Alicia (23 page)

This remark, calculated to provoke her, succeeded very well. “More help? Do you think I am incapable of managing a country entertainment? I am plagued with offers of assistance from morning to night, Nigel, and I assure you I am adequate to any demands such a function will make on me.”

Stronbert rose and rested a hand on her shoulder. “I know you are, my dear. Everyone wants to have a hand in it, and you are a past master at organizing our resources.”
Moving toward the door, he remarked casually, “Felicia and Dorothy showed me your gown. I congratulate you; it is exquisite.”

The dowager, momentarily diverted from her complaints, smiled proudly as he bowed and excused himself. It was only after he left that she realized she had obtained no information on the subject in which she was most interested. Certainly he had assured her of his unchanging affection, but he had not mentioned Lady Coombs. Even the dowager, with her habit of outspokenness, was not prepared to ask him straight out if he had intentions in that direction. She had no wish to receive a setdown from him, and she greatly feared that if she so trespassed on his private life, he would not hesitate to give her one. With a sigh she returned to the knotting of her fringe.

Francis Tackar gazed out over the lawns of his estate as he addressed the minion awaiting his pleasure. “Take this tray away and send Martin to me.”
As the man disappeared out the door, Tackar absently rubbed his hand over the newly healed wound. For the first week after it had been inflicted he had suffered agonies which he did not long to dwell on, but he prided himself on his quick recovery. Few men of his acquaintance would so soon be riding again. Even fewer would have been contemplating the revenge he now planned.

Martin knocked discreetly on the door and was bade to enter. As usual, his face was devoid of any expression.

“Where the devil is that brother of yours?”
Tackar demanded coldly.

“I expect him within the hour, sir.”

“Have him shown to me immediately he arrives.”

“Very good, sir.”

Sending Martin’s brother had been a necessary precaution; the valet himself was too likely to be recognized in Tetterton. Tackar had no desire to arouse suspicion in the community, though he thought it likely that his attempt on Lady Coombs’s virtue, as well as the duel, were not common knowledge. When he bent to retrieve the book he had set down earlier, he relished the twinge of pain he experienced. Lady Coombs would suffer for that.

Although Tackar proceeded to open the book and stare at its pages, his mind was not on reading. His physical desire for Alicia had been extinguished by the pain that had wracked his body, but his desire to wreak vengeance on her had been kindled. No matter that it was Lord Stronbert who had foiled his well-organized plot and fired the ball which very nearly killed him. It would be foolhardy to take on such an opponent; moreover, it was merely a matter of coincidence that the marquis had become involved at all. Tackar realized belatedly that it had been Stronbert who had seen him as he rode away with Felicia’s horse. No, he could not fault the marquis for his subsequent actions. It was Alicia whom he would ruin—not physically this time, but financially.

The matter was very simple. She had obviously invested the majority of her money in that ridiculous shop in Tetterton. Without it she would have to beg for charity. Not that she could come crawling to him. Tackar had an enjoyable vision of such a scene, where he would laugh in her face. The proud Alicia, who had scorned his generous offer to provide for her as his mistress, would suffer greatly from the indignity of poverty.

When Martin’s brother was ushered into his presence, he regarded the sloppily dressed fellow with disgust. “Well, what have you found?”

The man shuffled his feet awkwardly before the exquisitely dressed Tackar. “Nights there’s hardly no one about on the High Street. Few locals in and out of the Feather and Flask. Shop closes at dark usually, though sometimes the lady stays on a bit in the back office.”

“I know all that,”
Tackar rasped impatiently. “Did you find nothing of interest?”

“Goin’
to be a party at the Court on Tuesday. Seems the whole neighborhood is invited or working there for the night.”

“And Lady Coombs? Is she invited?”

“Sure to be. Thick as thieves with the folks at the Court.”

Tackar’s exasperation was growing. “Did you make no effort to find out positively?”

“Heard the young lady talking about the ball gown she was making,”
the fellow offered.

Tackar sighed. “Very well. Is that all?”

“Dull place. Nothing much happening there.”

