Page 15 of Roseanna (The Shackleford Legacies #3)

Fifteen

Fortunately, as the barouche left the village, Thomas reined the horses back to a fast trot and Roseanna was finally able to let go of her bonnet.

‘Thunder an’ turf,’ the Reverend muttered, pulling Flossy out from under his cassock. ‘What possessed Nicholas to replace John with Thomas?’ Assuming it was a rhetorical question, Rosie shook her head and swallowed before letting go of Trixie and retying the strings to her straw bonnet.

‘Ah’m thinkin’ all Englishmen be awa in the heid,’ Dougal grumbled.

‘ Thomas ,’ Augustus Shackleford roared, ‘If you do that again, I’ll make sure his grace puts you on grave digging duty. I don’t care if you’ve only got one deuced leg.’

Thomas didn’t answer, but the horses slowed down to a sedate trot.

Fortunately, the safest seat had been Finn’s since he was wedged in between Rosie and Percy like pilchards in a hogshead. The boy didn’t speak, but his expression as the barouche’s speed decreased was one of unmistakable disappointment.

Percy didn’t move, but after about five minutes he managed to croak, ‘I think I’m going to need the privy.’

Nicholas stood at the study window, staring out at the incredible vista laid out in front of him. From where he was standing, he could see right down to the lake and the small figures sitting on blankets or paddling in the shallows. The distant shouts and squeals reached him, even through the glass of the window, and the sudden longing for a quiet, simple life was so strong that, without thinking, the Duke laid his head against the glass and closed his eyes.

The weariness felt as though it had settled in his bones. Far worse than anything he’d experienced before. Above everything, Nicholas wanted peace, and in that moment, he made the decision that after this business was done, he would retire from public life. Peter was old enough now to take over much of the reins. In truth, the young man was champing at the bit, and had given his father no reason to doubt either his enthusiasm or competency.

Seating himself in front of the fireplace, Nicholas laid his head against the back of the winged chair. It was past time for him and Grace to slow down. He thought back to their wedding so long ago - to the moment she’d thrown up over his immaculately polished hessians. God’s teeth, he’d been a fool back then.

He’d tried so hard to keep her out of his heart. Determined to hold her at arm’s length. Why? It seemed nonsensical now, all these years later. He only knew that the day she agreed to wed him was the luckiest day of his life.

A knock at the door interrupted his reverie.

Gritting his teeth, Nicholas lifted his head. ‘Come,’ he shouted.

Seconds later, the door opened to admit Adam. ‘There’s no sign of d’Ansouis’ carriage,’ he declared. ‘Prudence is speaking with the servants. She and Jamie have apparently developed an eating disorder which needs to be explained to every servant in the building – with particular emphasis on their background. God knows how Pru comes up with these bizarre ideas.’

Nicholas gave a small chuckle. ‘I’m assuming that so far none have displayed a talent for breaking and entering with a side helping of murder. Have you spoken to Temperance?’

Adam shook his head. ‘Right now, I think there’s a strong possibility I’ll never be given the opportunity to speak to her again. When she finds out we’ve been keeping this from her…’ Adam paused and grimaced. ‘Truly, this bastard had better turn out to be a murdering lunatic. That’s liable to be the only way I’ll ever get to sleep in my marriage bed again.’

Nicholas creased his brows, unsure of his best friend’s logic. ‘So, if he turns out to be completely rational, you’ll be relegated to a spare bedchamber?’

‘More likely a spare house,’ Adam retorted drily. ‘You don’t happen to have one, do you?’

Nicholas found himself grinning. ‘You’re as familiar with my holdings as I am. Take your pick. Brandy?’

‘I thought you’ never ask.’ Adam sighed and sat down in the other winged chair.

Climbing to his feet, Nicholas went over to the decanter. ‘You’re looking tired, my friend,’ Adam observed.

‘It’s been a very trying week,’ the Duke retorted, handing Adam a large brandy. ‘But the truth is, I’m bone weary.’ He sat back down and took a sip of his drink. ‘I’m actually thinking of turning more responsibility over to Peter.’

‘He’s more than capable,’ Adam commented. ‘And he’ll make a fine duke one day.’

Nicholas gave a rueful chuckle. ‘The way I’m feeling at the moment, I’m afraid that day may come sooner than he thinks.’ Sighing, he pulled an envelope out of his pocket.

‘Unfortunately, we have another problem. One that overshadows everything that’s happened so far. I received this an hour ago.’ He leaned forward and placed the missive into Adam’s waiting hand.

The Earl glanced down at the seal and froze. With a soft expletive, he fumbled with the envelope flap, finally managing to tug out the letter it contained. As soon as he finished, he raised incredulous eyes to his oldest friend.

‘There’s no time to put him off,’ Nicholas murmured, his voice oddly philosophical. ‘He’s already left London and is due here tomorrow.’

