Before her grandfather had a chance to reply, Dougal gave a loud guffaw as he helped himself to a large piece of shortbread. ‘Ah ken ye all be acquentitwi’ the bonny Agnes,’ he chuckled, waving the biscuit towards his scowling companion, ‘An’ ah’d wager ma life savins the bampot didnae tell her.’ Still grinning, he shook his head and dipped the shortbread into his tea before pulling out the soggy lump remaining and sucking on it enthusiastically.
There was a pause as everyone looked expectantly at the clergyman, whose face was turning an interesting shade of puce.
‘You may not be aware, but Agnes works very closely with Mr Grimshaw, the local apothecary,’ Reverend Shackleford growled at length, throwing a murderous look towards his grinning travelling companion. ‘And unfortunately found it impossible to excuse herself from her obligations at this time.’
Faith shook her head and gave a loud sigh. ‘Really, Father, I think perhaps you would do well to discourage such an alliance – it’s only down to sheer luck that Stepmother hasn’t succeeded in poisoning the entire village.’
She looked expectantly at her father, who had the grace to look sheepish. After a second, he threw his hands in the air, before giving a resigned sigh and helping himself to another biscuit. ‘There’s no chance of that,’ he muttered. ‘Old Grimshaw gives her bottles filled with coloured water to test.’
‘Why on earth does he do that?’ Faith asked in bewilderment.
‘Because I pay him,’ was the Reverend’s blunt response. ‘A pretty deuced penny it costs me too. But it’s either that, or…’ He paused before adding in a strangled tone, ‘Conversation.’
There was another, lengthier silence, eventually broken by Dougal slapping his thighs in delight. ‘Augustus Shackleford, ahtruly didnae think ye had it in ye,’ he chuckled. ‘Ah be thinkin’ this calls fer a wee dram.’ He looked at Roan before directing his gaze pointedly towards the brandy decanter on the sideboard.
Roan looked flatly back, fighting a sudden illogical urge to grin. Perhaps the Almighty had indeed sent the two reprobates to break the monotony – a rousing argument was certainly better than staring at the never-ending rain. He was just about to climb to his feet when the doorbell rang. Frowning, he sank back into his chair and waited. A caller at this time of night was unlikely to be bringing good news.
A minute or so later, a knock on the door heralded the arrival of their housekeeper. ‘A note for you, sir,’ Mrs Bellamy informed him, hurrying over with a large envelope. ‘It’s from the Poulton’s Hotel. The lad is waiting on the step for an answer.’
Roan glanced over at his wife, guessing her apprehensive expression was a match for his. Seconds later, any burgeoning joviality vanished. He looked over at Faith. ‘Raphael Augustin is in Torquay and requesting an audience.’
For the first time in weeks, the following morning dawned sunny and crisp and, determined to take advantage of the sunshine while it lasted, Henrietta offered to take Flossy for a walk immediately after breakfast. Fortunately, her mother had already arranged to take Emma to the modiste, which meant that Henri had some time to herself away from the house for the first time in what felt like forever.
As she walked down the drive, Flossy happily rooting in the undergrowth beside her, Henrietta reflected on the unexpectedevents of the previous day. The knowledge that the King’s agent was in Torquay asking questions had sent a thrill of fear right through her, though in truth, she didn’t know why – it wasn’t as if her father had done anything wrong. She remembered her feelings about the Frenchman back at Blackmore – her instinct that Raphael Augustin was not a man to be crossed.
That her father was of the same opinion, she had no doubt, though he’d said very little on receipt of the note. After responding with an invitation for afternoon tea on the morrow – which was now today – he’d retreated to his study while the rest of them had retired to their respective bedchambers.
Pursing her lips, Henrietta opened the gate and stepped out onto the street, determined to put all thoughts of King’s men and spies out of her mind. It was wonderful to be outdoors, despite the morass underfoot. However, as she turned the corner onto the main thoroughfare leading down to the harbourside, the mud unfortunately became much thicker, having accumulated into a thick layer of sludge liberally mixed with rotting leaves and horse dung.
