Alicia (2 page)

Stephen himself had been horrified at their plans but had been unable to convince them of their folly. After selling their daughter and abandoning their son with only an encumbered property and few prospects of improving it, they had sailed away and were never heard from again. Stephen with his wife and their first child still a baby had had to struggle to make ends meet. Alicia had been abandoned to her fate.

Stephen remembered what a happy girl Alicia had been. But there had always been a streak of sensitivity that had kept her innermost self to herself. He pictured her now making light of her fate with Lady Gorham and shuddered. “You are determined to have a business?”

“I think it would be my wisest choice, yes. You do understand?”

“Oh, I understand,”
he replied with suppressed anger. “If your misbegotten husband were still alive, I think I would choke him to death myself.”

“Well, fortunately Francis Tackar has saved you the trouble.”

“Do you know that?”
he demanded. “Do you know that it was with Tackar that he dueled?”

“I know it. I can feel it. Stephen, there is something more I must tell you.”
Alicia bit her lip and hesitated, while her brother stopped his pacing to stand before her. “I believe you met Francis Tackar when you stayed with me at the Grange some years ago.”
Her brother nodded encouragement when she paused. “He has a very handsome property of his own not far from the Grange but he was intent on buying it. I refused to sell to him, but the solicitor insisted that the property had to be sold to divide Sir Frederick’s estate. It took me some time, but I found a buyer willing to better Tackar’s price and the lawyer agreed that it had been prudent to wait. At the last moment Tackar overbid the new buyer and he now owns the Grange.”

Alicia’s eyes held a smoldering anger and her hands agitatedly plucked at her skirt. “He informed me,”
she said, her voice choking, “that he had purchased the Grange for me and that I might stay on there if I...received him when he chose to come to me.”

“By God, I shall kill him!”
her brother rasped.

“No, you shall not,”
Alicia said firmly. “You must understand, Stephen, that Sir Frederick’s...behavior toward me gave rise to some strange speculation in the neighborhood. I have told no one of Tackar’s proposition. I tell you now only as a safeguard for the future. My purpose in leaving the area is to be rid of him. He is disgusting, and disgustingly persistent. No one here shall know where I go except Lady Gorham, under promise to disclose my direction to no one. I wish you to abide by this also. Oh, Stephen,”
she cried, alarmed by the anger which flared in his eyes, “it is not worth taking note of such scum. He could buy and sell you and me twenty times, a hundred times over. I will not have you tangle with him. He is a dangerous, unprincipled villain. Promise me, Stephen.”

“I cannot. I will not stand for such an insult to you.”

“Promise me, Stephen.”
Alicia’s eyes snapped with determination. “I have quite enough to bear without such an added responsibility. He would kill you, you know. Oh, I know you do not lack the courage to face him, but I should never be able to face my dearest Jane. Promise me, Stephen.”

“I cannot,”
he said stubbornly.

“You must. I shall have your promise now, or I shall never speak to you again. I mean it, Stephen. Promise me.”

Stephen’s lips compressed into a tight line. “I promise you.”

“Thank you, Stephen. I understand that it goes against the grain with you but I have had misery enough without adding you to it. Dear brother, I would not have told you except...well, someone else should know. And should I need your help, I will not have to go into explanations in a letter. Now,”
Alicia shrugged off the concern and bestowed a cheerful smile on him, “let me tell you what I know of this shop I am to see tomorrow. Tetterton is rather midway between York and Hull and the shop does a sizable business in dry goods—cotton twills, stuffs, bombazines, sarsnets, satins, millinery, pelisses, dresses, and so forth. It is by way of being a linen drapers, too, and a plumassier.”

At Stephen’s blank look she explained, “You know, ostrich and fancy feathers and artificial flowers for hats and bonnets. They carry ribbons and lace and fancy trimmings as well as tippets and muffs and such. I shall so enjoy being surrounded by such a selection of goods, and no doubt shall fit Felicia up in style. There is a young man who could stay on with the business, but the owner is ill and wishes to sell. So I would have someone with experience as my assistant.”

Stephen was horrified at the very sound of such an endeavor but restrained himself by asking only, “Do you not think that people will hesitate to patronize a shop owned by a young woman?”