“Oh, for God’s sake! Get out!”

In spite of his annoyance, Tackar was convinced that the information was sufficient for his purposes. A party at the Court would leave Tetterton as nearly deserted as made no matter. Undoubtedly the Coombs ladies were to attend, if the girl was making a gown. There could be no better occasion to carry out his plan, and this time he would do it without assistance. He was intrigued with the slight element of risk involved; it lent spice to the venture.

* * * *

Tuesday afternoon, the afternoon of the party, Tackar established himself in a village not far from Tetterton. When dusk fell and he could be reasonably sure of being unrecognizable, he rode into Tetterton and stationed himself at the far end of the green from the shop. His horse was left in a copse of trees, but he emerged to study the scene in the High Street. There was very little movement there after dark. He saw a carriage from the Court come through town and stop down the lane where Lady Coombs lived. Shortly afterward the carriage bowled off again to return to the Court, presumably. Tackar was well satisfied.

Still, he waited another hour for all activity to cease in the street. Even the Feather and Flask seemed light of company. He retrieved his horse and rode along the green and down the lane alongside the shop. The horse was tethered to a tree before he silently retraced his steps to the corner. No one was in the street now and he covered his hand with a gunnysack to smash a pane of glass beside the door. The noise sounded loud in his ears and he glanced around for any sign of its having attracted attention. When he could perceive no movement, he slid his hand through the empty space and reached around to unfasten the door. This presented no difficulty and he slipped quietly inside the shop.

Tackar surveyed the bolts of flimsy, flammable fabric with smug satisfaction. He set to work at once pulling lengths from a dozen of them toward the middle of the shop. When he was satisfied that there were enough to keep the blaze going, he spilled a small quantity of gunpowder on top and lit it with a flint. As the fire took hold, he dragged more lengths of fabric toward it and sprinkled gunpowder sparingly about. The sight of small poufs of flame breaking out about the shop thrilled him and he had to take hold of himself to admit that he had accomplished what he came for and prepare to leave. He glanced into the street before he stepped out the door, but he still could see no one. The green across from the shop was deserted; there was not a soul to see the fire until it had consumed the building entirely, he thought.

Jeff Thomas was not entirely happy with his assignment to protect Lady Coombs. He thought Lord Stronbert exaggerated any danger to her, and he certainly felt it unnecessary to take up his post on a night when Lady Coombs was not even at home. He liked the marquis, and he liked the additional pay which came with this assignment, but it was getting cold at night and he thought he might just slip over to the Feather and Flask for a little something to warm him. Jeff had not been dismayed when he saw a man ride up and tether his horse in the lane. Folks did that sometimes to save the small expense of leaving it at the inn for a short while. Even the sound of breaking glass was not particularly sinister, although it was not the sort of thing he was expecting.

But the longer he sat there in the cold garden across from Lady Coombs’s cottage, the more his legs ached from their cramped position, the more he considered the possibility that he should perhaps walk about a little to warm himself. And it could do no harm to investigate that tinkling noise, even if it had nothing to do with Lady Coombs. Once he was in the High Street perhaps there would be no harm in slipping into the Feather and Flask for a quick one.

Even as he rounded the corner of the lane into the High Street he sensed the smell of smoke, and the sight of an eerie light coming from the shop alerted his cold-numbed senses. The movement at the shop door made him draw back momentarily. The marquis had cautioned him that Tackar was not one to be treated lightly and an element of surprise could not come amiss. Jeff flattened himself against the laneside wall of the shop and listened to the hurried footsteps approaching him. When the man was rounding the corner into the lane, he struck a blow at the head, and his opponent reeled with the shock. But Tackar did not go down. Instead he turned savagely on his attacker and reached for the pistol stuck into his waist. Jeff aimed a kick at his hand and waist which knocked Tackar to the ground, and Jeff fell upon him, wresting the pistol away. He aimed the weapon at the gasping Tackar and roared, “Get up!”
Before Tackar could comply the young giant hauled him to his feet and shoved him before him into the High Street.

