Page 20 of Roseanna (The Shackleford Legacies #3)

Twenty

The mood in the Duke’s study the next morning was sober to say the least.

The King was due to arrive late in the afternoon, well in time to attend the evening’s entertainment. Wellington and Grey too would be present, along with the twenty-two other guests invited for the weekend. This evening’s dinner had been planned as an amusing introduction to the weekend’s diversions. Afterwards, there was to be dancing and games.

For an anarchist, what better time to ignite an explosion?

Nicholas had called together all of his brothers-in-law. However, on this occasion, he’d deliberately kept their wives in the dark. Including Grace. He would rather deal with her anger than her lifeless corpse when all this was over, and he well knew how fear could turn a difficult situation into a bloodbath.

‘The mistake we made was in assuming that the Comte d’Ansouis would not do anything precipitous whilst a guest in the same house, but clearly, he had a plan in place to ensure he was well away before any explosion occurred.’ Nicholas’s voice was grim.

‘He wouldn’t need to escape,’ Jago stated flatly. ‘All he’d need to do was make sure he was nowhere near the blast area when the explosion occurred. Retiring to his bedchamber with a feigned illness would likely be enough.’

‘No doubt returning to help the wounded with nobody the wiser,’ Christian grated. ‘Can we not just arrest the bastard now?’

Jamie shook his head. ‘We have no proof aside from a soiled shirt which Tristan has had to replace to hide the fact that we’re on to him. If we give him any reason to run, it won’t help us find the other conspirators. And d’Ansouis was never going to be the one lighting the fuse. We don’t even know how many more there are.’

‘Our best option is to find the powder and render it harmless before this evening.’

‘And how exactly do we do that?’ Anthony asked, his voice carefully controlled.

‘He wants tonight to be a bloodbath,’ Nicholas predicted. ‘The only time he can guarantee that every guest will be present is during dinner. My guess is that the black powder has been positioned somewhere in the cellars directly underneath the dining room.’

‘The last I looked, those cellars were filled tae bursting wi’ barrels containing everything from salt beef, to…’

‘Gunpowder,’ Adam supplied drily.

‘Aye,’ Malcolm nodded. ‘We’re nae goin’ tae simply walk in there and find them.’

‘And we don’t want to scare off the conspirators,’ Gabriel added. ‘Catching them in the act is the only way we’ll ever be able to identify them. Especially since we don’t know how many there are.’

‘And unless d’Ansouis makes a mistake to unmask himself, the only way we’ll see the bastard swing is if they give him up,’ Tristan added.

‘I’d like to know how the devil they managed to sneak the barrels into the cellar in the first place,’ Max put in, speaking for the first time. ‘It can’t have been easy. They must have a contact inside the house.’

‘It wouldnae have been that difficult,’ Malcolm countered. ‘There have been so many deliveries in the last few days. But I agree wi’ ye, they likely have a contact working inside the house.’

‘I think most of you are aware that I have a small team of ex naval men on standby for when the family needs extra protection,’ Nicholas declared. ‘Their team leader is a man named Chapman. I’m expecting them to arrive before noon, so there will be six more footmen on duty by early afternoon. I called them in yesterday to provide extra protection for his majesty and our two politicians, but given what Tristan discovered, I think they will be best utilised to neutralise the threat in the cellar once we’ve discovered the whereabouts of the gunpowder.’

‘So, they’ll be the ones waiting for the murdering varmints to turn up and try to light the fuses?’ Adam queried.

‘Aye, they’ll give the bastards a surprise they weren’t expecting.’ Malcolm’s grin was fierce.

Nicholas gave a humourless chuckle. ‘So, gentlemen, the job for today is to somehow find the right barrels hidden in a cellar filled with lots of other barrels, without anyone knowing they’ve been discovered. Then they are to be quietly diffused, moved out of harm’s way and replaced with barrels containing something else – preferably non-flammable. After that, our men wait for the murdering varmints to turn up and try to light the fuses, when they either shoot them or send them for the morning drop.’

‘Have I covered it all?’

Unusually, Roseanna did not wake until the maid came in with her morning chocolate. Since Trixie had come into her life, she’d rarely slept past eight o’clock. While the chamber maid bustled about, opening curtains and placing a fresh bowl of washing water on the dressing table, Rosie endeavoured to collect herself, only half listening to the young woman’s chatter.