Both men sat in disbelieving silence for a few seconds until the Duke added, ‘Still, there’s always a silver lining to every cloud. We can’t deal with this with just the eleven of us. We will have to enlist the aid of the entire family.

‘With luck, informing Tempy that the King is coming will take her mind off your sleeping arrangements.’

‘Tare an’ hounds Percy. Can’t you just go behind a bush. I can’t imagine there’s much chance of a privy at the deuced farmhouse anyway – and if there is … well, a bush might actually be preferable.’

‘Ah’d be thankful if ye’d keep a civil tongue in yer head, Augustus. Hae ye forgoat there be a lady present?’

The Reverend hmphed before turning towards his granddaughter. ‘My apologies, Rosie. I meant no offense.’

‘None taken,’ Roseanna responded. ‘I actually think there may be a small inn a couple of miles ahead with, err… surprisingly fine facilities.’

‘Dae they sell Scrumpy?’ Dougal quizzed her.

‘I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with the alcoholic beverages they serve,’ Rosie answered primly. ‘Truthfully, I have only stopped here once before when we were on the way to Plymouth.’

‘Did ye see any ships, milady?’ Finn piped up. ‘Ah saw lots o’ ships in London.’

Rosie smiled at the boy and nodded. ‘My father’s ship, Cloud Flyer, had returned from the Indies.’

‘Did ye gae aboard?’ Finn’s question was almost breathless, as though he couldn’t imagine anything quite so wonderful.

Rosie shook her head. ‘Sailors are a very superstitious lot and generally believe that having a woman on board is bad luck, except in very specific circumstances. If you’re interested in sailing, why don’t you speak with my Uncle Roan. He was a captain in the Royal Navy for quite a few years.’

‘As was Nicholas before he became the Duke of Blackmore. His ship was at Trafalgar.’

‘What’s Trafalgar?’ Finn asked. ‘Be it somethin’ tae dae wi’ old Boney? Maister Smith wa’ tellin’ us aboot the war.’

Percy nodded, forgetting about his bladder for a moment. ‘It was at the very beginning. Perhaps I could ask his grace to tell you about when the garden party is over.’

‘I’m certain he would oblige,’ Reverend Shackleford added, ‘though I reckon the memory of it still gives him a few nightmares.’

‘Be this the place?’ Dougal interrupted, pointing ahead.

Rosie leaned forward and nodded. ‘I think so.’

‘ Thomas ,’ the Reverend yelled, ‘ pull into the inn yard ahead .’ His muttered, ‘Preferably after slowing down,’ was confined to his fellow passengers.

A few moments later, they swung into the inn’s yard – not quite on two wheels, only narrowly avoiding a waiting carriage.

When they finally came to a halt next to the carriage, the Reverend studied the small painted insignia on the door. ‘Well, it looks like there’s a nob here, but I don’t recognise the crest.’ He looked over at the entrance thoughtfully. ‘I wonder who it is?’

‘Dae ye want me tae go in an’ hae a wee peek?’ If the Scot was affronted by the chorus of, ‘Nos,’ he didn’t show it.

‘If you’re going to do your business, you’d best get on with it, Percy,’ the Reverend growled. ‘At this rate, we won’t get back in time for deuced dinner.’

With a relieved nod, the curate hurriedly climbed down, followed closely by Finn. ‘Ah’ll come wi’ ye, Dar, in case ye need protectin’.’ The boy’s offer was made in all seriousness and his adopted father smiled down at him as they walked towards the entrance, responding with an equally serious, ‘Thank you, Finn, that’s very kind of you.’

‘I think I’ll give Trixie a chance to see to her own business,’ Rosie said. ‘Shall I take Flossy for you?’

‘We could hae a wee peek in the bar,’ Dougal suggested, ‘Ah’ll be happy wi’ a wee dram instead o’ cider.’ He gave a sidelong glance towards Rosie. ‘More refined fer the lady.’

Rosie bit her lip. The only time she’d ever entered any kind of tavern was with her parents, and then they’d always been shown to a private room. She looked over at the front of the building. Clearly, the inn was well looked after. It would certainly be more amenable than a farmhouse, and she was with her grandfather. After a few more seconds hesitation, she nodded her head. ‘But if we stop here, there will be no time to go further. And we can stay for half an hour only.’

She ignored Dougal’s muttered, ‘Hae she aywis bin this high an’ mighty?’ and climbed down from the carriage.

‘Will Percy and Finn wonder where we’ve gone?’ she asked, picking her way across the yard. Fortunately, with all the dry weather, there was no mud to contend with.

‘The barouche is still there, and Finn’s got more than fresh air between his ears, even if old Percy hasn’t.’ Rosie winced internally at his words. Good manners were not high on her grandfather’s list of priorities.

