The Lady Fan Series: Books 1-3 (Sapere Books Boxset Editions)

by Elizabeth Bailey

  “I must continue my task, ma’am.”

  A little of Sybilla’s thundercloud look abated. “She has glass splinters?”

  “Several, I am afraid.”

  “Then make sure you find them all, Ottilia.”

  She watched in silence for a moment, standing over the group and doing little to aid Ottilia’s concentration. Then she burst out in a tone of irritation, “You will never manage it in under an hour at this rate. Teresa, you hold the magnifying glass while I take Miss Roy’s hand.”

  “An excellent notion, ma’am.”

  Ottilia gave up her place to the dowager, moved the little table to one side and instead knelt on the carpet, which proved a much better position from which to see the splinters. Tamasine made no objection. Indeed, she appeared to relish the attention, although she turned away from the operation on her hand and stared openly into Sybilla’s face. The dowager, evidently disconcerted, fidgeted with her free hand, apparently trying not to return the stare. Ottilia was just wondering how much she knew, when Tamasine spoke up.

  “Why is your face full of furrows?”

  Ottilia was almost betrayed into a laugh at Sybilla’s astonished look.

  “Is it?” was all she could find to say.

  “Yes.”

  Sybilla’s black eyes turned towards Ottilia and a faint grimace crossed her features. Ottilia gave her a tiny conspiratorial smile. In fact the dowager was relatively unlined, but Tamasine’s literal approach to life clearly did not allow for gradations.

  “Well, I suppose it is because of my age,” Sybilla offered at length.

  “Is this your house?”

  The abrupt change of subject might have thrown a lesser woman, but the dowager took it without a blink. “It is indeed.”

  “I like it.”

  “I am happy to hear you say so. Especially as it has been the means of such a sorry accident.”

  Tamasine’s head turned swiftly and she was suddenly confronting Miss Mellis. A faintly malevolent look in the china blue eyes put Ottilia on instant alert.

  “You said it was not an accident.”

  The unfortunate Miss Mellis shrank a little and Ottilia felt compelled to intervene. “Do sit still, if you please, Tamasine.” She waited for the girl’s eyes to turn towards her, and smiled. “I wish you will tell Lady Polbrook all about your dancing in the snow.”

  As she had hoped, a peal of her peculiar laughter was drawn from the girl. “I wasn’t dancing, silly Lady Fan. There was no music.”

  “Pardon me, my error.” Ottilia looked to Sybilla. “I saw her from my window, you must know, and thought a fairy had come into the garden.”

  Tamasine laughed again. “It was me.”

  “Indeed it was, and I can see very well you are not a fairy after all. But I cannot blame those who call you the sugar princess, for you look just like one.”

  She was treated to the girl’s huge smile. “Simeon says I look like a china doll.”

  Ottilia noted the introduction of this new name, but she did not make the mistake of asking for enlightenment. “Does he so? Well, I can understand that.”

  Sybilla was mouthing at her and Ottilia caught the query as ‘Who is Simeon?’ She wanted to know herself, but she took a roundabout way of enquiry.

  “Does Simeon live at your house, Tamasine?”

  “When Joslin is dead, he will come.”

  Chapter 2

  A gasp escaped Miss Mellis’s lips, which drew a sharply rebuking glance from her employer, whose gaze then once more centred on Ottilia, question in the delicate raised brows. Before Ottilia had a chance to make any response, a voice was heard calling from somewhere outside the house.

  “Tamasine! Tam, where are you?”

  Ottilia looked towards the French windows and saw that her mother-in-law and Miss Mellis were similarly riveted. The girl did not appear to have heard, her attention being still on the ministrations to her hand. The voice was male and Ottilia drew the obvious conclusion.

  “I believe your guardian is calling for you, Tamasine.”

  “Oh, yes. I knew he would come.”

  “Tam? Tamasine!”

  This time there were two voices, coming in one atop the other. The second was female and Ottilia recalled the girl mentioning the name Lavinia. Ottilia set down the tweezers and scrambled up.

  “I will go and tell them you are here.”

  “Let Teresa go,” said the dowager.

