Page 62 of The Trials of Alaric
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 onthem 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?”
Itwas“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 needAlaric’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 whereI 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 howit 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.”