A sense of urgency had stolen over Jeff as the acrid smell of smoke filled his nostrils. He grasped Tackar’s hands behind him and used the gunnysack to tie them before roughly marching him toward the inn. “Harper!”
Jeff cried as they arrived at the inn. “Hurry!”
The landlord appeared immediately at the door and stared at the sight confronting him.

“This fellow has set fire to Lady Coombs’s shop. See he is guarded until I can take him to a magistrate. And send me men to fight the fire!”

The landlord did not hesitate. He knew Jeff and accepted his word without comment, in spite of the indignant protests squealed by Tackar. Harper accepted the pistol from Jeff and led Tackar away, rousing the household all the while to fight the fire. Soon men and women were forming a line of buckets to the pump. Jeff returned to the shop where the fire was blazing mainly in the center of the building. Smoke drifted out the hole left by the broken windowpane. Jeff opened the door and entered the smoke- and heat-filled room. He ripped his cravat from about his neck and tied it over his face. First he ran to close off the second room by the doors which were always left open. Then he began to make his way along the sides of the room, tearing down the bolts of fabric that had caught fire.

The door burst open again as the first of the men with buckets of water entered. “In the center. Put it out there first,”
he called as his gloves began to smolder against a burning bolt of fabric. More men were streaming in now and several of them, after emptying their buckets, followed his lead in wresting the burning fabrics from their shelves. Jeff raced outside to draw in great mouthfuls of air before returning to the shop to continue his efforts. The blaze was dying now and most of the smoldering bolts lay in the center of the shop being carefully doused with buckets of water. “Shall we have them all down just in case?”
a man asked him.

“No,”
Jeff replied roughly. In the dim light it was difficult to tell if there was further danger. “Have some men stand guard with filled buckets, though. I will see they are paid well. Let’s not ruin any more of the stock than is absolutely necessary,”
he said, his voice discouraged. “I will ride to the Court to inform Lady Coombs.”

The dancing was well under way when Jeff arrived at the Court. Stronbert had led his niece out in the first set, and then Felicia. He had taken care to introduce Felicia personally to several of the young people there. Alicia had watched anxiously as her daughter spoke shyly with her neighbors. She relaxed somewhat when she realized that Felicia was not going to lack for partners. Alicia herself was determined not to dance; it was a party for the young people and she aligned herself with the matrons. Lady Wickham continued to ignore her, but the attention paid her by the dowager marchioness and the other members of the household at the Court induced many others to speak with her. She was especially pleased with a young woman about her own age who had come with her two daughters. Mrs. Maple was a regular visitor to the shop and had always been pleasant to Alicia, but they had never before had the opportunity to converse at any length. While they spoke, the marquis was called from the room.

He was gone for some time and when he returned he approached Alicia, who was laughing over something Mrs. Maple had said.

“Lady Coombs.”

Alicia glanced up at his grave face and her eyes flew immediately to Felicia, who was dancing quite unconcernedly further down the room. “Yes, Lord Stronbert?”

“I must have a word with you in private if Mrs. Maple will excuse us.”

Mrs. Maple, puzzled, nodded her head as she noted his grave demeanor. She impulsively squeezed her new friend’s hand as Alicia rose to allow herself to be led from the room. Stronbert did not speak until he had seated Alicia in his library.

“What is the matter?”
she asked faintly.

“It is your shop. There was a fire set there and a great deal of damage has been done.”

Alicia’s face paled. “Tackar?”
she asked numbly.

“From the description, yes. He has been apprehended and will be turned over to a magistrate. The fire has not burned the building much, but I fear most of the stock is burned or spoiled by the smoke,”
he said gently.

Alicia wanted very much to be brave about this and gazed for a moment at the ceiling so that the tears would not overflow her eyes. But this meant ruin for her and Felicia and her spirit rebelled at the unjustness of it. After all her effort, after all the pain of stepping down to such a position, that she should be broken by the maliciousness of someone she had never done the slightest harm to. There were not sufficient funds left to replace the inventory, let alone whatever damage the fire might have done to the building. She put her head down on her arms and wept.