Alicia

by Laura Matthews

  “Never,” she breathed, as she extended her hand shyly to him.

  Rowland took the offered hand gently and raised it to his lips, never taking his eyes from hers. “We must leave now, but it will not be so very long before I return. Take care of yourself.”

  “And you,” she replied softly, her face showing a tendency to crumple.

  Rowland abruptly released her hand and turned to make his farewells to her mother. Felicia could not see them leave very well because of the tears in her eyes. Alicia joined her and put her arm about the girl’s shoulders comfortingly. “Go home with Mavis for a while, love, and see to some luncheon for us.” Felicia nodded mutely and left the shop. Her mother sighed, but was recalled to the pressing demands of those about her and soon involved herself in directing the removal of the damaged counters.

  When Mr. Allerton had had a chance to eat his meal, Alicia slipped away to the cottage for a few moments of peace and something to sustain her. It was there that Mrs. Maple and her two daughters found her. Fortunately Alicia had caught sight of herself in a glass and had hastened to scrub her face and tidy her hair before the visitors arrived.

  “We have just heard of the fire, Lady Coombs, and hoped that we might be able to help you in some way,” Mrs. Maple suggested. “Samantha and Tabitha thought perhaps your daughter could drive with us a while if she is not too busy.”

  Felicia entered the drawing room at that moment and smiled shyly at the two girls. “That was very kind of you,” she said softly, “but I plan to return to the shop now.”

  “No,” her mother said firmly. “You have done your share and a drive is just what you need.”

  “But, Mama, there is so much to do!”

  “It will be there tomorrow,” Alicia retorted.

  “Do come with us,” Samantha begged. “We have the loveliest fur rug in the carriage so we need not even feel the chill.”

  Felicia wanted to go with them but she did not wish to leave her mother to cope alone with the shop. Alicia, as though reading the girl’s thoughts, said, “You forget that Mr. Allerton is more than capable of supervising everything without either you or me.”

  Felicia agreed then to go with the Maples. She changed into a becoming blue dress and bundled herself in a warm mantle and matching scarf. Alicia watched them leave with relief; Felicia would have some friends after all. But would she even be in Tetterton to enjoy them? Alicia could see no way to retain the shop, when doing so would mean the necessity of replenishing the expensive stock. She could not allow herself to become discouraged, though, with so many kind people coming to their assistance. So she returned to the shop with a determined smile on her lips to continue the clean-up.

  * * * *

  When Stronbert joined Jeff Thomas outside the shop, he paused to send a messenger to the Court before they mounted their horses to ride to Tosley Hall where Sir John Wickham was a local justice of the peace, and the magistrate before whom Tackar was to be brought. Sir John was a weak and ineffectual man, if not unkindly. He was dominated by his wife and taunted by his son, and had allowed a vagueness of manner to isolate him from these annoyances. Stronbert was shown into his library and received a jovial welcome, which was somewhat marred by the nervous twitch Sir John’s eye suffered when under stress.

  “My lord, what has brought you today? Not that I am not honored by your visit, you understand. Flattering, most flattering. Good of you to call,” Sir John mumbled enthusiastically.

  “I came in regard to the fire in Lady Coombs’s shop last night. I understand the culprit is to be brought before you this morning.”

  “Yes, yes, indeed, he has been.” Sir John would not meet the marquis’s eyes, but regarded his shelves of books as though they might enlighten him on how to handle the matter.

  “Already? But I have just ridden here with Jeff Thomas, who apprehended him,” Stronbert remarked calmly. “I should have thought you would wish to hear him speak before you made a disposition.”

  “No need, I assure you. Had his statement from last night.” Sir John’s eye began to twitch in earnest.

  “I see. And is Mr. Tackar to be turned over to the next Assizes?” Stronbert asked softly.

  “No, no. Case of mistaken identity. Wasn’t the right man at all. This man Tackar was merely walking along the street when Thomas attacked him. ‘Twas another set the fire.”

  “Was it, indeed?” Stronbert’s voice was ruthlessly scornful. “Whatever induced you to believe such a thing?”

