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

Chapter Twenty-Four

A laric found himself on his own in the study with Lord Claddach. He had not felt this way since he had last been sent to the headmaster at his school, not conscious of any major sins but certain he was about to be lectured, beaten, or expelled.

It didn’t help to remember that, on that occasion, the headmaster’s purpose had been to tell him his mother had died, and he was being sent home. Claddach did not keep him waiting long but entered after only a few minutes that Alaric had spent in anxious waiting. Fairweather was not with him.

“Mr. Fairweather has gone to see the abbey,” Claddach told him. “He could see no point in answering my questions. He thinks you have won already, Redhaven. Are you of the same opinion?”

“No, my lord,” Alaric answered. “I am of the opinion you will not entrust the Heart of Claddach to any man who is not worthy of her, and of the island she will rule.”

Nervous though he was, it pleased him to see the earl’s eyebrows shoot up in astonishment. Not for long. Claddach had his expression under control again when he said, “The Heart of Claddach, Redhaven?”

“It is part of the solution to the sixth verse,” Alaric explained, confident of his reasoning. “Bea—I mean, Lady Beatrice—is the secret gold and Claddach’s heart.”

Claddach nodded thoughtfully. “You call her ‘Bea.’ And yet you say you have not won?”

“I have not asked her to marry me, my lord, if that is what you mean. I will not, until you give me leave.” He shrugged, trying to find the words to explain his thoughts. “It would not be fair to her, for she will not marry where you do not approve. Her sense of duty is too strong.”

“Very well, Redhaven. You have answered well. Let us see what you do with the rest of my questions. First, the trials. Why did I set you to an archery contest?”

Alaric had thought about this a lot. The trials were not just a contest to narrow down the suitors. They allowed the earl, often through the servants and the islanders, to get to know the suitors. “I think, sir, you were looking at sportsmanship and focus.”

“Hmmm. And the steeplechase?”

“The obvious. Horsemanship, stamina, the ability to plan under pressure. But you also set up an opportunity to cheat and an obstacle where we had to choose between the race and helping someone in need. So, I think you were testing us for integrity and kindness.”

“Pall-mall?” Claddach asked.

“Teamwork, my lord. Also, sportsmanship. And whether a person would rather punish another than win.”

Claddach continued through the events, giving Alaric no hints as to whether his answers were acceptable. After that, he moved to questions about farming, animal husbandry, brewing, Alaric’s views on politics, family, Society, and world affairs.

Finally, he leaned back in his chair and said, “That is all satisfactory, Redhaven. Now for the treasure hunt. What have you learned from the treasure hunt?”

Alaric, who was feeling a little as though he’d been crushed to flour between a couple of millstones, took a moment to order his thoughts.

“Sir, the clues all took me to stories about love—good examples and bad. And lastly to the inner side of the cupboard doors in the watchtower, with the two previous Ladies of Claddach and their consorts. Two more love stories. Do you want to know whether I love your daughter? For I do, with all my heart. And I want you to know, if I am fortunate enough to win her, I shall spend my life in her service as her consort, and I will live in hope she shall one day love me, too.”

“Hmm,” said Claddach, not letting Alaric know if this answer about loving his daughter pleased him or not. “So, you found my room and the cupboards by the window seat. That is two keys, Redhaven. What of the third?”

“I do not know what the third key opens, my lord,” Alaric confessed.

“Then you have not completed the treasure hunt,” the earl told him. “I shall give you a clue, shall I? My daughter is, indeed, the Heart of Claddach, but that is only part of the answer. Keep looking. In the meantime, you may continue courting my daughter, Redhaven, but you do not yet have my permission to ask her to marry you. First, my boy, you must find the secret gold, which is not my daughter, though that was a good guess. Let me give you another clue: you will know it when you see it.”

He paused, leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed. To Alaric, he had always seemed like a force of nature—large, vital, powerful. But for just that moment, he seemed diminished, his fires banked. Alaric had never noticed how translucent his skin was, or how it seemed stretched over bones with no flesh between.

“Sir?” Alaric asked. “Are you well?”

Claddach opened his eyes. “No, Alaric. I am not well. I am, in fact, dying—I have a cancer eating my gut. I am trusting you not to speak of this to anyone except Beatrice, who understands she shall be Lady of Claddach sooner than she might have hoped.”

“I am sorry, sir,” Alaric managed to stammer. “Of course, I will say nothing.”

“This is why I am anxious to see my daughter married,” Claddach explained. “And married well, to a man who is worthy of her. It is why she agreed to the trials, rather than leave Claddach and go to London, on the off chance there might be a treasure amongst all the fribbles.” He straightened and seemed to shake himself. As if shrugging into a disguise, he once again seemed like the dominating man Alaric had first recognized, and he gave Alaric a stern smile. “Do not fear. My death is not imminent. I will live to see my daughter married.”

