Chapter 12
When she opened her eyes and saw the light-drenched brocade canopy, for a moment Alys thought she was home in Carleon. Then memory snapped her back to the present. Carleon was irrevocably lost. Now she was the steward of Strickland, homeless and possessing no more than a shift and a robe with burned spots. Oh, yes, she also owned a cat and a mare.
From the angle of the sun, it was late. She sat up in bed and stretched. As she did, a knock sounded, followed by Merry's golden head.
“Good, you're awake.” The rest of Meredith followed into the room, along with a tray holding steaming coffee and a plate of fresh bread rolls. “Mr. Davenport said not to disturb you, but I knew that without your coffee, you'd never wake up properly.”
Alys accepted the hot drink gratefully and leaned back against the headboard of the bed. “When you decide whom to marry, I will send references to whatever lucky man you have chosen. You always know exactly what a person needs.”
Meredith laughed and settled gracefully into a chair. She wore a plain calico dress that didn't quite fit, but showed no signs of harm from the night's disaster.
Alys asked, “How are the boys?”
“They're fine. Mr. Davenport found some clothes for them in the village, then packed them off to school. This afternoon a seamstress is coming to take our measurements so proper things can be made up.”
Alys felt a spurt of annoyance at his high-handedness, but had to give him credit for efficiency.
Merry helped herself to a fresh roll and spread marmalade on it. “He said he's sorry there aren't any women's clothes available in your size, but he found some men's things that should fit.” The girl gestured at the garments in question, which lay across a chair. “He said that when it's convenient, he would like to talk to you in the library.”
It was born in on Alys that Davenport had made a strong impression on Meredith. Her entire conversation seemed to revolve around his words and wishes.
A moment later another concern was laid to rest. Merry had left the door ajar, and now Attila strolled through. His lofty dignity was intact even though his tail was much less plume-like than usual.
“I'm so glad Attila is all right,” Alys exclaimed as the cat jumped on the bed, then walked up to sniff at the roll in her right hand.
“It takes more than a fire to disconcert Attila,” Merry said with amusement. “This morning, he showed up at the kitchen door and demanded to be fed as if he hadn't a care in the world. Some of his hair had charred ends that I trimmed off, but he appears to have taken no real harm.”
“Obviously not. It didn't take him long to find out where the food is.” Alys put aside roll and mug to cuddle the cat on her lap. He settled down, purring.
As she scratched his neck, Alys noticed that most of his magnificent long whiskers were gone, leaving only short stubs. “Look at the poor fellow's whiskers,” she said. Those whiskers that were left were curled into tight little corkscrews. She tentatively touched one. Made brittle by heat, it snapped off, leaving another stub. “He'll have to be careful going into narrow places until these grow back.”
“Attila got off very lightly,” Meredith pointed out. “If you hadn't been clutching him when Mr. Davenport brought you out of the house, he'd be in cat heaven now.”
“I got off very lightly, too,” Alys said with feeling. “I thought my time had come last night.”
Merry's face instantly sobered. “We all did,” she said, unable to suppress a tremor in her voice. “We were sure you were gone. And Mr. Davenport, too, when he went back into the house ...” She shuddered, her brightness dimmed. In her young life, she had already lost too many loved ones.
“It takes more than a little fire to get rid of me,” Alys said, moving Attila to one side so she could swing her long legs out of the bed. As her feet touched the floor, she said involuntarily, “Ouch!”
“What's wrong?”
Alys perched on the edge of the bed and examined her soot-stained feet. “I didn't pay much attention last night, but I banged my toes at least once, and the floor was very hot. Now, don't look so upset,” she added quickly, “and don't you
dare
hover over me as if I were an aging relation.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Merry said meekly.
Alys wriggled her toes experimentally. “There's no real damage, but I would dearly love a bath.”
“The water should be here any moment,” Meredith said. Right on cue, a soft knock sounded on the door, and two maids carrying coppers of hot water entered.
“I'll write you two references, not one,” Alys promised.
Once she was alone in the hip bath, she surrendered to the bliss of soaking soot and soreness away. She finished by washing the scent of smoke from her thick hair, then climbed from the tub with regret, not quite ready for the unavoidable world that waited outside her bedroom door.
She toweled her hair dry before combing and braiding it into her usual coronet. Then she dressed. Her employer had done a good job choosing clothing. Doubtless he was expert at judging a woman's measurements, she thought with a touch of acid. The trousers were inevitably a bit tight in the hip and much too loose in the waist, and the boots and socks were a little large, but they would do.
Reminding herself that beggars couldn't be choosers, she went downstairs. Davenport was working in the library. He got to his feet as she entered. “You look well recovered.”
“I am.” She chose a chair. “Attila and I owe you a considerable debt of gratitude.”
“You might, but Attila doesn't. I assure you, any rescuing of that worthless creature was purely accidental,” he said with a smile as he sat down again.
The black and white collie trotted over from where it had been lying at Davenport's feet. Alys ruffled the dog's furry neck. “Speaking of worthless creatures, I see you still haven't found a home for the dog.”
“Last night, the collie proved that she wasn't entirely worthless, so I think she's earned the right to stay.” At Alys's inquiring look he explained, “We were taking a walk last night when she smelled smoke and insisted on investigating. If she hadn't, I might not have been on the scene in time.”
Alys looked into the collie's limpid brown eyes. “Thank you, Dog.” Looking up with a smile, she said, “If you're going to keep her, you'll have to give her a name.”