Alicia gave a gasp of laughter. “No doubt. I had thought to powder my hair and wear a cap which would make me appear quite elderly.”
She pulled a handkerchief from her reticule, tucked it over her auburn curls, and pursed her mouth. “Surely I shall pass for fifty,”
she grinned, her eyes sparkling in the late morning sun.

“Indeed,”
her brother retorted, as he snatched the handkerchief off her head. “I’ll be bound you will attract customers just to see such a performance. I daresay you will make a go of it, Alicia, but you are to remember that Jane and I will provide you and Felicia with a home if you ever need it.”

“That I will never forget. It shall be my port in a storm, I promise you.”
Alicia rose and shook hands with her brother. “We are agreed, then. You cannot like the scheme, I know, but I am delighted that you are willing to accept it. Thank you, Stephen. Now tell me of Jane and the boys.”

In spite of an early start it was afternoon before Alicia and her brother and daughter reached the town of Tetterton. The main street was wide and boasted a green between two secondary lanes which diverged from it. The row of shops was handsome, some with slightly bowed windows and sparkling small panes of glass. Alicia noted that the inn, the Feather and Flask, was an old brick building with numerous gables. A glistening red ivy covered most of its surface. The inn chimneys dotted the skyline and welcoming smoke drifted forth to proclaim that the establishment was well used. A glimpse of the stables behind showed a modest amount of activity going forth. Next there was a bookseller’s shop, obviously given over to prints and paintings as well. The pastry cook’s front was narrow and somewhat dark, but more than made up for by the tantalizing aroma of freshly baked breads which issued forth.

Alicia’s eye next fell on an older sign, Joseph Dean, Linen Draper and Haberdasher, Established 1775. She gave a sigh of contentment and smiled at Stephen. “Here it is. Shall we have Lady Gorham’s barouche taken to the inn? No doubt you are both sharp set, but I cannot wait to see the shop.”

Stephen and Felicia agreed to postpone their meal, as both were only slightly less interested than Alicia herself in ascertaining the condition of her proposed purchase. Stephen appraised the double-fronted building with its three fan windows skeptically, but noted that it would take little more than a coat of trim paint to make it look very attractive. The room into which they entered was enormous. Shelves on either side were stacked with rolls of fabric and reached at least twelve feet to the ceiling. There were tables, counters, chairs, and ladders in the first room, with a smaller room behind where ready-made items were displayed.

Mr. Dean himself came to assist them; he looked sallow and shrunken and Alicia had a strong desire to recommend that he seat himself. She did not wish to embarrass or upset him, so she quelled her desire and allowed him to explain to her the workings of his shop. His assistant, Gregory Allerton, quietly and efficiently assisted the customers who wandered in during their tour of inspection. These customers were of as much interest to Alicia as the inventory Mr. Dean rattled off of Irish poplins, French gloves, Indian muslins, brocades, and a staggering variety of other items. The shop was obviously patronized by a wide range of country society, including men, women, and children of almost every class.

Mr. Allerton treated them each respectfully, and he surprised Alicia by showing great deference to an eccentrically dressed elderly woman who tended to snap at him.

“You need not tell me these will wear well, young man, for I have the evidence of my own eyes to disprove it. Did I not buy a similar pair of gloves not two years past? Look at them now—a bundle of rags,”
she stormed, waving the offending items in his face. “There is not an item carried in this shop which can hold up to a bit of use.”

“Perhaps if you were to consider these kid gloves rather than the satin, my lady,”
the young man suggested deferentially.

“Kid gloves? Why, they cost the earth!”
she protested with a glare.

“They justify the extra expense by how well they wear, I assure you. And our price for them is quite reasonable.”

“Reasonable! I should not consider two guineas reasonable. Why, in my youth they were to be had in London for under a guinea.”
The old woman’s eyes glazed reminiscently. “I had a pair of lavender kid gloves for ten years. Now that is something you cannot provide nowadays—a pair of gloves which will wear for ten years! Ten days, more like.”

