Page 16 of Roseanna (The Shackleford Legacies #3)
Sixteen
Etienne Babin gritted his teeth. He was so damn close to the fruition of his plan. He’d never imagined just how long it would take to reduce the country he secretly loathed to the kind of anarchy he envisioned. But, finally, finally , the end was in sight.
He bit into the cheese with a grimace, then spat it out onto his plate. He’d lived for over twenty years in a country full of dull peasants with no more appreciation of good food than a monkey. Where the most important thing was to boil the vegetables until they were a soft pulp, just in case a guest arrived without his teeth.
Babin sneered, taking a sip of his red wine. This, at least, had come from France.
Leaning back in his chair, he swirled the ruby liquid in his glass. If he was being completely honest with himself, the Etienne Babin who’d escaped France all those years ago would have had no more appreciation of good wine than the average English bourgeoisie.
He’d acquired his love of good things from the real Comte d’Ansouis. Babin sighed and raised his glass to his mentor - fifteen years in an unmarked grave. Pierre had taught him everything he knew. He’d turned him from a thug to a learned man. From a sans-culotte to a cultured émigré with impeccable taste. He owed d’Ansouis everything. Even his name.
But unfortunately, the real Comte did not nurse hatred. The fool wanted to be remembered as a philanthrope.
Babin did not simply nurse hatred, he thrived on it. In the end, he’d broken the nobleman’s neck and taken his identity. It had been surprisingly easy. Their build was not dissimilar - good food and comfortable living had restored some of the Comte’s natural bulk. But more importantly, they’d lived in isolation. D’Ansouis had an almost irrational fear of being dragged back to France – a fear he never really lost. At first, Babin had told himself he was doing d’Ansouis a service in putting him out of his misery. But eventually he stopped caring.
He had a purpose. He had a plan. He wanted to make the world suffer as he had. And that meant all the self-important bastards. The Revisionists saw him as their saviour, heralding in a brighter dawn.
Babin chuckled. He had no interest in creating a new, better world order. He just wanted to destroy the old one. Fortunately, his co-conspirators didn’t know that - yet.
This worthless country was of no consequence, and the sooner its inhabitants realised that fact, the better.
Indeed, by Monday, life for the people of Great Britain would never be the same again.
‘Can ye remember what the windows in the room looked oot ontae?’
‘Ah didnae gae intae the room. Ah only peeked through the door.’ Finn thought for a second before adding, ‘Ah reckon there be a tree ootside one o’ ‘em. Somethin’ wi’ bright berries.’
They were standing at the rear of the inn. Unlike most establishments relying on wealthy, overnight travellers, there was a garden of sorts. To one side stood the privy Percy had used earlier, but even though they were relatively close, the smell didn’t quite require a kerchief to the nose.
Percy was standing protectively over Finn, determined that this time that the lad wouldn’t be dragged into any smoky business. Despite that, the curate found himself discussing the odds for the position of the Comte’s private room.
‘It’s got to be that one,’ the Reverend declared. ‘If Finn was at the door, so…’ he moved into the imagined position, ‘then the only room he could possibly see the tree from would be that one.’ He pointed to the window directly above them.
‘We can’t stand here all day,’ Roseanna interrupted in a heated whisper, when it looked as though Dougal was about to argue.
‘Aye, ye be right, lass. We need tae strike while the iron be hot.’
‘We’ll never get up there. There’s nothing to hold on to and my days of climbing walls and scaling ramparts are over,’ the Reverend declared sadly.
‘As I remember, Sir, I was the one who did most of the climbing and scaling.’ Percy’s words were quite resolute, and Roseanna found herself looking at the curate in a new light. Whenever she’d previously been in his company, he’d seemed such a modest, reserved man.
‘‘I can’t argue with that, Percy,’ Reverend Shackleford answered with a sigh. ‘Though, being a natural chucklehead, you’ve always needed a fair bit of encouragement. And I can’t deny that all those times you got banged on the noggin have turned you a bit strange on occasion.’
