The Foggs set foot on Irish soil, lowered down through the foggy morning mists along the eastern coast. The inn they were heading to had been David's main embarkation point, and the innkeeper was his keeper of horses and supplies. They wanted to keep out of sight as much as possible, so wearing dark cloaks, they moved like ghosts in the pre-dawn mists to the back of the inn.
A cock in the barn crowed as they moved around the building to reach the inn. In the dim light of daybreak, a woman surprised them by walking out of the barn with a basket just as Phileas rounded the corner. Rebecca saw the woman and stayed back in the shadows to see if she was friend or foe.
The woman started at the sudden presence of a man in a traveling cloak so early in the morning. Then her face showed a moment of joyous recognition. She carefully put down her basket of eggs and ran to Phileas as if he were her long-lost brother, smothering him with hugs and kisses.
"Oh, David, we have been so worried about you. Where have you been?" She said in between frantic kisses. She had jumped into Phileas's arms and was hanging on his neck now like a lover, not a sister.
Remembering some of David's stories, her object of affection took advantage of the mistake. Taking her up off the ground in the middle of a deep kiss, Phileas carried her hugged tight against him into the barn and out of sight. Then, in the darkness of the barn's shadows, he pulled her back away from him.
Looking up into her hero's countenance, the woman's face was all adoration, until she took in his gray rather than red hair, and his face. While holding David's features, this man was too old. She pushed herself back from him to scream. Phileas had been ready for that. He pushed her back against the barn wall and held her mouth until the screaming subsided.
Rebecca came inside with the woman's egg basket, waiting as her cousin dealt with their cousin's mistaken lady friend. The situation had been quite amusing, from Rebecca's point of view. When she had seen the woman rush Phileas and throw her arms around him for a lover's embrace, she nearly laughed. The egg gatherer could not to be blamed for the mistake. Phileas's cloak and hat had hidden his features enough to show only the similarities.
Thinking about it now, Rebecca was suddenly struck by the similarities anew. True, David was younger and did not have the lazy aristocratic manner or arrogance that Phileas carried. His comportment was more like a soldier… strait, confident, and ready to jump to action at any second. David was also more strongly muscled; similar to what Phileas had been like when a full-time agent. The few years since his resignation had cost him that hardened definition. As far as general features were concerned, the two could be brothers.
Rebecca contemplated. She super imposed one cousin over the other mentally and was stunned by the result. The only difference between the two was manner and age. They could be twins.
The egg gatherer had calmed herself and was having her own thoughts about the similarities. The man holding her looked like an older version of her beloved David Drummond. Then he spoke.
This man was English.
Phileas pulled her attention away from her frank examination, asking her name.
"I am Bridget," the egg gatherer said. "Are you a Drummond, too? You should not be here," she said. "If they catch you, you will be in as much trouble as David. His enemies are livid! Word came to us he would be arrested for highway robbery. He's being sought in Europe. They mean to hang him. Father hid his horse on a farm away from here. You should leave before anyone else sees you."
That verified everything that they had expected. Phileas let Bridget go to find her father. He watched as Rebecca gave the girl her basket on the way out. She gave him an appraising look, like the way the Irish girl had looked at him.
"What?"
"Phileas," Rebecca started, not sure how he would feel about this. "Have you noticed just how strongly you and David resemble each other? That young woman is apparently intimate with David, and she thought you were him."
"She was confused by the darkness, that's all," Phileas said. "David and I are nothing alike." He said it with a definitive fact, which meant he hadn't noticed at all.
"You two are nothing alike in manner," she said. "Your backgrounds and upbringing are very different. Your physical appearance, however, is much the same. If David were older and grayed like you, he could pass for your twin."
"That is nonsense!" Phileas said, brushing her comments aside. He straightened his cloak and hat.
A moment later, a boy came into the barn. He took one look at Phileas and beamed. "David!" He cried out.