Seconds later, she followed the two men into the dimness of the inn. Despite being in a relatively quiet location, the bar was both clean and well appointed. Clearly, the inn’s business came from the higher echelons of society. However, being mid-afternoon, they were its only patrons.

Roseanna and Dougal seated themselves at a table near to a huge fireplace. A fire was well established, despite it being August, and in truth Rosie was glad of it. With its small windows and dark interior, the room didn’t hold much warmth. Flossy and Trixie too wasted no time before stretching out in front of it.

After a few minutes, the innkeeper bustled in. After briefly eying the clergyman’s cassock in surprise, he murmured, ‘What can I get for you, Reverend?’ just as Percy walked in. Roseanna found herself stifling a chuckle at the man’s subsequent alarmed expression.

‘Have you seen Finn?’ the curate asked, hurrying to the table.

‘Nae, he hasnae come in here.’ Dougal gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘Ah dinnae think ye hae any cause tae worry. The lad’s likely off explorin’.’

Percy frowned, looking around. He knew Finn was well able to look after himself, but it was hard not to worry, nonetheless.

The Reverend brought back two small brandies, a whisky for Dougal and a glass of lemonade each for Rosie and Finn.

Dougal eyed the pale liquid in his glass with distaste and shook his head. ‘Ah dinnae ken where he foond this rubbish. Mebbe he made it hisself.’

‘Stop whining,’ the Reverend growled. ‘Next time you can buy your own deuced whisky.’

‘An ye tell me, what daes a Sassenach God botherer ken aboot it? Yer wouldnae ken a good whisky an it hit ye on ur thick heid.’

Rosie looked on worriedly as her grandfather drew himself up, clearly preparing to give the Scot a blistering set down. Fortunately, however, before the argument had the chance to escalate, Finn came running in.

‘There be a furren nob upstairs,’ he announced, sitting down and picking up his lemonade.

‘How do you know he’s foreign?’ the Reverend asked, ignoring the boy’s repetition of his earlier derogatory comment.

Finn thought for a second, slurping his drink noisily. ‘Ah reckon he might hae bin one o’ them frogs,’ he said at length. ‘He wa’ dressed all in black like somebodie be deid an’ he sounded funny.’

‘Was he alone?’ the Reverend asked. Fin nodded.

‘That fella o’er there took him up some cheese, an’ ah heard the frog ask aboot two men he wa’ waitin’ fer.’ The boy cast a hopeful look towards the bar. ‘Ah wouldnae say nae tae some cheese. Ah be fair starvin’.’

‘Do you think it could be the Comte?’ Rosie asked her grandfather, her voice half anxious, half excited.

‘Well, sounding funny isn’t any surety that the fellow’s French,’ the Reverend replied, ‘but mayhap we need to investigate.’

‘I’m not sure that’s wise, Sir,’ Percy protested. ‘I don’t know who this Frenchman is, but evidently you and Lady Roseanna do. And from the tone of your voice, he’s no gentleman.’

‘Ah could fancy a pickled trotter…’

‘Who be this man, Augustus?’ Dougal stared pointedly at the Reverend, eyes narrowed.

‘Or mebbe a few pickled herrings...’

‘Is there something you haven’t shared with me, Sir?’ Percy sounded as though his heart was about to break.

‘Thunder an’ turf, Percy, I don’t tell you everything .’ The Reverend’s voice was defensive – a sure sign he was either lying or felt guilty. In the curate’s experience, it was most likely both.

‘Or a nice bit o’ pie…’

Watching the interaction between the three men, Roseanna had no idea what to do, and she could see the same indecision in her grandfather’s eyes.

Telling Percy and Dougal about the possible conspiracy would be breaking their word to the Duke – not to mention potentially causing the very issue her uncle had been trying to avoid.

But on the other hand, if it was the Comte d’Ansouis upstairs, he might well be meeting the same two men she’d overheard in the Duke’s study. If she was able to put face to each of the voices… Her thoughts screeched to a halt. How the devil could they even hope to get close enough to discover d’Ansouis’ intentions? And if the Comte was as dangerous as Tristan seemed to think, any attempt would be entirely too risky. Especially as they had an eight-year-old boy and two small dogs with them.

‘Ah ken they hae some pickled walnuts…’

‘Unfortunately, if I tell you more, I will be breaking a confidence,’ her grandfather was saying between gritted teeth.

‘In that case, involving ourselves in any kind of espionage activity would be foolhardy in the extreme.’ Percy’s voice was unusually firm.

Without warning, Dougal consumed the rest of his whisky. ‘Dinnae fash yersel, gentlemen,’ he announced, slamming his glass back onto the table, ‘Dougal Galbraith be here. An ah be jest the man ye need fer a spot o’ snoopin’.’

‘If ye find me curled up intae a ball an’ dried up like one o’ them mummy things, it’ll be because ah’ve starved tae death …’