‘That was Captain Carew’s ship?’ Raphael clarified.
Tristan nodded. ‘My earliest memories – those I am certain of – are from my life aboard the Albatross.’ He paused before adding, ‘I cannot see how the time before my imprisonment is relevant to current events. Iamsure I had never laid eyes on either D’Ansouis or Babin before I shared a cell with them.’
‘How can you be so certain?’
The two men stared at each other, and the other, older face again showed itself briefly.
Somehow, somewhere, Raphael knew he’d seen that face before…
Two
In contrast to the delightful summer, early autumn in the coastal town of Torquay felt particularly dreary. September ended with a soggy wimp and a myriad of complaints that the newly laid pavements were for the most part impossible to walk on, overflowing with red mud and silt washed down from the red stone cliffs surrounding the town after the copious amounts of rain throughout the month.
Indeed, the thunderous downpours had been so insistent that it became almost impossible to walk anywhere at all, and even those with private transport quickly grew unwilling to risk staining their clothing with the awful red dye that would splash onto the bottom of breeches and hems of skirts, just by simply stepping down from a carriage.
Unsurprisingly, tempers in most households were at breaking point. Henrietta thought she would go mad if she had to spend one more day cooped up in the house. Emma and Joshua, her two younger siblings, were on the verge of killing each other – though it would be a close-run thing as to whether they or their father actually did the heinous deed. Fortunately for everyoneconcerned, Josh would shortly be returning to school for the Michaelmas term.
As a man accustomed to being out in all weathers, Roan Carew found the confinement particularly galling and spent much of his time closeted in his study.
The only highlight of the month was the invitation to Roseanna and Tristan’s wedding, which had been scheduled to take place the following spring. Apparently neither the prospective bride or groom had been particularly happy about the delay, but Rosie’s father - bringing the full weight of both his influence and his title as the Viscount Northwood – had insisted that his daughter’s future marital home be entirely suitable before he walked her down the aisle.
In truth, it wasn’t Gabriel Atwood’s usual wont to exercise either his wealth or his standing, but given that his only experience of Tristan Bernart had been during the throes of a conspiracy, the Viscount was understandably concerned.
Naturally, Roan had vouched for the soon-to-be groom, having known him for more than twenty years, but Gabriel’s response had been to mutter that that was the only reason the deuced Frenchman hadn’t been thrown out on his ear…
Then, as September turned into October, and the ground became even more treacherous with piles of fallen leaves fusing with the endless mud, two things happened - both of which might well have served to alleviate the boredom but most definitely did nothing for the tension…
‘You simply cannot leave him to make these visits alone.’ Grace’s voice had been unusually commanding, even shrill, and even now the Reverend couldn’t believe he’d actually listened.
‘It’s not my fault Jennifer wed herself to a man whose father’s dicked in the deuced nob. I can’t possibly follow the rascal around the country. I have duties to take care of.’
‘What duties?’
Reverend Shackleford groaned inside as he realised how neatly his daughter had trapped him. And to make matters worse, she’d threatened to withdraw his use of her husband’s best carriage with the extra springs - the one he used to take him for his daily tankard of ale at the Red Lion - if he brought Dougal back before at least the end of October.
So now, here he was three weeks later on the fifth leg of a countrywide tour that had seen him practically thrown out of four of his offsprings’ residences. Oh, they might not have couched it quite like that, but the excuses definitely rivalled many of the Canterbury tales he’d come up with over the years. Indeed, if he hadn’t been so frustrated, the Reverend would have been seriously impressed. The only person who hadn’t even bothered with a pretext was Patience, who’d told her father in no uncertain terms that if he didn’t remove Dougal Galbraith from her home, she would ensure his removal in a box – family be damned. Augustus Shackleford knew his daughter well enough to realise she wasn’t joking. Thunder an’ turf, he’d raised a bunch of deuced harpies.
The Reverend looked over at his nemesis. The Scot was snoring in the opposite corner of the carriage, completely oblivious to the mayhem he’d caused – although the clergyman wasn’t entirely sure whether Dougal was ignorant or didn’t give a tinker’s damn. But then, at least one of them was having fun.
With an inward sigh, Reverend Shackleford looked down at Flossy, currently snuggled up in his cassock. The little dog didn’t care either, and her ever-increasing girth was ample evidence of how much she was enjoying herself.
Their carriage had left Ravenstone three days earlier and, by the Reverend’s estimate, they would reach Torquay on the morrow. He’d been very evasive when speaking to Tempy about where they were headed, hinting that they’d likely return to Blackmore before deciding where to go next. Had he been foolish enough to name their destination, she’d have sent an urgent missive to Faith which would likely arrive at Redstone House before they did, thus providing Faith and Roan sufficient time to come up with an excuse to send them packing before they’d even arrived.
Grimacing, the Reverend found himself wishing he really could make a brief stop at Blackmore to see Percy. Even after all these years, his curate had the ability to make any problem seem slightly less insurmountable. It wasn’t that Percy had ever provided much in the way of practical help whenever they found themselves in the suds - in truth he’d always been a bit of a chucklehead when it came to taking matters into his own hands - but somehow the Reverend had always come up his most impressive ideas when Percy was with him. As a result, they’d put a rub in the way of more than one blackguard involved in one kind of smoky business or another.
Augustus Shackleford leaned back against his son-in-law’s luxurious upholstery, deep in thought. Would it be possible tomake a quick stop in Blackmore without his wife Agnes finding out? A swift pint at the Lion with his oldest (and admittedly only) friend would go a long way to lightening his sour mood. But then, would Percy’s wife Lizzy agree to keeping such a visit secret from Agnes? He’d be assured of a full month of curtain lectures if his beloved ever found out. It was a shame old Percy couldn’t take a short holiday to join him in Torquay – it would certainly make the stay there more palatable.
Abruptly the Reverend sat forward, almost knocking Flossy off his lap. Why couldn’t Percy join him for a week or two? Mayhap he could even bring young Finn with him?
Of course, under normal circumstances, the Reverend would sooner have donned a hair shirt for a month than give Dougal further opportunity to fill young Finn’s ears with more totty-headed ideas, but he reasoned that even the Almighty would see this as an emergency.
But then, who’d take care of Percy’s parish duties? That would be a tricky one. The last thing he wanted to do was to bring Blackmore to the attention of the Bishop of Exeter. The mutton-head still hadn’t forgotten that havey-cavey business with Anthony’s wife a few years earlier, and in truth, it was only the Duke’s influence that had kept both him and Percy in a job.
The Reverend sighed. This would test even his legendary resources. He looked over at his still snoring companion, then outside at the rain lashed landscape. At the end of the day, it wasn’t like he had anything else to do…
Raphael had purposefully offered no advance warning of his impending visit to the Carew household. If he wasn’t expected, there was less chance of those being interviewed having the time to fabricate a bag of moonshine. In his experience, it was also the best way to encourage unguarded comments.
However, as his carriage finally came to a halt outside the Poulton’s Hotel on Torquay’s elegant Strand, he couldn’t help wondering whether on this occasion, he’d made a grave error.