‘I still can’t believe ‘is ‘ighenss is goin’ to be at Blackmore today,’ she declared, her voice radiating delight. ‘It just don’t seem real. I reckon I’ll remember this day for as long as I live.’

Rosie smiled at the maid’s enthusiasm but struggled to feel even the smallest excitement. After tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, her mind relentlessly fluctuating between exhilaration and fear, she envied the maid her ignorance.

She desperately wanted to speak with Tristan. Their kiss the night before had turned her world upside down, but had it done the same for him? The way he’d taken control suggested he’d done it many times before, but somehow, she’d sensed that what they’d shared had been an unfamiliar experience for him, too. While part of her was petrified of what might happen in the hours to come, another part was equally frightened of what might happen after it was all over. Or rather, what might not.

How could she return to Northwood pretending nothing had happened and act like nothing had changed? Everything had changed. And her twin sister – the one person she’d always shared all her secrets with, wasn’t even aware of it.

Sighing, Rosie pushed back the coverlet and climbed out of bed. Trixie eyed her sleepily but didn’t appear in any hurry to move. Rosie bent to stroke her soft ears. ‘As much as I’d like to stay here with you for the rest of the day, it won’t solve anything,’ she murmured, kissing the top of the little dog’s head. ‘and there are other, much more important things to be concerned about than my heart.’

‘Like everybody surviving the day.’

To Roseanna’s relief, the Comte did not appear for breakfast, but then, neither did her father or any of her uncles. When she questioned the Duchess, her aunt replied that there were things that needed taking care of before the King’s arrival. And since she too had a million and one things to supervise, she would leave them to their own devices.

Jennifer suggested that since the guests were not due to start arriving until later in the afternoon, they take the dogs on a walk to Wistman’s pool. Initially Roseanna thought to decline, but then thought better of it. She’d spent very little time with her cousins, and what was she going to do if she remained in the house? Brooding and getting under the busy servants’ feet wouldn’t help anything. And anyway, Trixie would enjoy spending some time with her canine cousins.

‘Do you think your father would like to accompany us?’ she asked Brendon.

‘Ah dinnae ken,’ the Scot answered. ‘He put more than a wee dent in his grace’s whisky supply last evenin’ and will likely be nursin’ a sore head fer his sins.’

‘He didn’t say anything to the Comte while he was foxed did he?’ Rosie asked anxiously.

‘Nae, ma lady dinnae ye worry. The old bampot didnae hae a chance. His lordship retired not long after ye, an’ ah told the Reverend ah’d be sure tae put the daftie in his bed maself.’

Roseanna couldn’t help but giggle at Brendon’s description of his father. While his frustration was evident, so was the affection in his voice.

‘Did my grandfather say he’d be coming over to the house today?’

‘Aye, ah reckon he’s resigned himself tae bein’ stuck tae ma da’s hip until the weekend’s be done. Ah’m beyond grateful tae the pair o’ ye.’

Everyone going agreed to meet outside the stables at ten. If they didn’t dawdle, the walk to Wistman’s pool and back would likely take them a pair of hours. According to Patience, stout boots were definitely required.

There was no sign of Tristan or any of the other men as Roseanna returned to her bedchamber to collect Trixie and change into her walking boots. She only hoped they managed to track down the conspirators before the scoundrels had the opportunity to shoot anybody. Although, what would happen to the Comte then, she had no idea.

Picking up her shawl, she wondered if Dougal would accompany them to the pool. The thought of the old Scot being left to his own devices for any amount of time was still not a comforting one - especially if the last evening was anything to go by…

Clearly, they could not all go down and search the cellars en masse. If they did, it would surely be noticed. Instead, it was decided that all of them bar Nicholas, Malcolm and Tristan would go down in pairs disguised as kitchen staff. With organised chaos currently prevailing in Mrs Higgins’ domain, it was unlikely their deception would be discovered, and with the sheer number of deliveries even now being received, their anonymity would be all but assured.

Unfortunately, while Nicholas and Malcolm were the two most familiar with the layout of the extensive cellars, they were also the two with the most recognisable faces. And the Duke of Blackmore especially would not under any circumstances be seen rummaging around in his cellars.