After a few yards, she was forced to pick Flossy up lest the little dog disappear completely into the foul-smelling muck. As she picked her way, she struggled to tuck Flossy underneath her arm whilst using her hands to hold up the hem of her skirt. Henrietta only hoped the waterfront promenade had at least been cleared of detritus. Any euphoria she’d felt at being out of the house slowly vanished – along with the sunshine.
Muttering to herself, Henri kept her eyes firmly on the ground. If she slipped over here,shemight never be seen again – never mind Flossy. After what felt like hours, the road finally began to level out enough for her to risk taking her eyes offthe treacherous ground. To her relief, the beginning of the promenade was only about fifty yards away.
And then it started to rain.
Henrietta gave a low moan. The one thing she hadn’t brought with her was an umbrella, and even if she had, she’d have been hard pushed to hold dress, dog and canopy. Her bonnet, sadly, was not made for sudden downpours. She didn’t know whether to stamp her feet or simply cry, but a temper tantrum wouldn’t stop her from getting soaked. After a second, she pursed her lips, put her head down and took a step forward… only for her foot to slide out from underneath her due to the sudden deluge. She emitted a most unladylike shriek as she fell backwards directly onto her posterior, where she sat in an ignominious heap, still gripping a now wriggling Flossy.
Seconds later, a carriage and four sailed straight past her prone form, liberally splashing her from head to toe with mud and goodness knew what else.
Her humiliation was complete, and since stamping her foot was no longer an option, she decided that tears would do perfectly well.
A moment later, just as her self-pitying wail was about to reach epic proportions, a shadow fell across her. Gulping she looked up… into the ice-blue eyes of Raphael Augustin.
‘Do you intend to sit there for the rest of the day, Mademoiselle, or may I assist you to your feet?’
Flossy wriggled even harder as Henrietta found herself saying the most ridiculous words ever uttered. ‘I’m perfectly fine, thank you, Sir,’ before wanting to bite out her tongue.
He raised his eyebrows – undoubtedly at her ridiculousness, before murmuring, ‘I think perhaps both your dog and your…derrièremight disagree with you, Miss Carew.’
He knew who she was. She’d been wrong earlier; her humiliation wasnowcomplete.
‘Please allow me to assist you, Mademoiselle.’ His voice was studiously polite, giving no hint that he considered her a complete mutton-head, and after the briefest of seconds, Henri gave a small sniff and gripped his proffered hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Nonsensically, the only thing running through her mind as he tugged was how lean, tanned andwarmhis fingers were.
Without hesitation, he lifted the now shivering Flossy out of her arms and tucked the little dog under his. ‘My hotel is across the road, Miss Carew. Allow me to accompany you into the warmth where I am certain they will have the means to… err, dry you out somewhat.’
Having lost the will to live somewhere between her absurd declaration of well-being and his mention of her backside, Henrietta allowed herself to be propelled across the road into the blessed warmth of the Poulton’s Hotel Lobby where she was fortunately very quickly ushered into a private room by two female members of staff. Minutes later, all but her undergarments had been removed, whisked away to be cleaned and replaced with a skirt and blouse embroidered with the wordsPoulton’s Hotel.
Though tempted to remain hidden away from prying eyes –two piercingly blue ones in particular - Henrietta abruptly remembered her rescuer still had hold of Flossy. She uttered a small gasp. How could she have forgotten? Who knew whatkind of treatment the little dog would receive from someone whospiedon people for a living? She ignored the little voice in her head declaring that Flossy had been paw deep in one havey cavey business after another since the day she came to Blackmore - at least her grandfather was a man of the cloth. Hurrying after the two ladies, she pulled open the door to the lobby, ready to snatch the little dog from the jaws of death – or at the very least being taught even more unsavoury habits - only to pause on the threshold in surprise.
