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

by Elizabeth Bailey

  “I thought you told me she could communicate in pictures.”

  “Oh, she can when she chooses. If you were to inspect some of these creations she buries in her mattresses, I don’t doubt you would find plausible drawings, even recognizable in some instances.”

  “It does not sound much like a communication to me, if she does not know what she draws.”

  “One has to catch her in the right mood.”

  Ottilia could have slapped him. “This is nonsense, Mr Roy, and you know it. I wish you will stop trying to pull the wool over my eyes. You have not engaged in correspondence with the child, unless by the medium of some intermediary.”

  An enigmatic smile creased the fellow’s mouth. “It is not I who believes there has been a murder at Willow Court, Lady Francis. I think you will find it difficult to convince my cousin Ruth of anything of the kind.”

  Her exasperation was interrupted by the sound of dragging. She turned from him to see Tamasine pulling the mattress across the roof floor. She started forward just as the girl, without apparent effort, heaved the thing over the parapet, squealing with laughter. Then she jumped up onto the wall, stepping hazardously along it and singing out in a gleeful fashion.

  “I’m walking on water, walking on water, walking on water.”

  “Tamasine, no!”

  Simeon caught her arm as Ottilia made to rush to pull her down. “Quiet, ma’am! She’s as lithe as a cat. She won’t fall.”

  Ottilia watched in an agony of apprehension. “How can you be sure?”

  “She was used to climb trees and she could rope dance as a child. She has no fear at all. She is safe, as long as no one startles her.”

  The admonitory note cut at Ottilia’s nerves. She could not take her eyes off the girl and stood as if frozen to the spot, willing her to come down. It seemed an age while she pranced along the wall, utterly oblivious until a flapping of wings produced a bird taking off from a nearby chimney. Tamasine halted and pointed.

  “There is the witch! Look, it’s a black crow like Lavinia!”

  A manic explosion of laughter escaped her while Ottilia, unable to bear the suspense, took a step towards her. Then Tamasine jumped down and spun on the spot, crying out that Lavinia was a black crow. Reaching her, Ottilia slung an arm about her shoulders and hustled her back to a safe position in the middle of the roof.

  “Come now, my dear, should you not think of coming inside? We will all take cold if we stay here.”

  Aware her voice shook she looked to Simeon and found him utterly unmoved by the child putting herself at risk. Infuriated, she forced him into the fray.

  “Simeon will take you down, will you not, Mr Roy? I am sure our sugar princess will be happy to go with you.”

  She danced away from Ottilia. “Simeon, Simeon, Simeon, will you rescue me?”

  “With the greatest pleasure on earth, my dear little Tam. Come, let us satisfy Lady Fan and return you to your eyrie.”

  With which, he threw Ottilia a mocking glance and guided the chattering girl into the pathway between the roof elevations. Feeling quite sick with the aftermath of dread, the fate of the luckless mattress loud in her mind, Ottilia trailed behind, wishing she had not come up at all. The horrible access to an easy death, for Tamasine or another, was too dismaying to contemplate.

  The discussion was growing heated and Francis longed for his wife’s return. Mrs Delabole was looking perfectly bewildered, and who could blame the woman? His mother’s snapping black eyes and icy tone warned of her rising temper, and Miss Ingleby’s point-blank refusal to believe in the so-called betrothal was enough to set flinders to the flames.

  “You must be dreaming, ma’am. Or else your grandson is deceiving you.”

  “The news,” returned his mother in the clipped voice he knew all too well, “came not from my grandson, but from Mr Roy.”

  Mrs Delabole looked startled. “Simeon? But how would he know any such thing? He cannot have been here much longer than I.”

  “Long enough to cause trouble, as he always does,” said the companion on a derisive note. “The child has been unmanageable since he arrived.”

  The dowager once again made herself heard. “The point, Miss Ingleby, is that there can be no question of this betrothal going forward. Giles’s father will never permit him to marry a female of an unsuitable rank, even setting aside the sad condition from which this girl of yours suffers.”

  “She is not my girl, I thank God. You had much better address yourself to Mrs Delabole, ma’am. Tamasine is her responsibility now.”

