‘Of course. I do not have a crystal ball, but I think my theory is far more probable than believing theRevisionistssimply sprang up out of thin air in England,’ Raphael answered curtly. ‘I know that the Duke of Blackmore - perhaps understandably - believes that the conspiracy did not originate across the channel, but…’
‘…He is not aware of the attack on the Montclair estates,’ Faith finished. Raphael inclined his head.
‘So, who do you think gave the order to free d’Ansouis – the real one that is?’ The Reverend’s blunt question cut to the heart of the matter.
‘My orders came from impeccable sources,’ Roan commented tightly.
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Rafe replied coolly. ‘And we may never know whether d’Ansouis was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time and fell victim to a conspiracy he had no idea existed. Was whoever organised the extraction from theBastille of the Seaswishing to save the Comte or use him?’ He looked over at Roan. ‘My guess is that you were never told exactly who ordered the rescue, or how it was that Babin was present to accompany him – a criminal who would be very unlikely to have any sympathy towards an aristo locked up by the regime.’
There was a short silence as the rest of the room took in the Frenchman’s sober words.
‘I think it is pastime to stop equivocating and tell us exactly what you are thinking,’ Roan grated, his anger finally getting the best of him. ‘For pity’s sake, say what’s in your damned head, man.’
Raphael sighed. The Englishman was right, it really was time to speak frankly. He stared downwards, gathering his thoughts for a few seconds, before choosing his words carefully. ‘The Marquis de Montclair was a wealthy man – money that had been amassed over many generations,’ he told them after a moment. ‘And like many of the old families fearing the revolution, he converted almost his entire fortune into gold and precious stones. It waseasy to hide – much safer than leaving the money in a bank that could be confiscated at a moment’s notice.’
‘So how the deuce did you know about it?’ Reverend Shackleford questioned. ‘I doubt the fellow would have announced it to every Tom, Dick and Harry.’
‘Philippe confided to my father.’ Rafe’s retort was short and to the point. ‘May I continue?’
‘Please, Father, let Mr Augustin finish,’ Faith added, glaring at her parent as he opened his mouth to say something else.
Nodding his head in thanks for her intervention, Raphael continued. ‘The Marquis also had a very long reach when he chose to exercise it.
‘Let us consider the possibility that the attackers were looking for capital to further their ambitions - feasibly spanning both sides of the Channel - whilst ridding themselves of a potentially powerful adversary.’
‘How can you be sure that these men gained access to Montclair’s wealth?’
‘I was aware that the alleged cousin first appeared at Montclair in August 1808, almost immediately after d’Ansouis and Babin were freed. The man has always maintained that the bulk of the Montclair fortune was lost, and I have no evidence to say otherwise - aside from the fact that the man appears to have lived quite comfortably since his sudden rise in fortune. There had been no reason to investigate the matter further – until now.’
‘But that doesn’t mean he’s involved in a damned conspiracy,’ Roan protested.
‘No, it doesn’t. But if he is truly a blood relative of Philippe Montclair, why has he never proclaimed himself the new Marquis? Certainly, no one else has come forward to lay a claim.
‘My suspicion is that he purposely continues with the role of caretaker. While he has no title, nothing is expected of him, and he’s able to remain in relative seclusion. No one is asking any questions, and no one is paying any attention to his comings and goings. In short, the man might as well be invisible.’
Rafe paused and looked round at his audience. He could finally see understanding in the eyes of all.
There was every chance that the Revisionists were not finished but had gone underground to regroup. Babin had not been their leader – merely a lieutenant.
And finally, somebody high in the British government, possibly close to the King, could well be a traitor…
It was Henrietta who spoke first. ‘Could Tristan be in danger?’
‘Naturally the last thing the conspirators would want is for the heir to the Montclair title to suddenly appear, alive and well. Once they get wind of it, I think it a very distinct possibility they will immediately take whatever steps they deem necessary,’ Raphael answered truthfully.
Roan stood up abruptly and went over to the sideboard. Without asking, he poured four large and two small snifters of brandy. Handing both Faith and Henrietta one of the smaller ones, he murmured, ‘I believe this can quite legitimately be considered an emergency,’ in a dry undertone.
Naturally both the Reverend and Dougal were more than happy to indulge in a little restorative, with the worryingly silent Scoteven smacking his lips. Flossy too made her partiality to a spot of brandy quite clear – her only uncertainty appeared to be which lap to beg in front of.
‘So, what do you think our course of action should be?’ Roan asked, finally sitting back down after handing Rafe the last glass. His eyes never left those of the Frenchman as he spoke, daring Raphael to suggest they stand down and leave matters to theauthorities.
But Rafe had no intention of bringing in further outside assistance. Unbeknown to his listeners, his speech was as much an internal clarification of the current situation and by the time he reached the end, he’d recognised that these people were almost the only ones he could trust – although he had to wonder about the strange Scot who was now busy eying the bottom of his brandy glass mournfully.
‘I think firstly we confirm Tristan is truly Philippe Montclair’s son and heir,’ he stated at length. ‘Once it is proven and acknowledged by the wider public, it will be much more difficult for the conspirators to rid themselves of him. To do that, we need to go to France.’
‘But what if you can’t prove it?’ Henrietta asked. ‘Would he not be better to continue to live as Tristan Bernart?’
Rafe looked properly at her for the first time since he’d entered the room. His eyes were unexpectedly compassionate, and Henri swallowed a sudden lump, guessing what he was about to say.
