He remembered the oddity of her acceptance when he had kissed her. She had neither struggled nor reciprocated. He had laughingly told her to stand still, half expecting her to run from him. Tamasine had done just as he instructed. Then she had spoken of her guardian.
“Joslin will be cross when he knows you kissed me.”
Giles had recognised the name at once, for he was present when Sir Joslin paid a courtesy call on his father at Polbrook. Shocked to realise he had taken a liberty with a girl of genteel origin, he apologised profusely. But Tamasine laughed.
“I don’t mind. I hope you will come to visit me.”
“At Willow Court? You may be sure I will.” He then bethought him of her lone state. “But may I not escort you back there?”
Tamasine’s tinkling laugh sounded again. “They don’t know I am out. I escaped from Lavinia.”
With which, she had turned and taken off through the trees before Giles had a chance to ask anything further.
His uncle’s voice, speaking with urgency, recalled him to the present, and the heaviness of current events settled upon his chest once more.
“Giles, whatever your feelings for the girl, there is too much at stake here to be indulging in sentiment.”
Turning, he eyed the seriousness of Francis’s features with alarm. “What is at stake?”
His uncle disregarded the question. “Tell me, Giles, when Hemp came to find you, was it with a written or a verbal message?”
Thrown out of his stride, Giles answered without thought. “Verbal. I don’t think Tamasine had time to write.”
“What precisely did Hemp say to you?”
A sliver of foreboding raced through Giles. “Why do you ask?”
“Every detail is of import in these circumstances.”
The feeling intensified. “What circumstances? Are you speaking of Sir Joslin’s death?”
His uncle’s dark eyes narrowed. “I’m speaking of his possible murder.”
Shock ripped through Giles’s chest. Aghast, he could only stare at Francis. Murder? The word was anathema, after what his family had undergone not so long since. Why in the world would anyone want to murder the man? And why, it occurred to him belatedly, was the detail of Hemp’s message so important?
“I don’t understand,” he managed at length.
“You don’t need to at this present. Just answer the question.”
With difficulty, Giles brought his attention to bear on the moment the footman had come to him with Tamasine’s message. “I’m not sure I remember precisely. He said, I think, that Miss Tam wanted me to come, and that her guardian would not mind.”
“But you knew he did mind,” came sharply back, “for Tamasine said as much to Tillie.”
Discomfort surfaced out of the numbness invading his brain. “I hoped he might have changed towards me. I am not ineligible, after all.”
“Far from it,” agreed his uncle, “but that was not his reason for rejecting you.”
Sudden rage hit Giles. “How can you know that? Did he tell you so?”
“There is no need to get up into the boughs, Giles.” He made no response, struggling with his emotions. “Sir Joslin did not wish his ward to become entangled with anyone before her come-out.”
The sentiment was not new to Giles. “Yes, so he said to me.”
“Which prohibition, I presume, led you to meet with Tamasine clandestinely.”
The sarcastic note was not lost on him. “You need not censure me, sir. I know it was wrong.”
“But you could not help it.”
Giles closed his lips on a violent retort. He was perfectly aware his conduct was unworthy, but he nevertheless resented the tone. Yet he would rather take that than open Tamasine’s behaviour to inspection. Giles knew her pursuit of him sprang from innocence, but it was obvious his uncle would not agree with him.
“Was anything else said in the message?”
“Nothing more.”
“Are you certain?”
He flushed with anger. “Quite certain, Uncle Francis.”
Irritation showed in his uncle’s eyes. “I trust you will refrain from showing that face to your grandmother, Giles. We have had fireworks enough at the Dower House.”
So he knew. His grandmother’s objections to his father’s remarriage had been well aired, but he had no qualms on this point. “I can handle Grandmama.”
“I envy you your insouciance.” The dry note was pronounced, but Giles refused to rise to the bait. “Did you send any message back with Hemp?”
“I said only that I would wait upon Tamasine.” Without thinking, he added, “And that I looked to hear more of the reckoning.”