“I am glad to hear it, sir. Your daughter and her consort will need your guidance. And your daughter and your wife will be distraught when you go.”

The earl sighed. “I am sorry for it. I have yet to tell my wife, Alaric. It is something I must do once Beatrice is safely married.”

Why after Bea’s marriage? And why safely? Alaric did not feel he could ask. Or should.

“Enough of this,” Claddach decreed, closing his eyes again. “I am tired, and you have ruins to explore and a picnic to attend. Go and tell my daughter that you passed your twelfth trial, Alaric. Just find where the third key fits, and I shall be happy to accept you as my son. Pull the bell for my valet as you leave.”

Alaric obeyed, but paused in the doorway to say, “Thank you, sir. I will not let you down.”

The only answer he received was a smile. The man who came into the room through another door—Claddach’s valet—came to his master’s side muttering about sick old men who thought they were twenty again, and Alaric backed away out into the passage and closed the door behind him.

The news of Claddach’s ill health had shaken him. He went up to his bedchamber to change into his borrowed riding boots—Tarquin had given him plenty of money since their reconciliation but had not brought the trunks of clothes he’d asked for.

Colyn wasn’t there, but Alaric managed to pull his boots on. From his window, he could see the northern watchtower. Was the third keyhole there? Or perhaps a hint to its location on the panels showing the ladies and consorts of Claddach?

He couldn’t wait, and a few minutes’ delay would not matter, since Bea was not expecting him. He picked up the ring of keys and hurried downstairs and outside, not to the stables but to the watchtower.

The first key let him into the room. The second unlocked the two doors. He stopped, his hands hovering over the rose catches. Should he wait for Bea? But she would be away most of the day. Wouldn’t it be better to find out whatever the panels had to tell him and share that with her?

He grasped the roses.

He and Bea were to be partners. He had promised Claddach. He had promised Bea herself. He huffed a sigh. Best to start as I mean to go on . Reluctantly, he locked the cupboard doors. Discovering this with Bea was the right thing to do, but still, he struggled, keen to have the treasure hunt over, to win the right to propose to Bea. He turned to the window, gazing outside while he repeated to himself all the reasons to walk away now and come back later. With Bea.

Something on the rocks at the foot of the cliff caught his eye. “What’s that?” He squinted to better focus his eyes. The object, whatever it was, was half on the rocks and half in the water, with the waves breaking over it to further disguise its shape. But if he was not mistaken, it was a human being. A human body , he corrected himself.

Alaric left the top room of the tower, locked the door, and made his way to the stable. Soon, he led a small band of grooms and groundsmen out of the castle to investigate what he had seen.

They went out through both walls and through Bailecashtel on the castle side of the river to the bottom of the cliff, then out over the rocks. Their destination was only accessible at low tide, and then only by a difficult scramble from the town side of the bluff.

The tide had turned by the time they reached the body. A few more waves and it might have been dragged back off the rocks. They were in time, though, to pull the body onto the stretcher they’d brought with them.

“Not dead above a day or two,” said the stablemaster. “Nay, dinna ye look, Master. Drownded men bein’t a bonnie sight.”

“I think I know him,” Alaric said, ignoring what the stablemaster said and wishing he didn’t have to. “Yes, this ring confirms it. Viscount Bebbington. Lady Stavely’s brother. So, it was him on that boat. And if it was Bebbington, it was probably Gorry. I’ll need to let Claddach know. And my brother and his wife.”

If the rocks had been hard to negotiate going there, they were much harder returning with the stretcher. The stablemaster’s wisdom in bringing eight sturdy men became clear when the two groups of four swapped tasks, one set carrying the stretcher, and the other going ahead so the stretcher could be passed up to them, or down, or—when the sea surged between the rocks—over.

Even so, they were all winded and a little battered by the time they arrived back on stable flat ground. Especially Alaric, whose riding boots had slipped on the rocks. Between the scratches on them and the effect of the salt water, he doubted they’d ever be fit to wear again.

“Eh, lads,” the stablemaster said. “Here comes the cart to take the poor boyo to the castle.”

“To Dr. Bryant’s,” Alaric corrected, “so there is no chance of the ladies seeing the body in its current state. Also, surely Lord Claddach doesn’t need to be bothered with the death of a mainlander who has died at sea from such an obvious cause. There must be another magistrate who could declare the man drowned.”

The stablemaster regarded him thoughtfully. “Aye, Master,” he replied, then turned to the driver of the cart, who was watching the stretcher bearers lash the body to the cart. “You heard him, Asmund. Take this here body to Dr. Bryant’s. Do you want me to see the doctor, Master Redhaven?”

It was “Master” he was saying. With the man’s accent, Alaric had been uncertain. Why “Master”? But he had more important concerns. “I’ve identified him. I’d better go with him to Bryant and the magistrate. Is it Mr. Radcliffe?”