  The newly arrived matron appeared horrified by this. “Oh, no, no, I cannot. My dear Miss Ingleby, it is quite impossible for me to take charge of the child. I am sorry for her, of course, but you will have to remain with her, indeed you will.”

  “And if I don’t choose to? You cannot make me, you know. I am minded to live a better life than to be forever at the beck and call of a creature with no consideration for anyone save her own insane desires. Lord Bennifield is welcome to her, for all of me.”

  Mrs Delabole stared at her, open-mouthed. Francis caught his mother’s gaze and was subjected to a violent rolling of the eyes. He supposed he must take a hand.

  “You must be aware, Miss Ingleby, that a marriage with my nephew is ineligible. Neither would it suit Tamasine, when all is said. She is scarcely equipped to take on the role of a future marchioness. That being so, and I submit it is none of our affair, but I would advise you to keep her close before you lose her to this young fellow Roy.”

  The companion rose in one swift movement, her eyes blazing. “Never! He shall not have her, be sure! I will lock her up and throw away the key before I permit him to pursue his vile schemes.”

  “Then you do intend to remain in charge of the girl?” The dowager rose to confront her. “What I wish, Miss Ingleby, is that you will make it clear to Tamasine that her so-called engagement to my nephew is at an end.”

  The woman gazed at her aghast. “Tell her? Tell Tamasine? Are you mad too? I should not dare to for my life! You can have no notion what she is like when she is thwarted.”

  “Can I not indeed? After she came beating at my doors yesterday?”

  Miss Ingleby flung up a hand. “That! A mere nothing, Lady Polbrook. You have not seen her in full flood. If you had — any of you — you would never enter this house again.” She turned on the unfortunate Mrs Delabole. “Find another companion for her, ma’am, for I have done. I am minded to pack my bags at once, but I have more compassion than to leave you in so perilous a state. I will remain until you employ another, but I advise you to begin advertising at once.”

  With which, she stalked from the parlour, slamming the door behind her with a force that shook the windows. Francis exchanged an exasperated glance with his mother, but his attention was drawn to Tamasine’s aunt, who gave a whimper.

  “Heavens, what in the world am I to do? Where does she think I may find a replacement at such short notice? I do not even have any notion what sort of person might be suitable. Nor where the girl is to go, if she cannot remain here.” She seemed to recollect herself, casting a deprecating glance at the dowager. “I beg your pardon, but it is really too distressing for words.”

  “You need not apologise,” said his mother, reseating herself and flapping a dismissive hand. “I quite understand and I am very sorry for you, Mrs Delabole.”

  Francis, feeling equally sorry for the creature, was moved to utter such comfort as occurred to him. “I should not take it too much to heart, ma’am. Miss Ingleby is of that ilk of female who says one thing one day and changes her mind the next. I doubt she means to leave you in the lurch.”

  “Well, she said as much, but how can I be certain she will not walk out of the house tomorrow? Then what should I do?”

  “Rely upon the fellow Hemp and Mrs Whiting, ma’am. The latter administers the doses that keep Tamasine quiet, I believe, and Hemp appears to be the one person capable of controlling the girl.”

 
“A black footman? One of my brother’s slaves?”

  “He is a free man.”

  He glanced as he spoke at his mother, fearful of her breaking out against slavery in general. Much to his relief, the dowager, although her mouth became pinched and her eyes aglitter, chose not to take up the point.

  “Most odd,” commented Mrs Delabole. “Highly irregular, too, but that was Matt all over. Why he must needs ally himself with that —” She broke off in haste, colouring.

  His mother batted it out into the open. “You did not approve of your brother’s marriage?”

  She sighed. “How should I? There is no denying he came by his fortune through it, but the female was scarcely of a class with his deserts. Moreover, he knew of the fatal taint from the outset, for he wrote as much to me when the poor woman had to be incarcerated. You may imagine how I took such news.”

  “Just as I took the news that my grandson proposed to marry her daughter,” said the dowager on a snap. “I trust I may rely upon you to scotch any such belief among your people here?”