Too late he saw suspicion leap into Francis’s face. “What reckoning?”
What in the world had possessed him to mention that? He could feel warmth rising and hoped his cheeks had not reddened. Tamasine had told him in confidence, and in the light of present events, it was scarcely felicitous to mention it. To his dismay, he found he had given himself away.
“You didn’t mean to let that out, did you? Giles, this is serious.”
His uncle’s earlier words came back to Giles. “You surely didn’t mean that about Sir Joslin having been murdered?”
“It is not out of count, Giles. For pity’s sake, if you know something that may throw light on the business, you must speak out.”
Writhing, Giles could not help the protest. “It was Tamasine’s confidence. I can’t betray her.”
His uncle came up to him and gripped his arm. “This is not the moment for misplaced loyalty, my dear boy. I appreciate your feelings, but I promise you, you will do more harm by withholding the matter.”
Torn, Giles gazed at him. “And if it is altogether damaging?”
Francis’s dark gaze almost bored into him. “Randal’s case was altogether damaging, Giles, but Ottilia found out the truth. You may trust in her.” His uncle released him and fell back a step. “Come now, what of this reckoning?”
With a sigh, Giles capitulated. “Tamasine spoke of it in jest. She didn’t mean anything by it, I’m convinced.”
“Very well, but what did she say?”
Restless again, Giles went to the fire and resumed his drumming on the mantel, only half aware of what he did. “Sir Joslin would not allow her cousin Simeon to come and see her, Tamasine said. It seems they were playfellows in childhood, but there was a falling out. This fellow Simeon was sent home to England.”
“And the reckoning?”
Giles turned to look at him, and he could not repress a rueful smile. “Tamasine says they swore vengeance together. They were little more than children. Only a madman would take the matter seriously.” There was no sign of amusement in his uncle’s face, and Giles heard the echo of his own voice with a sudden upsurge of shock. He spoke before he could weigh the wisdom of his words. “You think her mad, don’t you? You think her capable of putting some such plan into action. But it’s ridiculous, sir. Even I, when she asked for my aid in this, could not do other than laugh at it.”
So far from laughing, Francis was staring at him in patent horror. “What aid? What did she ask of you?”
Tamasine’s words rang in his head, all at once redolent not of innocence, but of sinister import, stilling his tongue. His uncle must have seen his reluctance.
“Giles, cut line!”
He tried for a nonchalance he was far from feeling. “Oh, it was nothing. A silly notion, not to be taken seriously.”
“I’ll be the judge of that, I thank you.”
Giles let his breath go and capitulated. “Well, if you must have it, she asked if I could help to get her guardian out of the way so that this cousin Simeon of hers might come here. Don’t look like that! She didn’t mean she wished me to help him to his death!”
“Yet she pushed him down the stairs.”
“Ridiculous! I’ll not believe it.”
“It’s what she said herself. However, that is neither here nor there. How
did you answer her?”
“How do you think? I made a jest of the matter, asking her should I call Sir Joslin out or waylay him on the road and shoot him outright.”
“Are you serious?”
Giles gave a mirthless laugh. “Well, I said it, if that’s what you mean. But of course I never intended it to be taken seriously.”
Francis closed his eyes for a moment. “Give me strength! And when, if I dare ask, did this conversation take place?”
Before Giles could respond, a bell pealed through the house. His uncle started at it, turning his head towards the sound.
“If that is the front door, I dare say Sutherland has arrived.” He was crossing the room swiftly, and turned at the door, throwing his finger out towards Giles. “Stay where you are! I’m not finished with you yet.”
He flung open the door and disappeared into the hall. Giles followed, pausing at the door as he wondered whether to make good his escape. No servant had as yet appeared through the baize door at the back, and Francis was making for the front door. Giles stole noiselessly towards the back of the hall, and paused as he heard his uncle let out an exclamation of surprise. He could just see someone standing on the doorstep. His uncle grasped the fellow’s hand and drew him into the house.
“In good time, Patrick. You are just the man we need!”
