Henrietta spent the whole meal fighting the urge not to cry. She was the only other person who knew the informant’s identity,but Raphael had not looked her way until the very end, when he’d quietly, dispassionately, asked for her discretion. At her brief nod, he’d looked around the table. The inference was clear - the mission was far from over.
Fifteen
They reached Perros-Guirec just after dawn. Taffy was the first to leave the ship - rowed to the quayside after which he was to make his way to St. Malo and hopefully meet up with Fontaine and his men. The note that came with his less fortunate shipmate’s ear told him that someone would be waiting for him at the Grand’ Porte in St. Malo.
The plan was for the sailor to break both the good and bad news. The good news being that Tristan de Montclair had found a watery grave, and the bad – that theFaith and Fortunewas not headed to Rotheneuf, as they’d been led to believe, but directly to Perros-Guirec and on to Lannion.
The fact that Tristan had supposedly been removed from the playing field had not simply ended the matter. Taffy had been instructed to tell Fontaine that they were intending to announce the would-be Marquis’s fate to as many people as possible. The doubt cast upon Claude Fontaine would be damaging at the very least, and the adverse publicity certainly not to the liking of his shadowy master.
Rafe was counting on the fact that Fontaine would hasten back to Montclair, hoping to quash the damaging rumours before they had the chance to take hold.
Where they’d be waiting.
Raphael had no idea whether Taffy would be able to convince Fontaine of his nephew’s death, but at the very least it would sow confusion and buy them more time. And as for the sailor discovering the name of Mr Top Hat Man… In truth, Rafe didn’t hold out much hope. Claude Fontaine was undoubtedly the link, and he was unlikely to share what he knew unless forced. And despite his hard-nosed approach to the sailor’s questioning, Raphael was not actually in the habit of torturing people. Unless it was absolutely necessary, of course.
In all honesty, they’d gained more intelligence than Rafe had actually expected. It might take time, but he was convinced they’d eventually find the mastermind behind theRevisionistsand bring the bastard down.
Unfortunately, the elation he was accustomed to feeling at the thought of putting an end to such treachery was missing.
All he could see was Henrietta’s disillusioned face.
It was decided that the crew would remain on board under the command of Spalding. Under no circumstances were they to go ashore in the event they were needed in Lannion. While only a few of the men had served during the war with Napoleon, the majority were proficient in the use of both musket and sword.The country might no longer be at war, the seas were swarming with opportunist pirates.
In the meantime, their party would initially head to an inn in the village close to the Montclair estate. If Tristan was to be recognised, it would be by people who’d spent their lives in service to the old Marquis.
By Raphael’s estimation, they had three days at most before Fontaine and his men arrived. Ideally, the rumour of Tristan’s identity and homecoming would have already spread beyond the local community by that time. More than that though, it was imperative Tristan be already installed in the Chateau by the time the supposed caretaker returned and declared him a pretender. At the end of the day, possession was nine-tenths of the law, and it would be much more difficult for Fontaine to refute his nephew’s claim when said nephew was already ensconced within the Montclair estate.
It was early afternoon by the time they’d had themselves and all their luggage brought ashore, then another hour before they were able to summon sufficient carriages to take all of them to Lannion. Indeed, they attracted quite a bit of attention as they travelled in stately procession along the rutted road, but as Raphael had commented – every little helped. Hopefully, by the time they reached the inn outside the village of Montclair, their presence would have attracted plenty of attention.
Rafe himself had gone ahead to do an initial reconnaissance and set the scene for the party’s arrival. While waiting, he seated himself in the bar, making sure to take a table that was in full view of the patrons coming and going.
At first, after ordering himself a glass of red wine, he was roundly ignored, then gradually the sideways glances becamestares until finally, he was addressed directly by a jovial middle-aged man who’s red, thread veined features indicated a life spent mostly outdoors.
As he’d expected, the questions were initially quite formal and stilted, but Rafe couldn’t help noticing that nearly everyone present was unashamedly listening.
Naturally, the first two questions were his name and where he’d come from. He responded genially with his real name but added that he was anavocatwith a practice in St. Malo.
‘What’s a fancyavocatdoing in Lannion?’ his inquisitor asked.
Rafe waited slightly before answering, and when he did, he took care to ensure his voice contained the right amount of gravity. and. ‘I’m here with my client and his wife’s family,’ Rafe explained carefully. ‘He was sadly raised an orphan but has reason to believe his birth parents came from this area.’
Naturally such an admission broke the ice entirely and Rafe listened carefully as speculations and suggestions came thick and fast.
Finally, he deliberately set the cat among the pigeons by asking about Chateau Montclair…
All he needed to do now was wait for Tristan’s arrival. He suppressed an inward chuckle. Nobody in the bar had left, though likely many of them had things they needed to do. By his estimation, the rest of the party should be arriving within the hour. And then things would really get interesting…
As they waited for the carriages to arrive, Faith couldn’t help but notice Henrietta’s distant expression, so unlike her usual happy, no-nonsense self.
On witnessing her daughter’s acerbic comments to Raphael Augustin the day before, she’d felt a sudden prickling of anxiety. Was there something between the Frenchman and Henrietta that she wasn’t privy to?
The fact that Henri had left the table shortly afterwards suggested so. Unfortunately, in the hours since, Faith had found no opportunity to speak with her daughter alone – indeed, they’d hardly been in the same room together. Henrietta had for the most part been in the company of her grandfather, which was strange in itself, and gradually Faith realised that Henri was deliberately keeping her distance to avoid the discussion she knew her mother was waiting for.
Initially, Faith felt a stirring of frustration, followed by bewilderment. She and Henrietta had always been close, sharing most things in the way of friends rather than mother and daughter. With no title to worry about, manners and etiquette had not played such a large part in Henri’s upbringing, and she’d always been encouraged to speak her mind and share her views.
But naturally such freedom did not include what Faith very much feared amounted to a reckless romantic entanglement with a French spy…
‘Now don’t get me wrong, young lady, as a general rule, I enjoy your company, but I can’t help asking myself why exactly you’re sitting in a carriage with three old toasts and one whippersnapper when you could be exchanging the latest gossip with the ladies in the next carriage.’ The Reverend raised his eyebrows as he regarded his granddaughter with the same expression he usually reserved for Flossy when the little dog indulged in the incomprehensible habit of rolling in fox poo.
