Chapter 7
Seven
‘I’m sorry, Grandpapa, I cannot possibly countenance keeping my father in the dark about something so important.
’ Henrietta firmly replaced her bonnet and turned to Percy.
‘It is a pleasure as always to see you, Mr Noon,’ she declared, ‘even though it appears that no one actually knew you were coming.’ She looked back at the Reverend and narrowed her eyes.
‘Aside from my grandfather, I suspect.’ She stepped away from the table with one last parting comment.
‘I think you can safely assume that my father will wish to speak with you on your return, Grandpapa.’
And with that, she swept towards the entrance. ‘Thunder an’ turf, when the devil did she turn into such a deuced harpy?’ Augustus Shackleford muttered as they watched her march up the street.
‘Ah reckon the lass be all bum and parsley,’ Dougal declared without much conviction.
‘Well, since I have no idea what on earth Miss Carew is talking about, I am more than content to leave it to those that do,’ Percy announced, before turning towards the Scot who was now arguing in heated whispers with Finn over the last biscuit. ‘How are you feeling, Dougal?’
The Scot glanced up in surprise before snaking his hand out to snatch the biscuit while Finn was looking over at his father.
‘Och, ye gaunnie nae dae that,’ the boy protested indignantly as Dougal stuffed the entire wafer into his mouth.
Percy shook his head sadly, muttering, ‘Gluttony, that’s a definite sign.’
‘Oh, for pity’s sake, stubble it, Percy,’ Reverend Shackleford retorted irritably, finally losing his temper with the whole sorry business. ‘Dougal is no more possessed than you are.’
‘What be possessed?’ asked Finn, looking with interest at the elderly Scot’s red face as he tried in vain to chew and swallow at the same time.
‘Are you certain, Sir?’ the curate responded doubtfully as Dougal began gasping for air.
‘Ah reckon he be gaun tae boke,’ Finn added helpfully.
Augustus Shackleford hurriedly climbed to his feet and began thumping the Scot’s back. Seconds later, a large piece of wafer shot across the room.
In her never-ending search for the ultimate snack, Flossy instantly jumped off Finn’s lap and immediately took a shortcut straight between the Reverend’s legs, only to get hopelessly tangled in her master’s cassock as her lead whipped round and tightened round the clergyman’s left leg.
With a yell, the Reverend fell backwards with a whoomph onto Henrietta’s vacated seat just as Flossy re-emerged into daylight.
Seeing the piece of wafer mere yards away, the little dog put on one last burst of speed, dragging her captor straight off the chair to land at the feet of a waitress carrying a large tray of crumpets.
With a shriek, the serving girl fell over the Reverend’s prone form.
The tray she was holding flew towards the intended table with all the speed of a musket ball, where a rather buxom lady only narrowly missed being decapitated by a flying butter knife.
As it was, the stuffed peacock on her bonnet looked livelier than it had ever been when it was still alive.
The whole debacle was over in seconds, but the resulting pandemonium looked likely to last for the rest of the day. Indeed, there was no guarantee that the Reverend would be able to get up off the floor before closing time.
Flossy, on the other hand, pounced on the piece of wafer with all the aplomb of a conquering hero, crunching triumphantly under a convenient table while completely ignoring the uproar around her…
Henrietta had hoped to speak with her father as soon as she got home, but on walking through the door, she was told that the Viscount and Viscountess Northwood had arrived in her absence, though sadly they were not accompanied by her cousins.
Sternly reminding herself that they were not preparing for a family outing, Henrietta hurried up to her bedchamber to remove her outer garments and make use of the chamber pot. Likely, both her parents were bringing their guests up to date. Should she interrupt?
In truth, Henri was torn. She was entirely certain that her father loved his family more than anything.
But second to that came his crew – some of whom had even been with him on the Albatross.
The information she possessed was important – of that she was certain, but if she blurted out what she’d heard and her father feared his crew in danger from a traitor, she was afraid he might be tempted to do something rash.
In the end, she remained in her bedchamber for the better part of an hour which just as well since it took It took most of that time for Gabriel Atwood to calm down – and that was mainly due to his wife’s calm, pragmatic nature.
Indeed, Henrietta would likely have been quite shocked to hear her uncle shout that he was breaking off the engagement and putting his daughter in a convent.
Fortunately, her Aunt Hope managed to quell his rancour before the arrival of his prospective son-in-law by evenly pointing out that success in proving Tristan to be the legitimate heir to the Montclair title would at the very least secure Roseanna’s future.
