‘We dinnae ken that fer sure,’ Dougal protested, seeing his trip to France disappearing faster than he could saySassenach.
‘They also mentioned Montclair,’ Henrietta interrupted. ‘That’s what caught my interest. I think we should tell my father.’
‘Noo, just haud on, mebbe we need tae check the facts first,’ Dougal countered hurriedly. ‘Ah mean, gaun half-cocked an’ accusin’ random sailors o’ bein’ Froggies will nae gie us the bampot. Ah’m thinkin’ we need tae come up wi’ a plan.’
Henrietta looked askance at the Scot. ‘I have a plan – to tell my father.’
Reverend Shackleford pursed his lips, wondering if Percy and Finn’s imminent arrival could actually be divine intervention after all. He gave a self-conscious cough before declaring loudly, ‘It’s a shame Percy and Finn aren’t here...’
‘Grandfather, surely you…’
‘…Aye, Finn’s the lad we need,’ Dougal enthused. ‘We’ll nae find better tae dae a spot o’ lurkin’ wi-oot giein the game away.’
‘Surely you can’t be…’ Henrietta sputtered.
‘… It’s true, Finn’s a dab hand at making himself invisible,’ the Reverend agreed fervently. Suddenly his presentment of doom seemed much less…doomlike. He gave an enthusiastic nod for good measure, only to suddenly freeze suddenly as a small, familiar voice spoke up at his elbow.
‘What we investigatin’ Revren?’ the small, familiar voice suddenly cut in. The three of them turned round to find themselves staring into the grinning face of Finn Noon. ‘Hae ye got any tablet?’
Heart thudding, Raphael spread the missive out on the flat surface. It was badly creased, making some of the words difficult to read. Glancing over to the window, he realised that the light was almost gone – a whole afternoon had passed while he’d been engrossed in his father’s words. Hurriedly rising from his chair, Rafe lit the candle already waiting on the desk and moved it closer to the cramped writing.
A minute or so later, he sat down heavily.
Philippe de Montclair had a bastard half-brother. His name was Claude Fontaine.
The letter spoke of the Marquis’s initial joy at the discovery, his efforts to ensure that his half sibling received the best possible education, despite his illegitimacy. All was apparently well until Philippe’s son Tristan was born. Soon after, Claude disappeared and despite extensive enquiries commissioned by the Marquis, he’d seemingly vanished into thin air.
The letter requested that on the event of his death, Etienne was to make doubly sure that Claude Fontaine was given one thousand francs – the sum already written into the Marquis’s will. As a bastard son, Claude could never inherit, even if there had been no legitimate heir, but Philippe wanted to ensure his brother was financially secure at the very least. The letter was signed and dated 5thMarch 1803. Below the signature was the official Montclair seal.
Raphael sat back in his chair, the pieces finally beginning to coalesce into a picture that made his blood run cold. The man posing as a distant cousin was in reality Philippe de Montclair's half-brother. It explained everything – his resemblance to the family, the refusal to claim the title, and most damning of all, the motive. He might never be able to inherit, but he could certainly steal what he believed should have been his by right.
And clearly Fontaine had known about young Tristan's existence all those years ago...
But what it didn’t tell him was whether the attack on Montclair was purely for personal gain, or part of a larger conspiracy as he’d previously suspected.
And was the presence of Tristan in the same cell as d’Ansouis and Babin coincidence, or was he placed there deliberately?
Rafe's hand curled into a fist on the desk. Had Fontaine suspected all along that Tristan Montclair was alive and well? If so, they could well be sailing directly into a trap…
Flossy of course was over the moon at the unexpected arrival of her second love and threw herself into the boy’s arms with reckless abandon. After laughing and kissing her soundly on the nose, Finn tucked her under his arm, and without waiting to be invited, used his other hand to noisily drag over another chair, completely oblivious to the disapproving stares directed at him from other patrons. Once the seat was situated to his satisfaction - as close to the plate of biscuits as possible – he placed Flossy onto his lap and solemnly asked the little dog whether she’d prefer a wafer or a piece of shortbread.
Finally recovering from his surprise, the Reverend immediately looked round for Percy.
‘Where the deuce is your father?’ he asked when there seemed to be no sign of his curate.
‘You didn’t come from Blackmore all on your own, did you?’ Henrietta was horrified.
‘Ah wouldnae be surprised,’ chortled Dougal. ‘The lad’s nae a feardie Sassenach.’
‘Da’s bin lookin’ fer ye, Revren,’ Finn announced, helping himself to two biscuits in each hand. ‘An’ ah reckon he be fair fizzin wi ye.’ His voice dropped as he declared the last sentenceand he looked furtively round the room as though expecting his father to pop out from behind a curtain.
‘Tare an’ hounds, he’s not been chasing you since Blackmore, has he?’ The Reverend Shackleford muttered, wondering if he was going to be in even more hot water when the angry curate finally caught up with him – though in all honesty, he couldn’t imagine what had Percy so up in the boughs – after all, he hadn’t been told anything yet.
‘I think we need to tell your father where you are,’ Henrietta stated firmly, ‘He’s probably worried sick.’ She rose determinedly to her feet and pulled on her gloves. ‘I expect you will wish to know why Finn believes his father is upset, Grandfather,’ she continued briskly, eying her grandparent narrowly.
Augustus Shackleford stared back with an air of baffled innocence. In truth, he’d never wanted anything less, but at the end of the day, if this truly was the Almighty’s plan, then the clergyman simply had to trust that He would inspire a suitable Canterbury tale to support it.
However, before they had chance to actually vacate the table, Percy Noon finally appeared at the door.