  “Thomas’s statement said he did not see the man in the shop, just at the door. Could have been anyone set the fire.”

  “You cannot possibly believe that.”

  Sir John’s eye was almost continually closed now, giving the impression of a preposterous wink. “Certainly I can,” he retorted with weak spirit. “Man is wealthy, well known. Why would he set fire to a poor widow’s shop? Hardly the thing, you know.”

  “Mr. Tackar is not likely to consider such niceties. Had you made the effort to have Mr. Thomas present he might have explained to you that he was currently assigned to prevent Mr. Tackar from doing just such a thing as he did.”

  Sir John regarded him with unfeigned astonishment. “You had set a watch for him? Why would you do such a thing?”

  “Tell me, Sir John, did Mr. Tackar admit to knowing Lady Coombs?”

  “I did not ask him.” Sir John’s face had begun to twitch, too. “He protested any knowledge of the whole affair; said he was only going for his horse in the lane.”

  “And his reason for being in Tetterton?”

  “He gave none. Can’t very well ask an Englishman why he’s in an English town.”

  “When he is charged with arson, a very serious crime, I do believe it would be possible, even necessary. What have you done with him?” Stronbert asked, his tone dangerous now.

  “Let him go, of course. Can’t very well hold a man for a crime he didn’t commit,” Sir John said stubbornly as he pulled out his handkerchief to wipe his brow.

  “Did your wife have any opinion on the matter?”

  “She could tell right off he was quality,” Sir John pronounced proudly. “And Lawrence knew him by repute from London—quite the dashing fellow, I hear.”

  “I will have you unseated for this,” Stronbert said coldly, rising to take his leave. “And if any further harm comes to Lady Coombs from that man you will answer to me for it.”

  “Here now! You cannot threaten me!” Sir John blustered, his face white.

  “You are supposed to represent the law in Tetterton. You have deliberately ignored a crime to which an honest, straightforward witness has sworn. Instead of locking the fellow up to await his just punishment, you have licked his boots. I shall take the matter to a higher authority—the matter of Tackar and the matter of you.” Stronbert strode angrily to the door, pulled it open, and left. Sir John slumped in his chair and cursed himself for the fool he was.

  Jeff had never seen Lord Stronbert as he appeared at the door of the hall. His eyes were blazing, his mouth grimly pressed, and the grip on his gloves was furious. Jeff himself had always been treated obligingly by his employer, and any rebukes had been justly deserved and never given in anger. He watched with amazement while the marquis brought his temper under control, strode over to the horses, and motioned for Jeff to follow him. “Am I not to speak before Sir John, then?” he asked anxiously.

  “There is no need. Sir John has set Tackar free.” The voice was level.

  “Free? He can’t do that. Is setting a fire no crime?”

  “Sir John does not believe Tackar set the fire. You were mistaken in attacking him. I wonder that Tackar did not think to set the law on you.” Stronbert’s hard-won control deserted him for a moment in the sarcasm of this speech.

  The enormous young man turned uneasily in his saddle to face Stronbert. “You do not believe that, do you, sir? I am sorry I was so slow to act, but I made no mistake in the man.”

  Stronbert sighed and grimaced. “For
give me. I did not mean to upset you, Jeff. You must know that I believe you and that I am well pleased with all you did. Neither of us expected an attack on the shop. I might have thought of it, but I did not. It is such a cowardly act, and Tackar faced me bravely in...No matter. I did not expect him to stoop so low. It was my fault and none of yours.”

  The young man breathed a sigh of relief. “I could see no need to be there last night,” he admitted, “what with her ladyship at the Court. I had even thought to have a quick one at the Feather and Flask.” His face flushed with shame at the memory.

  Stronbert shrugged. “No matter. We all misjudge situations from time to time. It was the women themselves I concentrated on. I even had the coachman carry a weapon last night.”

  “Well, you were not wrong that he meant trouble. Will he try again?”

  The glint returned to Stronbert’s eyes. “I should like to see him try. But no, I intend to handle things myself now, though if you and Peter are willing, I will keep up the watch.”