“It is,” the stablemaster confirmed.

Seeing the body to Dr. Bryant’s place and then being interviewed by Mr. Radcliffe ate up the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon. Alaric was footsore and tired by the time he arrived back at the castle. And bewildered. The stablemaster had been only the first to call him “Master.” Down in the town, most people he met addressed him that way.

As he came through one of the side gates in the outer wall, a cavalcade was entering the main gate—the house party guests, in curricles and on horseback, returning from their expedition to the ruined abbey.

Bea—he couldn’t see her face under the brim of her hat, but he never doubted his identification—broke away from the rest to canter toward him.

“My goodness, Alaric. What happened to you?”

Alaric looked down at himself. He was a mess, his boots and pantaloons scraped and stained, his coat no better, his cravat long since balled up and stuffed into a pocket, and his hat left behind on an errant wave. “I apologize for my state, Bea. I saw a drowned man from the watchtower window and helped to retrieve him. I’ve been down in Bailecashtel telling the magistrate what I know.”

“Gracious!” she swung down to walk beside him. “Someone caught in the storm the day before yesterday? Who was he? Not Bebbington!”

*

Bea didn’t need Alaric’s confirming nod. After all, if Alaric had identified the man, it had to be someone he knew, and the house party was mostly intact. It had to be either Beverley or Bebbington. And Bebbington had last been seen sailing straight into the squall.

“Someone will need to tell Eloise,” she said. “I can do that, if you wish, while you tell Papa.”

“I should wash and change first,” Alaric told her, with a deprecating wave at his attire. He certainly did look as if he had been dunked in the sea several times and then bashed against the rocks.

“Of course,” she replied. “A few minutes will not make any difference to Lord Bebbington. Alaric, tell me, what did Papa say? Did you solve the treasure hunt?”

“Almost,” he said. “I have to use the third key and find the secret gold. I was certain you were the treasure, and the Heart of Claddach. You are, indeed, Claddach’s heart, he said, but that was only part of the answer. I thought I would check the doors again, to see if the Lady and Consort panels hold a clue to where I use the third key.” He shrugged. “But I didn’t feel right looking at it without you.”

Bea’s step faltered. She had assumed he had gone ahead without her, and was trying not to feel hurt, but he had stopped himself. He had waited. She smiled as she stepped out again, her heart brimming with love for her castaway. “I’m glad,” she told him.

“We are to be partners,” he said, simply, then reddened. “That is… I have your father’s permission to propose once I find the secret gold, but you are under no obligation to accept.”

If Alaric could be honest and open with her, she could do the same in return. “I intend to accept,” she replied. “I love you, Alaric.” From the look in his eye, he was about to seize her and kiss her, a scheme of which she thoroughly approved, except they were in the middle of the garden and most of the house party was watching with interest. She took another two strides in the direction of the inner gatehouse. “We had better find the secret gold quickly, I think.”

She felt Alaric’s gentle grasp on her wrist, stopping her from moving too far away. “Bea? Your father told me… I am sorry. I had no idea he was so sick.”

For a moment, Bea froze in place, her vision blurring as tears filled her eyes. She did not like to think of it, but it was the truth. Her dearest Papa was fading. The blankety house party had been hard on him, but it wasn’t that. He had avoided many of the events, had shut himself away in his study, sleeping on the day bed there, and appearing when it was strategic to do so.

His valet was in on the conspiracy to keep his condition a secret, and so was Dr. Bryant, of course. Even on the day of the steeplechase, he had managed to spend most of the day resting.

Alaric caught up with her, and he grasped both of her hands. “I don’t know what to say,” he confessed. “I cannot imagine how it feels, to be so close to a parent. And then to know you’re going to lose him…”

“I have had him for twenty-three years,” Bea commented. “Please God, we will have him for a few more.”

“That is why I had Bebbington taken into town,” Alaric confessed. “One less job for your father. And for you, for that matter. You wear yourself thin, Bea, being both your mother’s deputy and your father’s. I hope soon to have the right to share your tasks.”

There didn’t seem to be much to say to that, but Bea’s heart lifted that he was willing. Yes, and that he did not mouth any nonsense about taking the burdens that were rightfully hers off her shoulders. Sharing was fine.

They went through the gatehouse, and the men on duty nodded to her in greeting. No, not just to her, but to Alaric, too. “My lady. Master.”

She shot a sideways glance at Alaric, startled.

“They were calling me that in town,” Alaric commented. “‘Master.’ Is there some meaning I don’t know?”

There was, and Bea was dumbstruck once more. “The people in town, and the servants here?”

Alaric nodded. “Come to think of it, the first was Colyn, last night. What are they saying, Bea? They don’t seem to be annoyed, so I don’t think it is bad.”