As far as she was aware, he’d been taking his meals alone in his bedchamber – he’d certainly made little effort to socialise with the family. Likely he thought them all dicked in the nob. She found herself grinning again, wishing she could be present during the upcoming interview. Not that there was even the remotest chance of that – unless she could find somewhere within listening distance to eavesdrop.
The last week had been undeniably exciting, particularly to the younger members of the family, who’d been inclined to view the so-called conspiracy as a bit of a lark.
Until the bullet intended for the King had struck Tristan Bernart.
Henrietta shuddered as she remembered the sudden deafening silence after the shot rang out. Until that moment, no one had had the slightest indication that there was anything between Rosie and the supposed footman, and her abrupt, terrified cry had added another layer of unreality to what already felt like a fantasy.
During the days that followed, the sense that they were all living in a bizarre dream deepened, with the King demanding answers while his entourage searched every inch of Blackmore and Tristan fought for his life. It was only when the Frenchman was finally pronounced out of danger that the King returned to Whitehall, leaving his agent to pursue his enquiries. Though she hadn’t seen it for herself, Henrietta had been told that the Comte d’Ansouis had been taken under armed guard back to London. She suppressed another shudder at the thought of what would likely happen to him as a traitor.
Henri shook her head to rid herself of such maudlin thoughts. The whole family were going their separate ways on the morrow,and she was determined not to spend the last day with her emotions tied up in knots. She looked over at Roseanna, who was now walking slowly along the path skirting the lake, back towards their picnic. She was arm in arm with her beau, who was plainly still recovering from his wound, while Francesca deliberately dawdled behind. Even from here, her happiness was palpable and in direct contrast to her earlier envy, Henrietta felt a sudden bubbling of joy for her reclusive cousin.
If such happiness could happen to Rosie, whose wont was not even to leave her bedchamber unless forced, then it could truly happen to any of them…
‘Tare an’ hounds, I think it’s about deuced time Jenny and Brendan took you home,’ Reverend Shackleford commented sourly.
‘Ah dinnae ken wha’ the devil ye mean.’ Dougal Galbraith’s tone was the epitome of innocence, even as the grin on his face told a completely different story. ‘Ah bin thinkin’ tae stay a wee bit longer, see a wee bit more o’ Devonshire afore ah gae back tae Caerlaverock.’
The Reverend gazed at the Scot in horror. If Jenny and Brendan returned north without him, there was only one person who would be tasked with keeping the troublemaker in check. Augustus Shackleford gritted his teeth. Surely the Almighty wouldn’t be expecting still more from him? Wasn’t foiling yet another deuced treasonous plot enough to guarantee him celestial tea and toast when the time came? It had to be said that so far retirement was not turning out to be all the Reverend had hoped.
‘Ah ken ye be a busy man, Augustus,’ Dougal went on oblivious to his companion’s expression, ‘So dinnae fash yersel, ah’ll nae bother ye.
‘As ye ken, ah niver bin daft aboot all ye Sassenachs, an’ ah bin thinkin’ it be time ah put ma prejudices tae bed.’ He waited for a second, likely expecting the Reverend to pat him on the back for such words of self-sacrifice. However, when the clergyman said nothing, Dougal frowned slightly before throwing his hands wide and declaring dramatically, ‘As ye all be ma daughter-in-law’s family, ah’m gaun tae stay wi all o’ ye.
‘An ah’ll dae it one at a time…’
‘I had not anticipated your family members departing quite so swiftly,’ Raphael commented through gritted teeth. ‘One evening to question everybody involved is not nearly enough time.’
Nicholas Sinclair stared at Augustin impassively. He gave no sign that it had indeed been a deliberate ploy on his part to keep the agent from questioning his family, though clearly the Frenchman suspected as much.
‘We have told you everything we know,’ he responded truthfully. ‘I do not believe the conspiracy had anything to do with your countrymen aside from the fact that theRevisionists’leader was impersonating one.’
‘You cannot say such a thing with certainty,’ Rafe retorted, trying to keep his anger in check. He looked around the Duke’s study. It was clear that none of the men in the room trusted him. ‘AndI cannot discount the fact that Monsieur Bernart here is also French.’
‘As are you,’ Jamie Fitzroy commented mildly.
‘Why would he have gone to such lengths to save the King’s life if he’d been part of the conspiracy?’ In contrast, Adam Colborne’s voice was clipped.
Rafe spread his hands, unable to contain his frustration. ‘I am not your enemy, gentlemen. I am the King’s man, tasked with ensuring his majesty’s continued wellbeing.’
‘And I applaud you for that,’ Nicholas responded. ‘However, you must understand our concern. We are not in the business of putting our families in harm’s way. You have not been entirely truthful with us, Monsieur Augustin. You are not simply King William’s man – you are the head of his intelligence agency, and I’m given to understand that your remit is to search out and deal with rumours ofFrenchinsurrection. In my opinion, what happened here has nothing to do with events across the channel.’
Raphael felt a calmness settle over him. The Duke of Blackmore was no traitor - of that he was certain. But he could not be so sure of the others around the table. Especially the sea captain. Roan Carew had been tasked with rescuing the real Comte d’Ansouis together with the man who’d taken his place - Etienne Babin. Rafe very much doubted it was his only clandestine operation on French soil. And Tristan Bernart had been working for the man ever since.
But it was becoming very clear he would get nothing more in Blackmore. He would return to the King and ask permission to question Roan Carew further.
‘What exactly dae ye think we could be guilty of?’ Malcolm Mackenzie quizzed him. Rafe looked over at the grizzled Scot. For a reason he wasn’t privy to - aside from the fact that the man had nursed Bernart back to health, the Duke’svaletof all people had been invited to the table.
‘It would be remiss of me to leave any stone unturned,’ was all Raphael responded. ‘I’m certain you are all very aware ofLes Trois Glorieuses- the July revolution replacing King Charles X with his cousin Louis Philippe, the former Duke of Orléans. French insurrections rarely take place without some repercussions across the Channel.’
‘Naturally we are cognisant of theThree Glorious Days,’ Nicholas responded levelly, ‘and you may rest assured that if any information comes to light connecting theRevisioniststo the July Revolution in France, his majesty will be the first to know.’
Only partially satisfied, Raphael nodded and looked over at Tristan Bernart, who so far had said very little. The man’s waxen appearance was clear evidence of the injury he’d sustained on behalf of his adopted sovereign.
‘Do you remember anything of your childhood?’ Rafe asked carefully. ‘I’m referring to the time before you were imprisoned in Mont Saint-Michel?’
Tristan Bernart gazed steadily back, his expression inscrutable, and for a fleeting moment, another face flashed into Rafe’s mind. An older, ruddier version of the man sitting in front of him. The agent frowned, and a second later the image was gone.
‘I have vague memories of being in a house,’ he responded with a shrug. ‘More of a sense really than anything rooted in reality. Iseem to remember ships too, though I’m uncertain whether my memories are showing me the Albatross.’
