Alicia (26 page)

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.

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.”

“But I did not order it.”

“Of course you did not. Nigel did. It is a present to you,”
she explained patiently.

“It somehow makes me very proud,”
Alicia confessed, “not just for me, but for everyone who helped to put the shop back together. I shall of course tell Lord Stronbert myself, but I hope you will just mention that I am...grateful and pleased.”

“Of course, my dear. I am sure he will not be long in London.”

“He has gone to London? I think he did not mention that he was planning a trip,”
Alicia said, curiously hurt.

“I gather he received a letter yesterday which necessitated the journey. No doubt he assumed I would tell you.”
Miss Carnworth’s eyes held Alicia’s for a moment before the latter’s dropped.

“Yes, well, there is no reason he should tell me.”

“We assume he will be back in time for Christmas,”
her companion said comfortably.

“I imagine the dowager marchioness would be rather put out with him if he were not,”
Alicia replied with a grin.

Alicia climbed out of the carriage and thanked Miss Carnworth for her help. Felicia greeted her cheerfully when she entered the cottage and chatted about her day with the Maple sisters. Her mother spoke of the purchases she had made, the items ordered which would arrive in a few days in time for the heaviest shopping of the year.

But Alicia could not shake the despondency she felt. There was no reason he should tell her that he was leaving for London. No reason that she should suddenly feel very lonely. She no longer feared Tackar; Stronbert had assured her that though Sir John had released him, the marquis had brought the matter to higher authorities and if Tackar set foot in England again, he would be arrested.

When Stronbert had returned to the Court after seeing Sir John, he had sent a man to keep watch near Tackar’s estate. In due time the man had informed him that Tackar had returned and left again within the day, a carriage overflowing with luggage taking him to the coast where he had sailed for France. Although the channel was rough at that time of year, word was eventually received that there had (unfortunately) been no mishap to Tackar, who had duly arrived in Paris.

With the holidays approaching, the activity at the shop increased and it required all her time and attention to organize the new merchandise and wait on customers. Felicia overruled her objections and came to assist in the shop regularly for the period. And still the days went by and Lord Stronbert did not return. Alicia and her daughter received an invitation from the dowager to spend Christmas at the Court, and they accepted. But there was no word of or from Stronbert, and Alicia could not shake the heaviness of her heart. She did not wish to examine her feelings. There was no sense in it. But she peeked each night at the enameled snuff box she had seen in York and ordered among others to be delivered to the shop. When it came, she took it to her room, reminding herself that if he could give her a sign for her shop, she could give him a simple snuff box by way of thanks for all his help. She kept it carefully wrapped in her drawer.

Felicia was concerned when she occasionally discovered her mother, thinking herself unnoticed, with a sad countenance and unhappy eyes. The girl herself was reasonably content, her friendship with the Maple sisters leading to others in the neighborhood. She missed Dorothy and Rowland, but she relied on Rowland’s word that he would be back, and it could not be so very long now. If he did not return, well, then she would probably look like her mother did now.
Dear God,
she thought suddenly,
Mama is missing Lord Stronbert
.
She became more attentive to her mother’s moods and actions but there was no sign, no word. Perhaps she was wrong after all.

* * * *

Stronbert left the Court at the end of his patience with Tackar, and Stronbert was a very patient man. The letter he had received was from a friend in London informing him that various people, himself included, had received letters from Tackar in France containing damaging references to Stronbert and a Lady Coombs, the widow of Sir Frederick Coombs. The insinuation was that Tackar had made Lady Coombs his mistress years ago when Sir Frederick abandoned her. He had further suggested that this was why Sir Frederick had willed his property as he had. Not satisfied with that, Tackar had indicated that he had tired of the lady and dropped her, whereupon she had moved to a town near Stronbert Court and lured the marquis into her net.

Tackar did not hesitate at this juncture to point out that there was also a nubile young daughter involved in the current arrangement. For good measure he suggested that the marquis had viciously laid the blame on him for a fire set in the widow’s shop in order to rid himself of Tackar, since Lady Coombs still pined for her former lover.

Lady Coombs was situated too far from London, geographically and mentally, to come in contact with these rumors, Stronbert knew, but he refused to allow them to circulate. In fact he refused to allow Tackar to live any longer if he had any say in the matter. He made the journey to London in record time to assess the damage done and by his very presence, allay the rumors as best he could.

Then he set out for France, his friend George Savile, who had written him, accompanying him. The channel crossing was reasonably good, and within four days they were in the capital. Stronbert insisted he must see Tackar immediately, but his friend grumbled, “It has been a wearying journey, Nigel, and it is late. Let us call on him first thing in the morning.”

“You need not accompany me, George, though I will ask that you act my second in the affair. You are right; it is late. But I will be gone before you arise in the morning.”

George yawned and muttered, “As you will, Nigel. Now leave me to get some sleep."

Stronbert woke early and breakfasted before hiring a hack to take him to the address Tackar had given his correspondents. The concierge responded immediately, his eyes expressing his excitement. “But no, monsieur, you have just missed M. Tackar. He has left for the Bois de Boulogne already.”
The man gave a knowing wink.