  “Oh,” said the creature, looking helpless. “Yes, I suppose you may. At least, surely they must know? I mean, if the entire household is aware… And if Miss Ingleby feels it will not do to speak of it to Tamasine, I am sure they must fall in with the notion of secrecy.”

  “The point is, ma’am, my grandson will not be visiting here any more. I could wish her guardians might prevent Tamasine from coming to seek him at my house, but that, I fear, is a vain hope. It has been made abundantly clear that the girl escapes with ease.”

  Mrs Delabole appeared horrified. “She does?”

  “I’m afraid so, ma’am,” Francis cut in. “As I understand it, she is locked up in her room when no one can escort her, but she seems to have the proverbial cunning of the insane in her ability to evade those who mind her.”

  The door opened and he looked across to find his wife in the aperture. Relief swept through him and he went across at once, lowering his voice. “You found her?”

  “To some purpose. She was cavorting about on the roof, to my horror. Simeon is with her. Is all well here?”

  “Well? You jest! The Ingleby woman went off in a huff and refuses to have anything to do with the business of Giles’s alleged betrothal. What is more, she told Mrs Delabole to find a replacement for her. Not that I believe she will walk away, for where would she go? Without means or another position, it seems foolhardy, even for her.”

  “Just so. Nor do I think she would leave while Simeon Roy is upon the premises.” She moved into the room as she spoke, addressing herself to the matron, who seemed to have been engaged in a low-voiced conversation with his mother. “I understand Mr Roy has told Tamasine of your arrival, ma’am. I found him with her — er — upstairs.”

  No mention of the roof then. Not much to Francis’s surprise, Mrs Delabole looked decidedly ill-at-ease at this news.

  “Do you mean she is planning to come down?”

  “Apparently not at the moment, though there is no saying what she may take it into her head to do.”

  “So I apprehend.”

  Tillie gave her a warm smile. “It must be hard for you to be thrust into this difficult situation, ma’am. If there is anything I can do to help, pray do not hesitate to call upon me.”

  The woman gave her a surprised look. “Oh. Well, thank you, Lady Francis. As yet I have no notion myself what I must do, beyond sending for the lawyers, which I have already done. I hope someone may arrive in short order to take charge of all the papers and so forth.”

  “Have you any notion how Sir Joslin’s affairs are left, ma’am?”

  Mrs Delabole spread her hands. “None whatsoever. He was not in correspondence with me. Miss Ingleby wrote to tell me of his death and requested my presence since I am Tamasine’s next of kin and Sir Joslin was her guardian. I hope and trust this duty will not in fact devolve upon me, for I cannot imagine how in the world I could look after the girl.”

  “Well, let us hope some other provision has been made. I cannot think your brother, who appears to have anticipated every eventuality, will have neglected to foresee this possibility.”

  “Oh, do you think so indeed?”

  “Well, I have it on the authority of Cuffy, who looked after Sir Joslin, that he has been unwell for some years.”

  “Yes, I believe that is true.” She smiled, a trifle tremulously, Francis thought. “Perhaps I am anxious without cause.”

  At which point, the dowager unwisely chose to intervene. “There is cause enough if Sir Joslin was indeed poisoned.”

  Shock leapt into the woman’s face. “Poisoned! Good heavens almighty! Poisoned by whom?”

  “That is just what my daughter-in-law is trying to discover, Mrs Delabole.”

  Francis could have cursed aloud. Just when Tillie had managed to settle the woman. He bent an admonishing eye upon his mother, who met it blandly. The Delabole female was staring at Tillie as if she confronted a freak at a fair.

  “You, Lady Francis?”

  Tillie took a chair next to the wretched woman and reached for her hand, patting it in a soothing fashion. “It is by no means certain, ma’am. Sir Joslin died of opium poisoning, yes, but whether it was an accidental dose or administered by another has yet to be determined.”

  “But — but who —? I mean, why would anyone wish to poison him?”

  “Your niece, for one,” stated the dowager. “And she is demented enough to attempt it.”

  “Sybilla, pray don’t frighten Mrs Delabole more than you need.”

