Chapter 19
Nineteen
‘Do you think we should have heard something by now?’ Rosie asked, putting down her éclair after only one bite.
‘Ye gaun tae eat that?’ Finn immediately quizzed her, his hand already hovering over the confection to prevent Dougal getting in there first.
‘Finn,’ snapped Percy. ‘If your mother was here now, she’d be horrified at your manners. Anyone would think you haven’t been fed at all today.’
‘Aye, but that be two hours ago,’ the boy wailed, ‘an’ right noo, ma belly dae think ma throat hae been cut.’
With a tired smile, Roseanna picked up the half-eaten cake and gave it to the ravenous boy. For once, Dougal merely narrowed his eyes and gave an indignant sniff as he watched Finn shoved the entire éclair into his mouth.
‘I think this is one of those situations we’re expected to use our own initiative,’ Reverend Shackleford declared, rubbing his hands together.
Rosie favoured her grandfather with a suspicious look. Having only recently been on the receiving end of his more questionable initiatives, she was understandably wary.
‘We dinnae want tae be askin’ fer reinforcements afore the Frog gets tae speak wi’ Fontaine,’ protested Dougal.
‘Absolutely not,’ Augustus Shackleford agreed – a little too quickly in Percy’s opinion. The curate eyed his superior narrowly.
‘I hope you aren’t planning to disregard Mr Augustin’s instructions, Sir,’ Percy quizzed him.
‘You wound me, Percy.’ the Reverend retorted. ‘When have I ever failed to follow instructions?’
The rest of the table regarded him silently.
‘The thing is, Grandpapa, you do have a tendency to act first and think later,’ Henrietta murmured.
‘I’ll have you know that my razor-sharp instincts have saved the day on more occasions than I care to remember,’ Augustus Shackleford protested huffily. ‘The King himself declared me a national treasure.…’
‘Oh, you are,’ Henri assured him. ‘I mean, what would any of us do without you? What would Flossy do without you?’ She was about to lay it on even browner, when suddenly the inn door opened, revealing a wheezing Antoine.
‘Claude Fontaine is in the Chateau,’ he panted, hanging onto the latch to keep himself upright. ‘The scoundrel has taken Monsieur le Marquis and all your friends prisoner.’
Henrietta felt herself go cold all over. ‘How do you know?’ she demanded, climbing to her feet.
‘The gates are shut, and he’s stationed six of his men directly in front of them.’ Antoine paused before finishing in an agonised whisper, ‘They have weapons.’
‘So much for deuced diplomacy,’ the Reverend muttered.
‘Be this when we’re meant tae be usin’ our own ‘nishative, Revren?’ Finn asked.
No one spoke as Claude Fontaine stepped over the body of the sailor and sauntered over to an ancient cabinet.
‘I admit you had me fooled,’ he chuckled conversationally, laying his pistol on the top and pouring himself a large brandy, ‘but at the end of the day, your ruse bought you little more than a few hours.’ He turned and regarded them all unblinkingly.
‘I was already on my way back when we bumped into le marin.’
Taking a sip of his brandy, he focused his attention on Tristan. ‘You look very much like your father, nephew,’ he mused. ‘They told me you were his image.’
‘Who told you?’ Tristan queried, his voice carefully expressionless.
‘It is of no import. Are you going to introduce me to your adopted family?’
Fontaine still believed his nephew was here purely to claim his inheritance. Rafe squeezed his hands into fists. Would Tristan pick up on it?
For a few moments, Tristan didn’t respond, but just as his uncle’s rapacious smile began to widen, he swept his hand towards the two couples.
‘Meet my adoptive parents,’ he expounded, with a wolfish grin of his own.
‘My wife and I count ourselves most fortunate to have been part of Tristan’s upbringing,’ Roan enthused without hesitation.
‘Indeed,’ gushed Faith, ‘and I’m certain my sister will tell you exactly the same.’
‘All four of you were involved in bringing the boy up?’ Fontaine commented, his eyes widening in studied disbelief.
‘Oh, absolutely.’ Hope beamed. ‘He brought so much joy to our lives, didn’t he, dearest?’ She tucked her arm in Gabriel’s, giving him an encouraging smile.
Gabriel nodded, directing an affectionate look towards Tristan.
Claude Fontaine’s bewildered frustration was plain to see as he turned to Raphael.
Clearly, their flippancy was having an effect.
‘And where do you fit into this cosy arrangement, Monsieur?’ he snapped, nodding towards the corpse lying in the doorway.
‘I must warn you that our mutual friend was surprisingly helpful – while he still had a tongue to speak with, of course.’
Rafe felt his heart contract as he feverishly thought back to the conversation with Taffy. At no point had he mentioned exactly what his role was. Fontaine was fishing.