‘Ah reckon we could use a ladder,’ Finn hissed from behind the privy. None of them had noticed the lad had wandered off.
‘And where do you think we’ll find a deuced ladder?’ the Reverend retorted.
‘Right here!’ Finn bent down and lifted up the end of a rickety ladder that looked as though it had last been used in the Norman Conquest.
‘That be jest what we need,’ Dougal crowed, hurrying over to help the boy. Together, they dragged the ladder back to where the others were clustered. ‘Dinnae jest stand there, gie us a hand.’
After about five minutes and a few muttered curses, they managed to get the ladder propped against the wall. It was about a foot short of the window. ‘Perfect.’ Dougal rubbed his hands together. ‘Right then, Augustus, you and Percy hold the bottom o’ the ladder steady an’ ah’ll climb up there an’ hae a listen tae what the bampot haes tae say.’
‘You can’t be the one going up there,’ Reverend Shackleford hissed. ‘You won’t understand anything you hear.’
The Scot gave him a baffled frown. ‘What daes that matter? Ah’m nae daft.’
‘Well, that’s a matter up for debate,’ the Reverend muttered under his breath as Dougal stepped on the first rung, which promptly snapped under his weight.
‘Ah’m nae hurt, dinnae fash yersels.’
‘You’re only on the first deuced rung,’ Reverend Shackleford scoffed.
Fortunately, the next rung held, as did the one above that. Inch by careful inch, Dougal made his way up the ladder. Finally, with only two rungs above him, the old Scot carefully reached out for the windowsill.
‘Be careful,’ Rosie called softly, hardly daring to look.
Gripping the sill, Dougal pulled himself up until he was standing on the next but last rung and could finally see through the window. ‘There be three men in there,’ he hissed, pressing his nose against the glass.
‘Be careful they don’t see you,’ Percy warned from the bottom of the ladder.
‘They be arguing aboot somethin’.’
‘What are they saying?’ The Reverend called up.
‘Ah cannae hear o’er yer blatherin’’
The Reverend gritted his teeth but remained silent.
Dougal suddenly bent his head, causing the ladder to wobble dangerously. ‘One o’ the men be leavin the room,’ he hissed urgently.
Roseanna’s heart lurched. If either of the men were traitors in her uncle’s household, it was imperative they could be recognised again. She doubted very much that Dougal would be able to see much looking through murky glass into a darkened room, but if the man was going outside, she might get the chance to see his face.
She looked over at her grandfather and Percy. Both men were entirely focused on the Scot. Without giving herself any more time to question her common sense, Rosie tapped Finn on the shoulder, putting her finger to her lips as he turned to look at her. Without speaking, she handed him the two lead handles, then pointed to herself and the direction she intended to go. When he stepped forward to go with her, she shook her head and pointed to the two clergymen. The boy pouted, but followed it with a small nod.
Seconds later, she was hurrying round the side of the inn. She did not know where the man was going. In truth, he might have nothing to do with the Comte d’Ansouis or the Revisionists. But in her opinion, they couldn’t afford to take that chance.
As she approached a large archway out to the inn’s front yard, Rosie slowed down, giving herself time to tidy her hair and smooth down her skirts. A lone dishevelled woman would be more likely to attract attention. Then, taking a deep breath, she stepped through the archway.
Unfortunately, unlike earlier, the inn’s front yard was now quite busy with ostlers. She could see Thomas dozing up on his box, and the unknown carriage was still there. The horses were now eating grain from nosebags, but the fact that they’d still not been unharnessed was a good indication of their owner’s imminent return. Certainly, whoever it was had no intention of staying overnight.
Rosie felt her stomach clench. Her gut told her she hadn’t got long. Glancing round, she looked for the presence of another conveyance and, after a few seconds, spotted a small dog cart with a lone horse. That had to be it. She stepped behind their barouche, careful not to wake Thomas. From there, she had a good view of anyone returning to the cart.