  “She may as well face the truth. Where is the sense in beating about the bush?” Turning on the unfortunate aunt, she added with relish, “You will find, Mrs Delabole, this entire household partakes of your niece’s dubious conduct. Miss Ingleby is bad enough. Young Roy is worse, for he couches his barbs under a smooth tongue. As for the rest, ask my daughter-in-law if they are not as peculiar as they can stare.”

  “Ma’am, that is enough,” Francis said, taken with sympathy for her victim’s evident dismay.

  “More than enough,” echoed Tillie.

  The Delabole female herself came hard on her heels. “I beg you will say no more, Lady Polbrook, or I shall not sleep a wink in this house.”

  “I shouldn’t think you would,” rejoined his mother. “It is difficult enough for me and I am merely a neighbour.”

  “Come, come, ma’am, it is not as bad as that.” Tillie, pouring balm on troubled waters as usual. “My dear Mrs Delabole, pray do not be unduly alarmed. Although perhaps it is as well you know what is going forward, for I will be glad of your permission to pursue the matter with questions as it becomes necessary.”

  “My permission? But I know nothing about it!”

  “You are, if you will forgive me, the senior inhabitant of the household at this moment.”

  Mrs Delabole uttered a fretful cry. “You mean they will look to me for guidance? Heavens above, I wish I had not come!”

  “Nothing of the sort,” said Tillie soothingly. “The household runs perfectly well since they all know how to do. But neither Miss Ingleby nor Lomax — the butler, that is — can gainsay me if I am able to say you have requested me to continue my investigations.”

  Chapter 14

  Phoebe could have done without the presence of the Honourable Mr Robert Delaney when Giles showed up in the parlour, despite the fact she had requested her cousin to call upon her at an hour when she knew her parents would be from home. She had questions she preferred to put to him without the listening ears of the Earl of Hemington and his lady, though she had been obliged to allay his alarm and disapproval.

  “I should not be here, Phoebe, with your parents absent. This is most irregular.”

  “I know, Robert, but my need is urgent. And I cannot have Papa hearing what I may ask you. You must promise me you will not tell him.”

  Her cousin lowered his head and bent a frown upon her over his spectacles. “This is not like you, my dear Phoebe, to be havin
g secrets from Hemington and your dear mama.”

  Phoebe sighed and sank into her favourite chair by the fire. The little parlour was peculiarly her own and had been the scene of many a lively discussion with Giles in happier times. Situated on a corner of the mansion on the second floor, it boasted a couple of ancient sofas, her own comfy chair, her escritoire and several bookcases filled with her favourite volumes.

  “Nothing feels very much like me at the moment, Robert.”

  Her cousin, whom she knew had ever a soft spot for her, pulled across the straight chair from in front of her desk and brought it to the fire, taking his seat and peering closely at her.

  “My dear child, are you taking this business to heart?” She looked up, startled, and he pursed his lips. “Did you suppose me ignorant of what has been going forward? Do you not understand why I felt obliged to relinquish the Willow Court matter into Lovell’s hands?”

  Phoebe blinked at him. “I did not know you had.”

  “Well, it was so. Your father also cautioned me and he was right. I had hoped the matter might be settled with a verdict of accidental death, but once an open verdict was brought, I really had no choice but to declare an interest.”

  Dismay swept through Phoebe. “An interest? In what respect?”

  Robert tutted. “Come, come, child. Because your parents have not spoken, do not suppose young Bennifield’s antics have passed unremarked.”

  A tide of warmth rushed into Phoebe’s cheeks. “I hoped they had not heard of it. I know Papa will be furious.”

  “He was, yes, but your mama persuaded him to refrain from speaking to you upon the matter. She is a good deal more observant than you suppose, my dear Phoebe.”

  Phoebe shrank into herself. “So it would seem.”

  She glanced across at Robert’s unusually mellow countenance. He was younger than her father, although he was himself a family man with a hopeful brood of his own. But she knew he had been indebted to Papa for many an introduction to pave his way in the world and his stiff moral rectitude had won for him the respect of his peers and election to the House of Commons. It had been only a matter of time before he became a Justice of the Peace as well. He had assumed the role a few years earlier and had proven a just, if stern, dispenser of the law. She could not own herself surprised he should elect himself out of further investigation into Sir Joslin’s death.