Instead, the Duke had furnished them with a plan of the cellars, marking the three areas underneath the large dining room, while he and Malcolm went to prepare for a visit from the King.

Etienne Babin paced back and forth in his bedchamber. In truth, he couldn’t remain still. It was difficult to actually believe all the years of plotting and scheming were finally about to bear fruit.

Blackmore hadn’t been the only house he’d planted Revisionists in. Some had been in place for years. There was never any shortage of servants ready to betray their masters, and the English loved to whine.

But it hadn’t been until his invitation to the Duke of Blackmore’s annual garden party that he finally saw the opportunity he’d been waiting for. And the discovery that Wellington and Grey were to be present was an unexpected stroke of luck. Everything had gone to plan, right down to locating an old drawing of the cellars, and setting the casks in place without attracting attention.

Everything that is, apart from the discovery that the bloody King was coming. When Babin had first been told, he could hardly believe it. It felt like divine providence – a gift from on high.

But gradually, throughout the night, unease had set in. It was one thing blowing up politicians and entitled peers, but it was quite another to assassinate Royalty. If he was caught and found guilty, he could very well be hung, drawn and quartered. Merde , the English were barbarians.

But the dice had been thrown, and the game was on. It was too late to back out now. And still he relished the thought of the chaos the act would bring. He just didn’t want to have to watch his own entrails burning as a result of it.

He’d intended to brazen it out, confident he’d be accepted as one of the victims, but

the more he thought about it, the more he realised that the only sensible action would be to flee across the Channel.

He had contacts in Plymouth and was confident he’d be able to secure passage quite easily.

His problem was more immediate. How would he get to the docks? If he took his coach, everyone would know he’d left. Questions could be asked that might lead to his arrest before he reached France. If he feigned illness, however, he could simply leave the house with none the wiser. With luck they might even believe he’d perished in the blast.

He was certain there’d be someone in the village with a horse and cart who’d be willing to take him to Plymouth for the right price. And if the man was unfortunate enough to meet with an accident before he had the chance to return to Blackmore…

Babin looked down at his pocket watch. It was nearly nine a.m., which meant the maid would be in shortly. If he was leaving, it would have to be as soon as she’d finished.

His mind made up, the false Comte sat down to write a note.

Although Nicholas had provided a detailed plan of the cellars, in reality, the number of small, vaulted rooms in each section numbered more than ten. And nearly all of them were completely filled with barrels. Whilst brandy and port were easily identifiable by their pungent aroma, they also masked the subtler smell of sulphur, forcing the men to pull out and go through each individual barrel in turn.

As the owner of a Cornish tin mine, Jago had the most experience when it came to quantities of powder needed to blow up a specific area. In his opinion, the amount of black powder needed to produce a blast large enough to devastate the dining room and everyone in it would be between ten and twelve barrels - stacked together to cause the maximum amount of damage. Since the barrels were likely only about two feet tall, by a foot across, they could quite easily be hidden away behind the larger casks.

After an hour, they swapped, with the outgoing pair bringing up a cask of something to foster the impression they’d been sent to fetch provisions for the kitchen. A chalk mark was made next to the entrance once they were certain an area was safe.

It was laborious and time consuming to check every barrel in each of the small rooms and after two hours, Adam, Roan, Christian and Anthony - the first two pairs – had only managed to search half the area underneath the dining room. All eight men were acutely aware they were running out of time.

Tristan had to fight his frustration at having to remain on call for the Comte, but it was crucial they maintain the deception at this stage in the game. The Frenchman had sent a note down that he was not to be disturbed. Apparently, he was sick with an ague and wished to remain in bed to protect his majesty’s person. In reality, the scab was undoubtedly hiding away until after the dining room had gone up in flames, at which point he’d simply claim to be another victim.

In all honesty, Tristan didn’t know how he’d stop himself from strangling the former convict with his own cravat when he finally went upstairs, but he gritted his teeth and resigned himself to watching and waiting.

It was a long time since Dougal Galbraith had felt quite so shabby. As a younger man, he’d prided himself on his ability to drink a bottle of whisky and still walk out on his own two feet.