  But Ottilia had no intention of surrendering the opportunity to waylay the guardian, from whom she might well discover more information about the girl. She picked up her cloak and began setting it around her shoulders. “No, no, ma’am. Poor Miss Mellis will take cold. I am well equipped for the weather for I had intended to take a walk in any event.”

  She was moving as she spoke, and was out through the door, closing it behind her before the dowager could make any serious objection.

  It did not take many minutes to locate the source of the voices, for she had only to follow the sound as they both continued to call for the errant Tamasine. Rounding the corner of the building, she caught sight of two people at a little distance, walking just within the grounds of the Dower House. Ottilia cupped her hands to her mouth and hailed them.

  “Sir Joslin!”

  She had to call again before he halted, turning in her direction. Ottilia waved and kept walking towards him, calling out as she did so. “We have Tamasine safe, sir.”

  He put up a hand in acknowledgement, called out to his companion, who was standing some feet away from him, and immediately set a path towards Ottilia.

  After Tamasine’s extraordinary remarks about her guardian, Ottilia was agreeably surprised to see as he neared that he was a personable man, with a significant tan to his skin which lent credence to the notion of the party having been recently abroad in a hotter climate. Sir Joslin was a good deal older than his ward, rather loose-limbed and tall, and wearing just now an expression both dour and exasperated. A sheen of sweat upon his brow, despite the cold, indicated the energetic hunt in which he had been engaged. Ottilia’s sympathy stirred. Young Tamasine must be a trying burden.

  The woman who accompanied him appeared to be more harassed than upset, an intense look of concern visible in an otherwise pleasant countenance of indeterminate age. She was clearly mature, but not yet of middle years. Ottilia put her on a par with herself at thirty. Her complexion was a trifle sallow, but not tanned, which suggested either that she had not been with the company in a different country or that she took sensible precautions to keep her face out of the sun.

  “I hope my ward has not proved a nuisance to Lady Polbrook, ma’am,” said Sir Joslin as he came up.

  He sounded a trifle out of breath and seemed to speak with a little effort. Ottilia hastened to disclaim, putting out a hand in a friendly way.

  “Nothing of the sort. How do you do, Sir Joslin? May we dispense with formality? I am Lady Francis Fanshawe.”

  He dipped his head in a bow and Ottilia was impressed with the firmness of his handshake, but faintly dismayed by the slight dampness of his ungloved palm. He gestured to the female who was with him.

  “Miss Ingleby, Tamasine’s companion.”

  Ottilia smiled at the woman. “I wish I might wholly reassure you, but I am sorry to say that Tamasine has suffered a slight accident.”

  “Oh, no, what now?” Miss Ingleby sounded despairing.

  A frown creased Sir Joslin’s brow. “Is she much hurt?”

  “She cut her hand. I was just removing some splinters of glass when we heard you calling.” Inviting them both with a gesture to accompany her, Ottilia turned for the house. “If you don’t mind waiting, perhaps it might be best if I complete the task before you take her home.”

  “You are very kind.’

  A mechanical tone. Was Miss Ingleby’s mind on other matters?

  “To tell you the truth, I am afraid I may be a little to blame. I saw her from my bedchamber window, you see, and waved. I
think she may have taken it for an invitation to come and find me.”

  There was no reply to this, but Ottilia saw the two exchange a glance which she was at a loss to interpret. It had not occurred to her to pretend ignorance of the evident peculiarities of the girl’s character, but she sensed unease. Were they merely embarrassed? Or could they possibly imagine Tamasine’s condition might be concealed? She tried again.

  “I take it she gave you the slip, Miss Ingleby?”

  The woman reddened, and it was Sir Joslin who answered, his tone repressive.

  “Tamasine is fond of early morning outings. I have spoken to her before about going out unaccompanied, but girls, alas, are too often headstrong.”

  The absurdity of this was patent. Headstrong? The child was no ordinary girl, to be coupled with flighty behaviour. Nor could Ottilia believe that Tamasine had the slightest notion of the shibboleths governing the conduct of young ladies, even had she been previously under a laxer rule than obtained in England. She had the mind of an infant, if indeed she had any normality of mind at all. She chose her words with care.