“You mean I can't just call her Dog?”
“I suppose so,” she said dubiously, “but it would be better for her self-respect if she had a name of her own.”
Reggie's light eyes twinkled. “In addition to your other skills, you're also an expert on canine self-esteem?”
“No, but I have opinions on everything,” she said with a straight face.
Reggie laughed. “Very well. If she must have a name, how about Nemesis?”
Alys grinned. “That seems appropriate, since she seems to be your fate.” More seriously, she asked, “I trust you are well? You were exposed to your share of smoke and fire last night. You could have been killed.”
He looked faintly uncomfortable. “Don't paint me as a hero, Allie. It was in my own best interest to save you. With a less efficient steward, I might actually have to do some work myself.”
Alys gave a sniff of disbelief. “You will do as much or as little as you please, either with me or without me.” Then, curiously, she asked, “How did you manage to find me in that inferno?”
He shrugged dismissively. “I heard you cry out and knew you couldn't be too far down the hall, so I took the drawing room carpet and threw it over the flames. It created a temporary firebreak.”
Alys thought of the moment when she had realized that she was trapped, and shivered. “That was quick thinking.”
There was silence for a moment. Deciding that it was time to start talking about the future, she said, “I also appreciate your letting us stay here last night. I'm afraid it will take a day or two to make long-term arrangements, but we can move to the Silent Woman this afternoon and get out from under your feet.”
“Nonsense. There's ample room here.” He toyed with a letter opener for a moment, his beautiful long fingers graceful. “Actually, the simplest solution to finding you a home is for all of you to stay here.”
Alys stared at him. For a moment she thought she detected a touch of diffidence in his suggestion. She dismissed the thought; diffidence was not a quality she could associate with Reggie Davenport. “Don't be absurd. It would be wholly inappropriate.”
“Your contract states that I provide you with housing. With Rose Hall gone, there's no suitable residence on the estate,” he pointed out. “All of the tenant cottages are occupied, and my housekeeper says there are no houses to let that are close enough.”
Alys bit her lip, knowing he was right. As steward, she needed to be available, not miles away. Besides, the boys' school and the children's friends were all nearby. It would be extremely convenient to stay at the manor. But she was uneasily aware that she had felt a treacherous tickle of pleasure at the thought of sharing a house with her employer. Absurdly, she liked having the man around, liked talking to him.
Would like to kiss him again.
Suppressing the thought, she considered Meredith. Would a responsible guardian let an innocent girl live under the same roof as a rake?
With his usual uncanny perception, Davenport said, “If you're worried about propriety, I think that having the whole family here would rate as suitable chaperonage.”
And a thirty-year-old, dyed-in-the-wool spinster certainly made a good chaperone. No rake could possibly be interested in her. At least, not when he was sober. Alys said, “I'll consider your suggestion, and discuss it with the children.”
“I trust that you don't think one more night here will compromise you?”
“I suppose not,” she allowed ungraciously.
He appeared amused at her quandary, but said only, “Do you feel ready to look at what's left of Rose Hall?”
It had to be done sooner or later. She nodded, and together they went outside and made the short walk to her former home.
A house looked much smaller when only stone walls remained. Rose Hall was a desolate shell, the windows blank and empty. There would be nothing worth salvaging, for the destruction was nearly total. The roof and floors had collapsed all the way through to the cellar, and smoke still curled from charred beams. Incongruously, a few flowers bloomed where the beds hadn't been trampled the night before.
Alys circled the remains of the house, picking her way around blackened fragments of wood and shattered slates. When she thought of how close she had come to leaving her burned bones among the embers, she shuddered. She suspected that for the rest of her life, her dreams would relive the panic of being circled by fire. Perhaps, if she were lucky, that would displace her other recurring nightmare.
Davenport's voice pulled her back from her dark thoughts. “How much did you lose in the way of personal belongings?”
“The usual things. Books, clothes, mementos. The bits and pieces that define a life.” Alys shrugged, exerting iron control. “There was nothing very valuable kept in the house. My savings and the best pieces of jewelry Meredith inherited from her mother are in the bank at Shaftesbury. The only real loss for me ...” She stopped.
When she didn't continue, he prompted, “The only real loss was ... ?”
Her throat tightened. “I had a locket with my mother's picture in it.”
“I'm sorry,” he said gently.
His sympathy brought a quick sting of tears to her eyes. Perhaps that was why her all-too-perceptive employer changed the subject.
“Have you any idea what might have caused the fire?”
The practical question restored Alys's composure. “To be honest, I hadn't thought about it. At this season the fireplaces weren't lit. The only source of fire would be the banked coals in the kitchen, or a lamp or candle if someone was still awake.”
“I doubt it was a lamp. When I walked by, I didn't see any lights. I remember thinking that everyone must be long since asleep. As for the kitchen, it was on that side of the house, wasn't it?” Davenport pointed.
When Alys nodded, he began circling the ruins, his eyes narrowed. “The fire began at the west end of the house, probably in the cellar. I came along about the time the flames had burned through to the ground floor and had become visible.”
Alys frowned. “I know that sometimes fires can start spontaneously in piles of rags or rubbish, but our cellar was quite orderly, and rather damp to boot. I can't think of anything there that might have started a fire.”
Reggie absently rolled over a blackened piece of wood with the toe of his polished boot. “Do you have any serious enemies?”