The boy dropped his bucket and ran for Phileas, intending to hug him as Bridget had. Phileas took off his hat to uncover his features and make the boy's mistake known. The child did not take the hint. He hugged Phileas's waist and started speaking to him in rapid fire Irish. The words were only barely understood. Rebecca and Phileas knew enough spoken Irish to get them through pleasantries. They could also read it after a fashion, but they could not speak it with more than a pedestrian ability.
The child seemed to be telling them of the dangers the girl had mentioned. Then he asked, "Why did you turn your hair gray?"
Rebecca just looked on, amused, as Phileas looked down at the boy who had attached himself to him. The child just made her point for her.
The boy's father and sister rescued Phileas from awkward embarrassment as they came into the barn. His children were ordered back to their tasks before the father asked his own questions.
"Who are you?" He demanded in Irish laden English.
"Phileas–Drummond," Phileas said. "This is my cousin Rebecca Drummond. David has been captured. We are here to find him. His good works have made him too many enemies."
"That's a truth, for sure," the innkeeper said. Phileas's resemblance to David seemed to reassure the man of what he claimed, but it didn't not relax his wary attitude. "Your relation is in deep trouble. David angered the wrong man the last time. He has power David never knew."
"Do you know if my cousin is in Ireland yet?" Phileas said.
"No, I don't. He might be on the way still," the innkeeper offered. "Once he is here, it will be known. The warrant and posters for his arrest are all over. Once he is brought back, there will be a public trial and execution."
"There will be no execution," Phileas said. "We intend a rescue. Can you supply us with his horse and some necessities? We will need some clothing to help us blend in better."
"You need a better voice, too," the man snapped. "I can tell you were raised in England. Your cousin said he spent his youth abroad in foreign armies. David did good at keeping up his Irish. Cannot say the same for you."
"Does she speak any better than you?" He looked at Rebecca with stern disapproval. She shook her head rather than prove his point.
"Royal Drummonds should do better." He left the barn, calling for his daughter to fetch things for the now less than honored guests.
"Royal Drummonds!" Phileas repeated with shock.
"Our cousin has taken on a lofty persona," Rebecca said, coming closer to Phileas.
They both considered the significance. "An Irish catholic royal–roaming the countryside coming to the aid of the oppressed would indeed gain a major following," Phileas said. "David's grand alter ego would account for the strict loyalty of his helpers. I'm sure the Queen never gave approval for that."
"About this similarity I have to David," Phileas said with grudging acceptance. "You suppose we could use that?" Phileas led Rebecca to an area away from the boy milking cows. They sat heads together on hay bales.
"I was wondering the same thing," Rebecca said. "Maybe you could cause a bit of confusion? Make them wonder if they picked up the right man?"
Rebecca ran her fingertips through Phileas's gray hair, startling him at the unexpected touch. It was not combed the same way; she changed its direction. David wore his hair swept back in a luxurious, thick mane, longer and fuller than Phileas ever allowed. Phileas seemed to be due for a cut. She continued to redress his hair. He had not allowed Passepartout to trim it for several weeks. He changed style occasionally, following male fashion, but almost always returned to this style. Rebecca idly continued to comb it back off his forehead with her fingers, changing the direction of its training. It was just long enough to take directing. With a bit of hair cream…
"It just might work," she said.
Phileas took the pawing without fuss. "The problem is the fact that our cousin is ten years younger than me," he said, intending to squash this idea. His hair had grayed in his late twenties. It had been black in his youth, not red.
Rebecca wasn't concerned. "We need to get the Aurora back," she said. A determination in her voice told Phileas she was planning something he probably would not like.
The innkeeper and his daughter came back to them with a bag of provisions and clothing. "Horses can be had, but not until dusk."
"That will give us time to get ready," Phileas said.
The counterfeit Drummonds left their hosts, promising to return at dusk for the horses and any news. They walked back into the woods. Phileas said, "This will give Verne a day or two to set himself up. He may be our best hope. We need to get David before the gallows."
The mist was still thick as they made their way to where Passepartout was waiting. The light of dawn was stronger now, but the fog kept everything blanketed. Going back into the stand of trees they had marked, Phileas signaled to Passepartout to return for them.