  “Certainly, sir. Peter has never minded much, it being daytime and all,” Jeff said with a grin.

  “Should you like to switch?”

  “No, sir, there seems to be more activity at night.” He met the older man’s amused gaze gravely and the two rode back to town in silence.

  * * * *

  Lady Gorham was considering the possibilities of a nap. She sat in the winter parlor, feeling the warmth of the sun make her drowsy. The melody Cassandra was playing in the music room, too, was inducive to a short rest, and Lady Gorham had finally determined that she would just lie down for a bit when the rattle of wheels on the carriage path aroused her. No one was expected and she could not see the front of the house from the winter parlor. Well, visitors would be more amusing than a nap in any case. The abbey had seemed lonely since the Coombses had left, she thought sadly.

  The aged butler appeared at the door to announce, “The Dowager Marchioness of Stronbert and Miss Carnworth,” much to Lady Gorham’s amazement. She watched her friend enter with plumes waving on an admirable bonnet, an attractive gown gracing her figure, and a colorful parasol gripped in one hand, which she refused to give up to the butler. “Evelyn,” she gasped, ‘‘you are quite fashionable!”

  The old woman smirked with satisfaction and cast a conspiratorial glance at her companion. Miss Carnworth uttered a small “Harrumph” but said nothing further. “We have come on a matter of some importance, Charlotte, and cannot stay long. May we have tea?”

  Lady Gorham was used to her friend’s ways and immediately rang. “There is no trouble at the court, I hope.”

  “At the court, no. Though I am beginning to wonder...Well, never mind that now. I have brought you a note from Nigel. I am sure he explains the situation admirably. Most unfortunate. Go ahead and read it. Pay no heed to us,” Lady Stronbert said grandly as she seated herself gingerly on a chair with a vase-shaped back and spindly legs which she considered too fragile to sustain her ample self.

  Lady Gorham read the letter slowly. Her frown gathered as she read of the fire and Alicia’s straits, turned to a puzzled quirk when the suggestion for funds was advanced, and mellowed into a whimsical smile when Stronbert revealed his intentions. Lady Gorham could understand his reluctance to approach her obstinate friend but she hoped he would be successful when he did. She had spent enough time in Stronbert’s presence to feel that it would be an admirable match. She was not so sure that Alicia would have him, though, after the life she had endured, even for the position and comfort he could offer her and Felicia.

  A sigh escaped her, and she became aware of her guests suddenly. “Most unfortunate. As if the poor woman had not enough to bear. I shall be pleased to become a partner if Alicia is agreeable. Set the tea tray by Miss Carnworth, please, Richards. You will not mind pouring for me, will you, dear?”

  Miss Carnworth was delighted to assume the task and Lady Gorham excused herself to write a letter to her friend’s son. In this she admitted that she would not be able to come by a substantial amount of capital very easily and agreed to the proposed arrangement. “I feel you should know,” she wrote, “that Alicia has told me she does not intend to marry again. She is aware that it might make life easier in some respects, but her first marriage has soured her. Nonetheless I should like to see you successful in your suit, and I wish you luck.” Lady Gorham proceeded to seal the letter carefully before she wrote a separate letter to Alicia and returned to the winter parlor.

  Chapter Eighteen

  When Tackar left Sir John, the charming smile he had maintained during their interview faded from his face and he made all speed to his estate. Although he made no comment to Martin on the disastrous fate of his project, the valet had no doubt that things had gone awry, but carefully concealed his delight. His employer had obviously spent the night in his clothes, and from the pallor of his face it seemed likely that he had not slept overmuch, and that his recent wound was paining him.

  “Bring me the brandy!” Tackar snapped as he sank into an overstuffed chair in his bed chamber, his dressing gown wrapped loosely about him.

  “Right away, sir. Will you be wishing dinner in your room?” It was the closest Martin could come to commenting on his employer’s disheveled condition.

  Tackar froze him with a glare. “Certainly. I have no intention of dressing again for your amusement.”