Sadly, if the last evening was anything to go by, he appeared to have lost that ability, especially since he couldn’t actually remember how he’d got to bed. He blamed it on being surrounded by a bunch of lily-livered Sassenachs. But gutless or no, he couldn’t deny that the Duke of Blackmore had in his possession a very fine whisky indeed. And experience told him that on occasions like these, the only thing for it was to have another wee dram.

The problem was, it had taken him nearly half an hour to negotiate the stairs and find his way back to the drawing room, only to discover the bloody decanter was empty.

Sighing, he sat down on a chair and wondered what to do now. Perhaps he should have gone for a walk with Brendon and the others. A bit of fresh air would probably have done him good. He looked dubiously out of the window, wincing at the bright sunlight

A small stroll in the fresh air – that was what he needed. And if it happened to take him past his grace’s cellar – particularly the one where he kept his whisky – well, then that would be a fortunate coincidence.

Rosie enjoyed the walk much more than she expected to, and for a while, it was lovely to put her concerns to one side and simply enjoy her extended family’s company. Spending this time with her aunts and cousins, and watching her mother interact with her sisters, had been unexpectedly wonderful – despite all the havey-cavey business surrounding them.

As they came within sight of the house, Roseanna couldn’t help noticing that everyone’s steps had become unmistakeably slower as concerns about the current situation came flooding back.

Under normal circumstances, they would undoubtedly be sharing their excitement about the coming royal visit, but during their hike, it had hardly been mentioned and as they descended towards the stables, the only comment made was concerning royal etiquette.

By the time they reached the grain store, they were all largely silent. James helped little Henry down off his shoulders. Lunch would be a very improvised affair, as the kitchen would be entirely focused on the evening’s dinner.

‘Will the Comte be joining us for lunch do you think?’ Rosie asked no one in particular.

‘I deuced well hope not,’ Patience responded. ‘Being the slippery toad he is, my guess is he’ll remain in his bedchamber, plotting, until the King arrives.’

‘If he does join us, we’ll have to be civil,’ Prudence commented, ‘even if what we’d really like to do is to run the blackguard through.’

‘You’ve never been civil to anyone in your life that you didn’t like,’ Charity scoffed.

‘That’s not true. I’m particularly civil to people I don’t like,’ Pru countered with a grin.

A few minutes later, they parted to freshen up for lunch.

Putting Trixie back on her lead, Rosie was about to follow her sister when a figure coming out of the carriage house caught her eye. Stopping, she squinted, making out the grey hair tied back in a queue. It was the man she’d seen at the inn. She watched him talk with an unknown man for a second, not sure what to do. ‘Are you coming, Rosie?’ Her sister’s question decided her.

‘You go on without me. I think Trixie might need to do her business.’

‘How can she possibly have any business left to do after spending the entire morning outdoors?’ Francesca queried. ‘Truly, I think that little madam has you wrapped around her paw.’

Roseanna found herself chuckling as she caught up. She couldn’t really argue with her sister’s comment.

‘I’ll see you at lunch,’ she murmured, giving Francesca a quick hug. Her twin gave the smallest of frowns as she stepped away. ‘I think there is something you’re not telling me, Rosie,’ she declared. ‘And while I will not badger you into confiding, neither will I let the matter drop. Be warned, dearest.’

Knowing her sister’s doggedness of old, Roseanna stood for a second, watching her walk away. It was actually quite a comfort to know that she had someone who knew her almost as well as she knew herself.

Then she turned towards her quarry just as he finished his conversation. She’d have to hurry if she wanted to see where he was going.

Picking up her skirts, she hurried towards the carriage house. Unfortunately, by the time she got there, he’d disappeared. ‘Damn,’ she murmured to herself, turning full circle. There was no sign of him. She was just about to give up when she saw Dougal Galbraith walking along the edge of the kitchen garden. Where was her grandfather? Surely, he should have been here by now.

Biting her bottom lip, Rosie hesitated. Did she keep looking for the possible traitor, or follow Dougal to make sure he wasn’t up to anything untoward? She bent down to pick Trixie up. Her uncle had expressly forbidden her to go after the grey-haired man if she ever saw him again, and Rosie was convinced that the mischief Dougal could cause was in no way diminished because they happened to be in the middle of a crisis, despite what everyone else seemed to think – well, everyone but her grandfather. But where the devil was he?