The man addressed, who bore a striking resemblance to his uncle’s wife, pumped his hand with enthusiasm. “I suppose I need not ask if my sister is upon the premises? The day Ottilia refrains from poking her nose into such affairs I’ll eat my hat.”
Waiting for no more, Giles moved quietly to the green baize door and slipped out of the hall.
Tempted though she was to creep along the gallery, Ottilia knew it behoved her to hold to a pace that suggested she had every right to be wandering around the corridors of an alien household. Besides, she had her excuse ready. Since the start of her pregnancy, the needs of her bladder had become more frequent and pressing.
It was eerily quiet after the earlier rumpus, and she wondered where everyone had gone. Following in the direction she had seen Mrs Whiting and Hemp disappear, Ottilia listened for any betraying sound to suggest the rooms she passed were occupied. Arrived at the end of the corridor, she hesitated. Should she turn the corner and proceed towards the back of the house? Likely they accommodated Tamasine out of hearing of the principal rooms.
As she hesitated, looking along the passage, the sound of footsteps alerted her. On impulse, Ottilia retreated into the corridor from where she had come and opened the nearest door, slipping into the room. It proved to be an empty bedchamber, obviously unoccupied, the shutters closed, the bed-curtains tied neatly back and dark shapes indicating Holland covers laid over the furniture to keep out the dust.
Keeping the door slightly ajar, Ottilia peered through the crack and watched a squat figure pass in the direction of the gallery. The housekeeper? She was carrying a tray but Ottilia was unable to see what was on it.
Waiting only until the footsteps could be heard upon the wooden stairs, she slipped out of hiding, softly closed the door to the bedchamber, and set off along the passage that led down the side of the house. A sound of muttering presently rewarded her, growing in strength as she neared the next bend. Ottilia followed it to its source and halted before a door to a chamber situated at the back of the house. She stood listening for a moment and was able to make out words.
“…going too far, and I shall hate you for it… No, you shall not, do you hear? We are the princess, sir, our word is law… Come into the canes, Simeon, do, none will find us here… One, two, five, eight, three … it is of no use to hide, for I will get you…”
A rush of warm sympathy, edged with a frisson of fear, rushed into Ottilia’s bosom. She could not mistake the voice. Nor could the tenor of this inchoate speech do other than confirm the mental deficiency under which Tamasine Roy laboured. Poor child, to be thus afflicted! Was this typical, or brought on by the disasters of the day?
It occurred to Ottilia that the woman she had seen passing along the corridor had been here but a few moments since and her aspect had not appeared to be unduly dismayed, which suggested Tamasine’s present manner was a regular occurrence. Was the door locked? Stealthily, Ottilia tried the handle. It turned, but the door did not budge, and she released the handle, trying to make no noise.
The muttering ceased. Curiosity overcame her and Ottilia put her eye to the crack in the door, trying to see into the room. A sliver of light gave her no proper view, but she thought a shadow wafted across. She put her ear to the woodwork and could hear nothing.
There was a key in the lock and Ottilia debated the wisdom of turning it and entering the room. Common sense prevailed. It was clear Tamasine had taken leave of what senses she had, if temporarily. It would be foolish of Ottilia to blunder in when she had scant knowledge of what to expect. Yet she could not resist the notion of removing the key and peering through the keyhole. Dropping down, she moved close and tried to see into the hole. There was light at first at the other end. Then it suddenly darkened and an eye became visible.
Ottilia jerked back. Tamasine had taken the self-same notion. The muttering started up again.
“Come in, my dear, do, and I will give you sugar drops… Do you not hear me?”
She waited a moment, and then once more put her eye to the keyhole. The other eye was still there and instantly the voice started up again.
“There you are! If you will open the door, I can come out to you.”
Ottilia scurried upwards and back, away from the door, feeling ridiculously apprehensive. Merely because the creature sounded normal? Was it safe to open the door?