  Left alone, he considered once again the expeditiousness of his capture and what it signified. During the uncomfortable night he had spent, it had occurred to him that he had been expected. Since he had divulged his plans to no one, including his valet and his brother, for fear of being in their power or suffering from their carelessness, he had realized that the giant who had taken him had been waiting for such an event. No particular event, just standing guard over Lady Coombs and her daughter. And he had no doubt that Lord Stronbert was behind it. Protecting his own preserves, no doubt.

  What was most daunting about that view of the situation was that if Stronbert were involved, Tackar would not consider it beyond the marquis’s power to pursue the matter of prosecuting him.

  Staring glumly at the marquetry sunburst on the tallboy, Tackar acknowledged that he had no desire to spend a great portion of his life in jail, nor to wind up at the end of a rope. He rubbed his constricted throat tentatively. Certainly there could be no fear of that: He was a rich man, and rich men seldom met such an end. Nonetheless, he was in a very awkward position now and it made him angry to find himself in a situation not of his making, and rather beyond his control.

  Matters had gone too far now. The possibility of Bow Street Runners was real indeed. The thought brought a cold sweat to his forehead and his native caution advised him that he would have to leave the country. Without a word he watched Martin place the decanter of brandy and a glass within his reach. When the valet again withdrew, he poured himself a generous portion and took a healthy gulp. As the liquid burned down his throat, he had a blinding flash of intelligence. Stronbert’s intentions toward the beautiful widow were honorable! The realization was so amazingly logical and so exquisitely amusing to Tackar that he indulged in a bout of hysterical laughter. It provided such a wide scope for his devious brain that he neglected to fuel himself with further brandy. He would have to go abroad, and things were unsettled in France since the overthrow of the Bastille. Still, he had always enjoyed it there and he had no doubt that he would yet.

  All the wild plans of revenge that his imagination had thrown up with regard to Stronbert, Lady Coombs, and her daughter were forgotten. Here was a superlative retaliation! Making mischief from France in the present instance would prove so much safer than in England, and certainly just as effective. Rumors started from a distance gained such incredible veracity at the same time that they expanded so well. Tackar took up his glass again in high good humor.

  * * * *

  After the fire, the days passed swiftly for Alicia. There was work for her to do and to supervise. She accepted Lady Gorham’s offer of
a partnership reluctantly, for she feared that her friend could ill afford to be so generous. But she did not wish to wound her by saying so, and it did seem the only possibility to save herself and Felicia from becoming dependent on her brother in the not very distant future. The fabrics from the second room of the shop had been aired thoroughly and were then offered at reduced prices. The unscarred fabrics from the front room would not give up the smoky smell and she had to discard them. The vicar told her, when she brought them to him apologetically, that there were those who needed the clothing badly enough that they would not mind the honest smell of smoke. The shop itself had been repaired, with the weak flooring replaced and new counters and shelving introduced where needed. The paint still smelled fresh; she had hesitantly acceded to Stronbert’s suggestion that the outside trim be painted, too.

  Her new stock was beginning to arrive. It had necessitated a trip to York, but Miss Carnworth had offered to accompany her, and Stronbert had insisted that they use a Court carriage. Except for the expense of the endeavor, it was a most exciting day for her. York itself she had not seen for some time, and the choosing of the materials made her feel like a child in the confectioners. Miss Carnworth’s acerbic comments and sensible advice had been bracing and welcome. Felicia had spent the day with the Maples, whom she frequently saw now, so her mother concentrated on accomplishing as much as she could during the day. It was growing dark when they arrived back in Tetterton, but Alicia could see the sign clearly. She had not thought at the time of her discussion with Stronbert of any reason he should ask her the new name of the shop. But the sign read: TETTERTON MERCERS, LINEN DRAPER AND HABERDASHER, ESTABLISHED 1790, A. COOMBS, PROP.

  Alicia gave a gasp that was half-sob, half-giggle and pointed with a shaking finger for Miss Carnworth. That redoubtable lady merely commented, “Very proper. About time the Dean sign was removed.”