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Hal pushes his empty plate away and reclines sideways on his elbow, stretching his long legs, ready to listen.
“James Montague was the seigneur of La Canette, and the last living male Montague. We think he must have had a genetic disorder because any male babies he had were still-born or miscarried, the only survivors were two daughters.” Pierre starts. “Determined not to leave the island to his distant cousins, he was anxious for sons to carry on the family line. Apparently, he beat his wife after each birth for failing to give him a son.”
“And he got away with it, of course,” Hal says grimly.
Pierre scrunches her face. “It was the eighteenth century, and he was master of his own island. We found church records that show letters from the bishop ofSalisburyto the vicar in La Canette with strict instructions not to fall out with the seigneur. So, the vicar persuaded Sir James to offer a tithe and pay for prayers for a son. Soon after that, his wife, Ada Montague, fell pregnant. That’s when the story gets worse.”
She pauses to drink her tea but finds the mug empty.
“Go on.” I take the pot and lean over to fill her cup.
“By all accounts, it was a very difficult pregnancy. Her belly was huge. But when she gave birth, it was…”
“A girl,” both Hal and I say at the same time.
“Worse,” Pierre says.
Hal’s really caught up in the story, now. He sits up and leans forward, long legs bent, his elbows on his knees. He clasps one wrist lightly with his hand.
“Ada gave birth to twin boys,” Pierre says. “But deformed. It’s not clear what deformity, but it was visible and both boys had it. Sir James tried to disown them, but we have a letter from the bishop advising him to be a good Christian and bear the burdens God has chosen for him.”
“Which,” Gabriel adds, “would have pretty much tied James’ hands. It was the 1700s and people never went against God.”
“He didn’t do anything for three years.” Pierre nods. “But then he announced he was sending the boys away to an orphanage in England. He even paid a boatman to take them across the channel. Lots of evidence that Ada tried to save them. She wrote to everyone, the bishop, the Arch Diocese on Guernsey, even distant relations. She begged them to intervene. None of it worked. One of the vicar’s letters describes how Sir James loaded the crying toddlers on the carriage to take them away, a crying Ada clinging on to the back rail. She was dragged across the village and the fields down to the port.
“But then La Canette shows its spirit. The boatman, watching Ada clinging to her children, the boys screaming their heads off, and all the people gathered, he refused to sail. In a rare show of public defiance, no other sailor accepts the job, either.”
My skin rises in goosebumps, and I have to hug myself. Hal’s face is calm but his fists clench on his knees.
“I also imagine,” Pierre explains, “Gibbet-Montague’s reputation for hanging suspected smugglers with or without evidence didn’t endear him to mariners. Anyway, all went quiet for a couple of months. Until one day, Ada came back from church and found the boys gone. Her daughters were also beaten very badly. I think, and this is just my own guess, the girls must have tried to stop their father taking their brothers away and got punished for it.”
Gabriel lays a gentle hand on her arm and takes over. “The official story says the boatman who sailed with the boys was assumed to have drowned because he never returned to La Canette. Ada went a little mad and started wandering around the hill. She pulled up all the roses in the gardens and planted thorny bushes instead.”
Hal shifts. “That explains all the tangled briars.” He glances through the window. Part of his garden can be seen, chock-a-block with brambles.
Gabriel continues. “Then Ada started sleeping outdoors among the bushes. Night after night, sometimes for weeks. After a while, the doctor suggested committing her to an asylum. Oddly enough, it was Sir James who refused. Not out of mercy, we don’t think.” He glances towards Pierre. “You see, if she was declared insane, Sir James would never have been able to divorce her. So, he says,” Again, Gabriel mimes inverted commas. “He’ll just look after her at home.”
“He was probably going to,” Hal starts to say.
“Kill her?” I guess.
This time Hal meets my eyes. “Exactly.”
“Oh, yes.” Pierre nods. “Very soon, he became increasingly friendly with someone in Jersey who had a daughter. They came to visit often, and he was invited to stay with them. But whatever he planned; he didn’t live long enough to make it happen. He caught typhoid fever on one of his visits and died.”
“Too easy,” Hal says with feeling. “He should have had a much more painful death.”
“Like breaking his leg on a night walk and no one finding him for a month.” I say hotly.
Hal turns towards me and gives me a lopsided half-laugh. “And that’s our distant grandfather.”
“Wait, it gets better,” Gabriel says. “Or, at least more mysterious.”
Hal asks, “With James gone, this is where the Du Montforts took over the seigneury of the island?”
“Not quite.” Pierre shakes her head. “After James’ death, his estate – the entire island –officiallywent to his sons because there was no official record of them drowning. And can you believe it…?” She looks at both me and Hal as if daring us to guess. “A few days later, the boys miraculously returned to island.”
“Alive?” I blurt out.