‘Then you already know that Tristan and I have been friends since school,’ he acknowledged.
‘I was the one who first saw the portrait of his birth father. That was how this odyssey began.’ He looked over at the unfortunate Taffy.
‘I must confess, we were not expecting violence. What did the man do to warrant such a grisly end?’
‘Lied,’ answered Fontaine shortly. He slammed his empty glass down on the cabinet and picked up his pistol.
‘I think this charade has gone on long enough. You might be here to claim your inheritance, but unfortunately, I am not ready to let you have it. Surely you did not expect to walk in here and simply claim it for yourself?’ His voice turned sneering.
Rafe gritted his teeth. He was well aware that the others were waiting on his lead.
Fontaine had made no effort to hide his pistol, but in truth, he must have known he couldn’t overpower all of them.
Obviously, he had men waiting within earshot.
How far was the batard willing to go? He would never get away with killing all of them.
Not now so many people knew of the Marquis’s return.
But as he looked into Claude Fontaine’s feverish, almost glittering eyes, Raphael realised that the man was swiftly moving beyond rational thought, and the one possibility he hadn’t considered before that second was that Fontaine might be deranged…
Was now the time to tell him they were aware of his treasonous activities? Doing so could quite easily push him over the edge, but it might also goad him into giving them a name.
Did he dare take such a risk? In the past he wouldn’t have hesitated, but up until now, he’d never had anything – or anybody - to lose.
That was what had made him so dangerous.
Now, contrary to all expectations, he actually had people he cared about, and the very fact that he was dithering made him equally dangerous.
These thoughts and more raced through Raphael’s mind in seconds, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, he saw the wall behind Claude Fontaine suddenly move.
‘Thunder an’ turf, what a deuced bag of moonshine,’ Reverend Shackleford groaned.
‘I think now’s the time to fetch reinforcements from the Fortune, Sir,’ Percy stated urgently.
‘But if Fontaine is holding them prisoner, their lives are in danger now,’ Roseanna reasoned, trying hard to force back her panic. ‘It could be hours before help arrives.’
‘The Frog didn’t think this one through, did he?’ muttered the Reverend, giving Henrietta a pointed look.
‘Dae ye reckon the bampot be aff his heid, Revren?’ Finn questioned, his voice a mixture of trepidation and excitement.
‘Aye, ah fear the lad be right,’ Dougal chimed in. ‘Ah’ll goan an’ fetch help.’
‘Is this you being helpful, Dougal Galbraith, or deuced chuckleheaded?’ the Reverend growled.
‘It be me bein’ bloody sensible,’ the Scot muttered under his breath, before adding in a louder voice, ‘An’ o’ course bein’ a descendant o’ the Galbraiths o’ Culloden, ah be a natural on the back o’ a horse.’
Both the Reverend and Percy looked at him doubtfully. ‘Hae ye niver seen a Scot ride in tae battle?’ Dougal asked with a very creditable swaggering grin.
‘Err… not recently,’ Percy confessed.
‘Ha,’ Dougal roared, making them all jump – including Flossy, who gave a low growl. ‘Ready yersels fer a sight ye’ll niver forget,’ he continued, climbing to his feet. ‘Marvel as ah be one wi’ th’orse.’
With that, he picked up his cloak, and strode to the entrance.
Throwing open the door, he turned back, swirling the cloak over his shoulders with a flourish before stepping through and slamming the door behind him – only to reappear a couple of seconds later to ask where the nearest horse actually was…
Another ten minutes passed by the time they’d established that the only horse owned by the innkeeper was at least thirty years old and unlikely make it fifty yards down the road, let alone to Perros-Guirec and back, and another ten minutes before they persuaded the disappointed Dougal to take one of the two remaining carriages.
Watching him finally disappear into the distance, the Reverend breathed a relieved sigh at the reprieve. Unfortunately, the sentiment was not shared by his remaining companions.
‘We can’t simply sit here twiddling our thumbs until Dougal gets back with reinforcements,’ Henrietta commented. ‘That’s if he even comes back. I think Rosie's right. We need to do something now.’
‘Dae we rescue ‘em like the knights in a book, Da?’
‘I don’t think we can march up to the Chateau and rescue them from under the blackguard’s nose, son,’ Percy responded with a sigh. ‘They’ll see us while we’re still half a mile away.’
‘Not if you go through the tunnels,’ Antoine interjected.
The Reverend raised his eyebrows. ‘What deuced tunnels?’
‘They’ve been here since Robespierre’s time,’ Antoine went on. ‘The old Marquis wanted a way for the family to escape quickly.’ He shook his head sadly, before adding, ‘I don’t reckon he thought he’d be sending his only son through ‘em though.’