Her husband’s muttered, ‘Providing we all survive the attempt,’ was roundly ignored.
Eventually, Henri could bear it no longer.
Anxiety about sharing what she knew and wondering what was happening behind closed doors had her pacing her bedchamber floor until, finally, swearing under her breath, she wrenched open the door and stalked to the top of the stairs.
She was just about to start her descent when the doorbell rang, and although she was unable to see who was on the other side, she could tell there was more than one person.
Three steps down, she paused as their maid, Sarah, appeared to open the door.
On the other side stood her Uncle Nicholas, Tristan Montclair and Raphael Augustin.
To her complete and utter confusion, the sudden surge of relief flooding her only occurred after she caught sight of the King’s chief intelligence officer…
Inexplicably reluctant to greet the latest guests, Henri retreated back up the stairs before she was spotted and watched from the shadows as the three men were taken immediately into the drawing room.
Once the entrance hall was clear, she hurried downstairs, just as the front door opened again, this time to admit the Reverend, Percy, Finn and Dougal.
To her alarm, her grandfather was leaning on Percy’s arm.
His pallor was that of a seven-day-old corpse – though, in fairness, she couldn’t say for sure, since she’d never actually seen one.
Completely forgetting her earlier rancour towards him, she gasped. ‘What on earth happened to you, Grandpapa? Have you been injured?’
‘Ye’d be better tae ask that wee Jezebel doon there,’ Dougal muttered darkly, nodding towards Flossy, who had the grace to look a little sheepish.
‘It wasnae Flossy’s fault,’ countered Finn urgently as Henrietta helped Percy get the Reverend into the library. ‘She jus’ wanted the biscuit.’
With a frown, Henri sat her grandfather in a chair facing the fire before fetching a stool for him to rest his feet on. ‘Can I get you anything, Grandpapa?’ she asked, suddenly afraid he might truly be at death’s door. A long groan was her answer.
‘Go and ask Sarah to bring some tea,’ she told Finn, fear gripping her
A surprisingly strong hand gripped her arm. ‘Never mind tea, I’ll have a brandy,’ the clergyman declared, before collapsing backwards and giving another, more theatrical groan.
Henrietta eyed him speculatively before turning to Percy. ‘Is he truly hurt, Mr Noon?’ she asked archly.
‘I think it’s his pride more than anything,’ the curate retorted with a sigh, earning him a disgruntled look. ‘Well, if we’re being entirely truthful, Sir, if you really had any more than a few bruises, I’d be giving you the last rites.’
‘I might still,’ Augustus Shackleford muttered defensively. ‘Tare an’ hounds Percy, I’m beginning to think you’re turning into a rusty guts. Look at how many times I’ve looked after you over the years? I mean all those bumps on the deuced head. To be honest, it’s a wonder you’re not addled.’
‘Most of those bumps were as a result of being with you, Sir,’ Percy responded tartly.
‘What be addled?’ asked Finn with interest. ‘Be it a bampot like Dougal?’
‘Ah’ll hae ye ken ah be as sharp as if ah’d bin livin’ on Glasgow mustard,’ Dougal protested.
‘Brandy…’ The Reverend’s groans were becoming ever more dramatic.
‘If the priest is planning an imminent meeting with his maker, I think perhaps it would be a good plan to ensure he is not entirely foxed.’ The dry voice sounded from the doorway.
‘Chance would be a fine thing indeed,’ Augustus Shackleford retorted, finally abandoning his woe is me rhetoric and sitting up.
Henrietta’s face flamed at the sight of Raphael Augustin standing in the doorway.
‘Is the meeting over?’ she asked, proud of the evenness in her voice.
The agent shook his head as he advanced into the room.
‘There are deliberations your family need to make without the presence of an outsider,’ he stated with a shrug, ‘and in truth, I cannot argue with your grandfather – there are occasions when only a large brandy will do.’ He turned towards Percy.
‘We have not yet been introduced, Sir, but may I pour you a glass?’
‘Err, this is Percy Noon, Grandfather’s curate,’ Henrietta hurriedly interrupted, ‘He’s recently arrived with his son Finn.’ She pointed at the boy, who saluted with a grin.
‘So, laddie, ye giein’ the thievin’ Sassenachs the good stuff and leavin the rest o’ us wi’ lemonade?’ Dougal questioned scornfully before Rafe could ask what the devil the curate and his son were doing here.
Gritting his teeth, Raphael turned his head to look at the eccentric Scot, eyebrows raised.
‘Ah thought ye’d niver ask,’ Dougal grinned, rubbing his hands together.