Inexplicably reluctant to greet the latest guests, Henri retreated back up the stairs before she was spotted and watched from the shadows as the three men were taken immediately into the drawing room. Once the entrance hall was clear, she hurried downstairs, just as the front door opened again, this time to admit the Reverend, Percy, Finn and Dougal. To her alarm, her grandfather was leaning on Percy’s arm. His pallor was that of a seven-day-old corpse – though, in fairness, she couldn’t say for sure, since she’d never actually seen one.
Completely forgetting her earlier rancour towards him, she gasped. ‘What on earth happened to you, Grandpapa? Have you been injured?’
‘Ye’d be better tae ask that wee Jezebel doon there,’ Dougal muttered darkly, nodding towards Flossy, who had the grace to look a little sheepish.
‘It wasnae Flossy’s fault,’ countered Finn urgently as Henrietta helped Percy get the Reverend into the library. ‘She jus’ wanted the biscuit.’
With a frown, Henri sat her grandfather in a chair facing the fire before fetching a stool for him to rest his feet on. ‘Can I get you anything, Grandpapa?’ she asked, suddenly afraid he might truly be at death’s door. A long groan was her answer.
‘Go and ask Sarah to bring some tea,’ she told Finn, fear gripping her
A surprisingly strong hand gripped her arm. ‘Never mind tea, I’ll have a brandy,’ the clergyman declared, before collapsing backwards and giving another, more theatrical groan.
Henrietta eyed him speculatively before turning to Percy. ‘Is he truly hurt, Mr Noon?’ she asked archly.
‘I think it’s his pride more than anything,’ the curate retorted with a sigh, earning him a disgruntled look. ‘Well, if we’re being entirely truthful, Sir, if you really had any more than a few bruises, I’d be giving you the last rites.’
‘I might still,’ Augustus Shackleford muttered defensively. ‘Tare an’ hounds Percy, I’m beginning to think you’re turning into a rusty guts. Look at how many times I’ve looked after you over the years? I mean all those bumps on the deuced head. To be honest, it’s a wonder you’re not addled.’
‘Most of those bumps were as a result of being with you, Sir,’ Percy responded tartly.
‘What be addled?’ asked Finn with interest. ‘Be it abampotlike Dougal?’
‘Ah’ll hae ye ken ah be as sharp as if ah’d bin livin’ on Glasgow mustard,’ Dougal protested.
‘Brandy…’ The Reverend’s groans were becoming ever more dramatic.
‘If the priest is planning an imminent meeting with his maker, I think perhaps it would be a good plan to ensure he is not entirely foxed.’ The dry voice sounded from the doorway.
‘Chance would be a fine thing indeed,’ Augustus Shackleford retorted, finally abandoning hiswoe is merhetoric and sitting up.
Henrietta’s face flamed at the sight of Raphael Augustin standing in the doorway.
‘Is the meeting over?’ she asked, proud of the evenness in her voice.
The agent shook his head as he advanced into the room. ‘There are deliberations your family need to make without the presence of an outsider,’ he stated with a shrug, ‘and in truth, I cannot argue with your grandfather – there are occasions when only a large brandy will do.’ He turned towards Percy. ‘We have not yet been introduced, Sir, but may I pour you a glass?’
‘Err, this is Percy Noon, Grandfather’s curate,’ Henrietta hurriedly interrupted, ‘He’s recently arrived with his son Finn.’ She pointed at the boy, who saluted with a grin.
‘So, laddie, ye giein’ the thievin’ Sassenachs the good stuff and leavin the rest o’ us wi’lemonade?’ Dougal questioned scornfully before Rafe could ask what the devil the curate and his son were doing here.
Gritting his teeth, Raphael turned his head to look at the eccentric Scot, eyebrows raised.
‘Ah thought ye’d niver ask,’ Dougal grinned, rubbing his hands together.
The agent returned to Percy, who coughed and murmured, ‘It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Augustin. I believe we missed one another at Blackmore. I have to admit it’s been a very tiring day, and a brandy would be very welcome, thank you.’
To Henri’s surprise, Raphael then turned to her. ‘Even after so many years in your country, I still do not fully understand theetiquette that governs your society, so I will beg your forgiveness and ask anyway. May I pour you a small brandy, Miss Carew?’
Given the resulting flush of colour on her face, he might as well have asked if he could kiss her, and Henrietta was not unaware of the interested stares of the rest of the room, making matters much, much worse. ‘I thank you, but no,’ she managed after giving a small, embarrassed cough. The last thing she needed at this moment in time was to be half-sprung.
‘It’s actually fortuitous you turned up,’ the Reverend declared, completely abandoning hisat death’s doorstance once he had a brandy in his hand.
Raphael raised his eyebrows. ‘How so?’ he asked politely. ‘Do you have something you wish to share, Reverend Shackleford?’
Henrietta glared at her grandfather while at the same time experiencing a sudden violent desire to box his ears. She knew exactly what he was about to say, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. Meanwhile, Percy looked bewildered, Dougal was practically hopping from one foot to another in anticipation, and Finn piped up helpfully, ‘The Revren says ah be gaun taeinvestigate.’
‘Investigate what, exactly?’ the Frenchman quizzed, his tone deceptively mild.