  “I imagine you must be anxious to keep her protected, as lovely as she is.”

  Sir Joslin had stiffened at the first part of this speech, but at this he relaxed a little. “Indeed.”

  “She is not yet out, you see.” Miss Ingleby spoke on a note of apology. “We cannot have all the young bucks after her before she has been presented.”

  Ottilia was at a loss how to reply to so blatant a lie. How in the world could a female with Tamasine’s obvious disadvantages possibly make her debut in polite society? Irritated, she was moved to blast this nonsense.

  “Dear me. I daresay the advent of my nephew Giles into Tamasine’s life is most unwelcome. Although at two and twenty, as Tamasine confided to me, she must be anxious to spread her wings.”

  She had expected Sir Joslin to be effectually silenced, but he proved to be made of sterner stuff.

  “Lord Bennifield is naturally welcome in our home, but I cannot sanction any further meetings with Tamasine. I accept his lordship’s explanation that he encountered my ward by chance.”

  And there the matter rested, for they were approaching the French windows to the parlour. Thoroughly disappointed to find Tamasine’s guardian so foolish as to attempt concealment, Ottilia could almost wish the girl would confound the fellow with a series of untoward remarks. With some relish, she pointed out the broken pane of glass.

  “I’m afraid poor Tamasine put her hand through there.”

  Miss Ingleby gasped out, but Sir Joslin frowned her down. “I trust you have not been burgled? Did it happen during the night?”

  “No one saw the glass in the process of breaking, if that is what you mean.”

  Aware she was being as evasive as the guardian, she found him tight-lipped as he stared at the jagged hole. Had a trifle of pallor entered his features under the tan? Satisfied at these signs of discomfiture, Ottilia opened the door.

  “Do come in, both of you, but be careful of the broken glass on the carpet.”

  Entering ahead of them and taking care where she stepped, she saw that Teresa Mellis had taken over the task she had abandoned, no doubt set thereto by Sybilla, and the company had been augmented by Francis.

  Ottilia caught his expression as his gaze rested on Tamasine before his head turned in her direction. The frank admiration in his face caused her an unexpected pang and it was a moment before she could speak. By the time she had recovered herself, both Miss Ingleby and Sir Joslin Cadel were in the parlour and Tamasine’s bright smile was in place.

  “I knew you would find me, and I was not cold at all, and Lady Fan mended my hand.”

  She was pointing at Ottilia with her free hand, the other still firmly grasped by the dowager, who inclined her head towards the newcomers.

  “Sir Joslin.”

  Then Sybilla was acquainted with the man. It was evident she had heard something of Tamasine before, although clearly not from this source.

  Sir Joslin bowed. “Forgive this intrusion, my lady. I think you have not met Miss Ingleby, my ward’s companion.”

  Sybilla acknowledged the presence of the woman with a nod, and returned her glance to the guardian. “I am glad to have the opportunity of speaking to you, sir, for I must offer my regrets that such an accident should befall your ward in my house.”

  At this, Miss Ingleby spoke up. “It is for Tamasine to apologise. She should not have trespassed in your grounds.”

  The dowager raised her brows. “No apology is necessary. Miss Roy is welcome to wander here if she wishes.”

  “Your ladyship is uncommonly forbearing,” cut in Sir Joslin, “but my ward will not trouble you further, I believe.”

  “It is no trouble. Besides, I daresay Miss Roy must feel a restriction in our limited estates here. I gather these sugar plantations are substantial properties. Barbados, was it not?”

  Ottilia’s ears pricked up. That explained the nickname. Then the child must have been referring to sugar canes. She made a mental note to quiz Sybilla on the subject the moment the visitors had departed.

  “Indeed, ma’am. My cousin’s plantation was extensive and it is true that Tamasine was able to roam free. There were slaves enough to look out for her.”

  The mention of slaves brought about a dismaying silence, and Ottilia looked swiftly towards her husband. Francis’s eyebrow quirked and he flashed a glance at his mother, whose views were known to Ottilia. The dowager was a staunch abolitionist, as evidenced when her tone became icy.