Becoming aware of the irregular beat in her pulses, Ottilia cursed herself for a fool. What was she about, to be interfering in this way? Francis would upbraid her, did he know what she was doing. Yet she could not make herself leave.
“Tamasine?” she ventured, pitching her voice low but loud enough to be heard through the wooden panels.
“Lady Fan!”
The voice was a high-pitched squeak, and Ottilia remained wary. Recognition did not necessarily mean lucidity.
“Lady Fan!” came again, on an excited note. “Have you the key?”
Ottilia was obliged to remind herself the creature had been anything but lucid a few minutes ago, but she thought it prudent to answer. “I am putting it back in the lock.”
She did so, feeling absurdly like a traitor.
“Open the door, I pray you.”
“I cannot, Tamasine, I am sorry.”
The door shook and the handle shifted to and fro as the girl inside the room rattled at it. “Pray let me out, Lady Fan. I am better now, I promise.”
Ottilia remained silent, her gaze riveted upon the handle, willing herself not to give in to the impulse to free the child.
“Lady Fan, Lady Fan, Lady Fan. Will you not open for me?” came in the same bright tone of gaiety the child had used before all the upset of her guardian’s death.
Perhaps Giles was not so blameable, after all. With Tamasine’s urgent pleas coming so prettily to her ears, it was hard indeed to hold on to remembrance of the peculiar mutterings she had heard not a few moments since.
Hasty footsteps coming along the corridor settled the matter. Ottilia looked to judge from which direction they came, intending to slip away by the other, but she was too late. A woman turned the corner of the passage down which Ottilia had come, and catching sight of her, stopped short.
Ottilia sighed and moved towards her, trying for a nonchalance that was far from the reality. “Are you feeling a little more the thing, Miss Ingleby?”
The companion’s feet began to move again, but her features became pinched. “I suppose I need not ask what you are doing in this part of the house, Lady Francis. If you are determined upon interference, perhaps you would care to take my place? I’ll warrant a single day would have you begging for release.”
Ottilia immediately abandoned
the excuse she had dreamed up, and opted for the truth. “I came to discover how things stood once calm had descended again.”
“Indeed? Well, if you have any sense, you will stand away from this door when I open it.”
The hazardous nature of this proceeding could not but strike Ottilia and she spoke without thinking. “Is that wise? I know little of Tamasine’s condition, of course, but I have heard enough to realise she is in uncertain mood.”
Miss Ingleby threw her a scorching glance. “Allow me to know my own business best, ma’am.”
“I am sure you do. May I ask what you intend?”
“You may ask, but I see no reason why I should answer.”
Ottilia bit down upon annoyance. “Miss Ingleby, if you think to drive me away by this means, let me assure you I am more resilient than you suppose.”
For a moment the woman’s defiant pose held, and then she sagged a little, sighing out a defeated breath. “Do as you wish. At least you had brain enough not to open the door yourself.”
“I was sorely tempted,” Ottilia confessed, feeling frankness would best serve her with this woman.
Miss Ingleby knocked on the door. “She can be persuasive.”
No response was forthcoming to her knock, and Ottilia watched with interest as the companion did just what she had done, removing the key and putting an eye to the hole. Standing again, she lowered her tone.
“She will have heard me. I dare say she is already lying down on her bed, pretending to be asleep.”
“I imagine all this excitement is the worst possible thing for her,” Ottilia remarked, assuming the companion to have recognised they must be past all pretence.
“Oh, she thrives on it.” Miss Ingleby’s tone was decidedly offhand. “If there is nothing to stir her passions, she will invent something.”
“You talk as if she were rational.”
Miss Ingleby was turning the key in the lock, but at this she paused, looking round and meeting Ottilia’s gaze, her expression set. “Make no mistake. She is perfectly rational — in her way.”
Bemused and amazed, Ottilia watched her remove the key and pocket it. Then she turned the handle and opened the door, slipping quickly inside. Ottilia put out a determined hand to prevent the door from closing and followed suit.
The Lady Fan Series: Books 1-3 (Sapere Books Boxset Editions) Page 76