Mr. Allerton, uncomfortable under this attack before Alicia and her party, cast a worried glance at Mr. Dean, who hastily excused himself from them and trotted over to the recalcitrant customer.

“Good day, my lady. Is there some problem? Perhaps I can personally assist you to find what you need.”

Her ladyship bent a disparaging eye on him. “I doubt it, Mr. Dean. You cannot produce what you do not carry, which is quality merchandise.”

“If your ladyship wishes to have me order something from York or London...,”
he suggested tentatively.

“And pay for the service? I should think not. My son can bring me anything I need, I thank you.”

At this point Mr. Allerton re-entered the conversation. “Perhaps you would care to consider these white satin mitts for the time being, Lady Stronbert. They might serve until the marquis makes a journey to town.”
He laid the mitts carefully on the counter and murmured, after a questioning glance at Mr. Dean, a reduced price for the item.

Alicia watched appreciatively as the old woman’s stubbornly set face relaxed somewhat in her belief that the battle was won. Not that her ladyship immediately agreed to the purchase; she examined the mitts minutely and, unable to find any fault with them, grudgingly said, “You may put them on my account.”
Mr. Dean voiced his appreciation and excused himself while his assistant wrapped the tiny package.

Wiping his forehead, he returned to Alicia muttering apologetically of the dowager marchioness of Stronbert before he resumed his discussion of the shop. Just as they entered the rear cubicle that served as an office, Alicia saw the customer depart with a swish of her incredible orange-striped puce walking dress over old-fashioned panniers.

“I fear I have not been up to keeping ahead of the paper work this last half year,”
Mr. Dean remarked with a wave at the disorderly piles, “but you will find that everything is paid for immediately.”
He began to cough discreetly, and turned aside from them when he was unable to contain the racking gasps which overtook him. Alicia quickly pulled up a chair for him and Stephen gently seated him in it. It was several minutes before he was able to recover himself to speak further with them.

“I beg your pardon,”
he finally managed. He turned red-rimmed eyes to Alicia and explained, “I am anxious to sell the property and the business, as you can see, due to my health. I should like to show you the cottage myself, but I fear I need to rest for a moment.”
He handed a ring of large keys to Stephen and explained that the cottage was right behind the shop, facing on Fetter Lane and could be reached through the rear of the shop or by going back to the entrance and turning down the lane. “I wish you will understand that the cottage is very small and not in the best order at this moment,”
he apologized. “I have not taken care of it as I should since my wife died several years ago.”

Alicia chose to exit through the rear of the office and found a small L-shaped, overgrown garden with a well-traversed path leading to the small white cottage. There was not a great deal of space in the kitchen or the maid’s room, and the dining room and sitting room beyond were only of moderate size. But the wood wainscoting was attractive. Somehow it reminded Alicia in miniature of the home of a friend she had had as a girl. The entry hall had stairs leading directly up to the floor above, where two bedrooms came off either side. These rooms were dusty and dark, and Alicia hurried to open the dark and fading draperies. When the autumn sun shone into the rooms, dust drops dancing in its beams, there was an indefinable change in the atmosphere. Alicia and her daughter smiled at one another suddenly and a decision was made. “We shall have it,”
Alicia announced.

Stephen turned an alarmed countenance on his sister. “But you have not even seen it from the front yet. And what about the shop? Mr. Dean is obviously months behind in his bookkeeping and...”

“Now, Stephen, you know that matters not the very least. If you are willing, I would have you negotiate the price with him. But do not take advantage of his illness. I can afford to pay a fair price since the cottage will be adequate for us.”

“But, Alicia, it is tiny!”
he protested.

“Yes, but it is also charming and we shall easily make do. And Stephen, make sure that the assistant, Mr. Allerton, is willing to work for a woman. Also, find out how soon I may take possession. I want things settled as quickly as possible. My solicitor is in Scarborough, and the funds from the sale of Katterly Grange, my share of them, are immediately available.”

Stephen could not accept this rash decision without demur. He was used to handling all the business for his family and found it difficult to see his sister invest her modest financial worth in such an endeavor on the basis of a few minutes’
inspection. His voice was tinged with sarcasm as he asked, “Would you not rather prefer to handle the transaction yourself?”