  “Teresa, have you done?”

  Miss Mellis sat back with a nod, and Ottilia went across to the group on the sofa, relieved to be able to promote a change of subject. “Have you found all?”

  “I can see no more, but perhaps you had best check, Lady Francis. Your eyes are younger.”

  She stood up as she spoke, effacing herself into a corner as was her custom. Ottilia thanked her and took her place on the floor.

  With one of her characteristic laughs, Tamasine piped up. “I was a pin cushion, Lavinia.”

  “I hope not, my dear,” said her duenna in a tone that showed clearly she did not appreciate the humour of this remark. “We will bandage your hand presently.”

  “Let me do that.” Ottilia indicated the lint and bandages Miss Mellis had brought down.

  Miss Ingleby came towards the sofa. “No, indeed, ma’am, you have been incommoded far too much already. If you are satisfied there are no more splinters, pray leave the rest to me.”

  It was plain she was anxious to be gone, which was unsurprising, Ottilia thought, considering the evasive manner of their earlier discourse. Glancing across at the guardian, she saw Sir Joslin was leaning on a chair back as he waited. The pose was nonchalant, but an oddity about it slipped into the back of Ottilia’s mind.

  She laid down the magnifying glass with which she had been subjecting Tamasine’s hand to a minute inspection. “I cannot see any more splinters.”

  “Then come, Tamasine,” said Sir Joslin in a voice of authority, straightening up.

  The girl rose with alacrity. “Lady Fan said I was a fairy dancing in the snow.”

  Ottilia forgot the reserve exhibited by the guardian and his companion. “And so you were. It gave me a deal of pleasure to watch you.”

  Miss Ingleby had taken hold of the girl’s wrist, and Ottilia noted the tightness of her grip. She turned her charge towards the dowager. “You must thank her ladyship for taking care of you, Tamasine.”

  Tamasine remained where she had been put, but she did not address Sybilla, instead directing her remarks towards her companion. “You didn’t catch me, Lavinia. I have had a lovely time, and now you may take me back to my eyrie.”

  It was said on a note of gaiety, but Ottilia, watching closely, saw the same faint look of malevolence in the blue eyes that the girl had worn earlier in addressing Teresa Mellis. An impulse to prolong the departure came over her and she used the first excuse that came to mi
nd.

  “Before you go, Sir Joslin, allow me to present my husband, Lord Francis Fanshawe.”

  The two men exchanged bows, and Francis then inclined his head to include Miss Ingleby, who dipped a slight curtsy.

  “Forgive me, sir, if we hurry away.”

  Ottilia caught her husband’s eye and he rose immediately to the occasion.

  “You must do as you see fit, ma’am. But may we perhaps offer you some refreshment before you go?”

  “Breakfast perhaps,” came tartly from Sybilla, and Ottilia knew her scheme was frustrated.

  Sir Joslin bowed. “We will not impose upon you any further, ma’am.” He glanced at the two females and gestured to the door. “Lavinia.”

  Thus adjured, Miss Ingleby said a hasty farewell and drew Tamasine towards the French window. The child made no effort to speak a word of farewell or thanks to anyone in the room, but in the silence left behind, her voice was clearly audible from outside.

  “Why did we not have breakfast? I am very hungry, you know. I hope you may have something better for me at home than bread and water.”

  Francis waited a moment for the echoes to die away, and then fixed his gaze upon his wife. She was looking a deal brighter than she had done earlier, undoubtedly due to her interest in the present rigmarole with these strangers and that peculiar girl.

  “Tillie, what in the world was all that about?”

  But his wife was forestalled by his mother. “You may well ask.” She gestured to the window. “You will note the wretched fellow made no offer to have the glass mended.”

  “Oh, I have sent for Grig, Sybilla.”

  Teresa’s intervention went unheeded. “If this is a sample of West Indian manners, I shall soon be wishing the fellow otherwhere.”

  To his relief, Tillie put a question. “You have met him before?”

  “He had the decency to make a courtesy call, but I’ve not seen hide nor hair of the fellow since.”