—the one he had passed to her in the drawing room.

She looked forward to discussing them both with him tomorrow.

*

Alaric hoped they didn’t make too early a start on this bull herding business. If he could, he’d like to spend some time with Bea—perhaps make up a group to go for a walk in the garden, thereby circumventing Lord Claddach’s edict that Bea eased up on the time she was spending with him.

He was disappointed to find she had already ridden out with Miss Radcliffe. “They are visiting Mrs. Gorry,” Miss Bryant explained. Well. Alaric could be glad of that, anyway. He decided to spend a bit of time walking around the castle, examining paintings and tapestries in the hopes that something made sense of the latest verse.

However, he had not gone far when a footman stopped him with a message. Lord Claddach wished to see him immediately, in his study. He hurried downstairs, wondering what his lordship wanted. Something to do with Gorry, perhaps?

When he stepped inside, he first noticed Lord Claddach’s severe expression, and then the earl’s visitor. The man stood at the window, his back to the room, but Alaric knew him anyway. He stepped forward with a smile and a glad greeting. “Tarquin!”

His brother turned, a look of such loathing and disgust on his face that Alaric stopped in his tracks, his hand falling away.

“Redhaven,” said Claddach. “Be seated, please. You too, Stavely. Redhaven, Viscount Stavely has made a serious allegation against you. I am giving you the opportunity to speak in your own defense.”

“He admitted it,” Tarquin insisted. “I told you.”

Alaric looked from his brother to the man he hoped to soon call father-in-law, and then back again. “I do not understand. What allegation? If this is about Eloise, it was her choice, and anyway…”

Tarquin lunged at him, yelling imprecations. Alaric grabbed at Tarquin’s hands in time to stop them closing around his throat even as his brother’s velocity knocked him and the chair he was in backward onto the floor.