As she waited, she began to wonder if she’d got it entirely wrong. The man had had more than enough time to get from the upstairs room to the yard. It could be that he’d just gone to fetch food and drink. And it wasn’t only that. She couldn’t imagine how the two men had managed to leave Blackmore if they were posing as servants.
Cursing herself for making foolish assumptions, Rosie took a step towards the cart, thinking she may as well have a quick look seeing as it didn’t look as though her quarry was coming. After checking she wasn’t being observed, she continued on, making sure to tread confidently, as if she had every right to be there. As she approached, the horse tossed his head, but didn’t resist when she stroked his nose. Was he one of the Duke’s? He was clearly well looked after, but she couldn’t remember seeing him in Blackmore’s stable.
Worrying anxiously at her bottom lip, Roseanna stepped round the horse and studied the cart. There was nothing on the side to give an indication of who it belonged to, but that didn’t really mean anything. A sudden thought struck her. Had either man spotted their barouche? And if they had, would they have recognised the crest? Rosie sucked in her breath, fighting a surge of panic. They either hadn’t seen it, or they were nothing to do with Blackmore.
Sensing she was running out of time, Roseanna looked down into the cart. There was nothing but an old piece of cloth. Leaning down, she lifted one corner, feeling a surge of disappointment when she realised there was nothing underneath it. She was just about to turn away when she caught sight of what looked like the corner of a piece of paper sticking up between the wooden slats. Heart pounding, she raised herself up onto her tiptoes and leaned almost fully into the cart. Just as she feared she was about to overbalance, she managed to catch hold of it between her forefinger and thumb. Fortunately, as she pushed herself backwards, the rest of the sheet came up through the slats with only the smallest of tears.
Without looking to see what was on it, she hurriedly folded it into quarters and tucked it into her reticule. Then, keeping her head down, she started walking quickly back towards the archway.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ The shout from behind her was unexpected and shocking. Clearly, she’d been so absorbed in retrieving the sheet of paper, she’d neglected to check her surroundings.
For a second, Roseanna’s whole body froze, her mind a complete blank. Then, swallowing in fear, she slowly turned. Even in her terror, her eyes automatically took in the greying hair, pebble eyes and sagging gut.
‘I said what do you think you…’ His voice was suddenly interrupted by a loud yell from behind her.
‘There ye be Fiona. Mam’s bin lookin fer yer everywhere. Hoo many times hae she told ye tae nae wander off.’ Finn appeared at her side and grabbed her arm.
‘Ah be sorry, Maister. Ma sister be awa in the heid, an it be ma job tae look after her.’ He glanced up at his sister , and finally recovering her wits, Rosie obligingly stuck out her tongue and tried to tug her arm away.
‘Ye gaunnie nae dae that,’ Finn scolded her, steadily dragging her backwards. ‘We be gaun back tae Mam an’ that be that.’ He raised an apologetic hand towards the man, who was now staring at them in bemusement. ‘She’ll nae be botherin’ ye agin, Maister.’ Then, still gripping Rosie’s arm, he steered her determinedly back towards the archway.
As soon as they were out of sight, Rosie turned to the grinning boy and, without warning, gave him a hug.
‘Och, ye gaunnie nae dae that,’ Finn repeated, squirming away, his face red with embarrassment.
‘You were wonderful,’ Rosie smiled. ‘I’d have been in dreadful trouble if you hadn’t intervened. Where are Trixie and Flossy?’ She became aware of a distant barking. ‘Please tell me you didn’t lock them in the privy?’
Finn gave her a disbelieving look. ‘Ye think ah be daft? O’ course ah didnae. They be wi’ the Revren.’
Feeling an abrupt sense of foreboding, Rosie gave him another small smile before picking up her skirts and hastening back to the others.
She was just about to turn the corner into the small garden when the two dogs hurtled into view. She heard a muffled, ‘Oot the way ye eejit Sassenach God walloper,’ followed by the sudden appearance of the top of the ladder. That in itself would have been little cause for worry, except that Dougal was still clinging to the top of it.