She got to her feet. ‘My shawl did not get wet, and it is not particularly cold. I am certain it will suffice. Thank you again for your assistance, Sir.Come Flossy.’
At the sound of her name, the little dog finally looked up. Then, giving a small yawn, jumped nonchalantly to the floor. Henrietta stepped around the table, intending to pick up the now-trailing lead.
Unfortunately, instead of gathering it up, she inadvertently trod on it, just as Flossy caught sight of a cat slinking through the front door. With a furious bark, the pooch took off towards her quarry, causing Henri to overbalance and fall backwards,again, but this time directly into Raphael Augustin’s lap…
Four
‘I do not think you are the kind of man who would wish to waste the next hour in polite conversation, Mr Augustin, so, I will go ahead and ask the question. Why are you here?’
Roan’s query was delivered with freezing politeness, almost incongruous as they regarded each other over their bone China teacups.
However, if he was hoping to catch the Frenchman off guard, he was disappointed. Raphael was more than accustomed to those he questioned attempting to put him at a disadvantage. And on this occasion, he’d already decided to lay all his cards on the table.
Which, of course, had nothing at all to do with the events of the morning…
Since being shown into the drawing room, Rafe had deliberately avoided looking over at Henrietta Shackleford. He had no idea whether she’d revealed anything at all about their impromptu meeting but thought it extremely unlikely that she’d spoken of her ignominious fall into his lap. Indeed, the chances of anyoneactually having witnessed the event were slim to none, since she shot off his knees like all hell was after her. But then, the problem was not what actually happened, but his reaction to it…
Rafe gritted his teeth, then forced himself to relax. The occasional schoolboy reaction to the feel of an attractive woman against him was not something to be concerned about.
Deliberately taking his time, he finished his tea and placed the empty cup back on the table. Then, leaning against the back of his chair, he regarded the occupants of the room with a calmness he was far from feeling inside.
He couldn’t deny it was a good turnout. Not only was Roan Carew and his eldest daughter present but also his wife and, if Rafe’s memory served him correctly, the father-in-law clergyman. The only person whose identity he couldn’t quite place was a wild-looking Scotsman who seemed to think the whole proceedings were an entertaining diversion put on specially for him, if his delighted grin was anything to go by.
Raphael knew his next words would be the very last ones his audience would be expecting. He leaned forward, saying simply, ‘Captain Carew, I have reason to believe that the man you know as Tristan Bernart is, in fact, Tristan Antoine de Montclair, the son of Philippe and Catherine de Montclair, and the lost heir of the Montclair family.’
Raphael had been prepared for the tumult his words would create and watched Roan Carew’s face carefully as he spoke, but other than a slight widening of his eyes, the sea captain did not seem particularly shocked by the revelation. Had he already known?
After a few seconds, as the clamour at his revelation died down, Roan spoke. ‘I cannot say I’m entirely surprised.’ His voice was thoughtful more than anything. Rafe raised his eyebrows but did not interrupt. ‘From the very moment he joined my ship, there was a… presence about him. He rose through the ranks quickly – only his age held him back from making it to full captain by the time he was twenty.’
‘I didn’t realise he commanded a ship,’ Rafe retorted.
Roan shook his head. ‘He didn’t. After I retired from the Royal Navy, I asked Tris to join me as my business partner. I’ve never for one moment regretted it.’ There was a pause before Roan added, ‘It was during one of our business dealings that he crossed paths with Babin again. By then, the charlatan was passing himself off as the Comte d’Ansouis.’
‘But Bernart realised he was not the real Comte.’ Raphael confirmed.
Roan nodded. ‘He recognised the varmint immediately. The rest I believe you already know.’ There was a pause before he asked the question Rafe had been waiting for.
‘Why do you believe Tristan is the missing Marquis de Montclair?’
Raphael was silent for a moment. ‘Philippe de Montclair was a friend of my father,’ he answered finally. ‘I met him on numerous occasions before my family fled to England. As soon as I laid eyes on your man Tristan Bernart, I was struck by a sense of familiarity, though at first, I couldn’t recall where I’d seen his face before. Yesterday it finally came to me.’
‘You say this even though the last time you met the Marquis de Montclair was as a child? I think you are gambling with yourreputation, Mr Augustin.’ Roan’s voice wasn’t quite scathing, but it was close.
‘Believe me, I do not speak of this lightly,’ Rafe retorted, his voice tight. ‘If you will permit me to continue, I’ll explain why I have come to you without first verifying my beliefs.’ He paused, staring directly at Roan. ‘I know you do not trust me, Captain Carew, but believe me, in this I have your friend’s continued well-being at heart.
‘That both Philippe and Catherine de Montclair were murdered in January 1806 in cold blood is certain, but the body of their only son was never discovered. Nor was any trace found of the men who committed the murder. As far as I can tell, the chateau lay empty for the next couple of years, until a supposed distant cousin suddenly appeared and has occupied the chateau ever since. While he’s never proclaimed himself the heir, he has enthusiastically assumed the role of supposedcaretakerof the Montclair estates.
‘But consider this – Philippe de Montclair wielded significant power in bothBretagneandNormandieat the time of his death, and the Montclair coffers were reputedly filled to bursting. The Chateau and Estate are situated close to the town of Lannion in Bretagne - approximately one hundred and twenty kilometres from Mont Saint-Michel as the crow flies and a three-day carriage ride. However, the Marquis also had a second, much smaller chateau just outside the small town of Pontorson, which is much, much closer - a mere nine kilometres from Mont Saint-Michel. It is perfectly possible to believe that at the time of the attack, someone loyal to the family took Philippe and Catherine’s child from Montclair, with the intention of taking him to the chateau in Pontorson.
‘Unfortunately, that property too was left a smoking ruin just over a year later – it’s feasible to think the attackers might have been looking for the child, but if they were, they had no luck. Philippe de Montclair’s son remained missing – until now.
‘Let us speculate that the boy survived and was forced onto the streets – where he somehow survived for nearly two years. Tristan himself remembers being caught and imprisoned for stealing an apple – but he doesn’t know how long he’d been locked up for before Babin and the Comte d’Ansouis’ arrival. It couldn’t have been that long. A boy with his background wouldn’t have lasted in that hellhole more than a few months at most.
‘Which takes us to July 1808, when the Albatross was at anchor waiting to bring a freed French prisoner to England…’ He trailed off, allowing his audience to draw their own conclusions.
‘Do you believe it possible that Etienne Babin was part of the group who murdered Philippe and Catherine Montclair?’ Faith asked, speaking for the first time.
Before Rafe had a chance to answer, Roan interrupted. ‘You actually believe that the lost Montclair family heir somehow ended up in a cell with a member of the group who murdered his family?’ The sea captain’s voice was incredulous. ‘Could it be you are actually seeing connections where there are none?’
