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

by Elizabeth Bailey

  “Tillie, what in the world are you about? Why should you speak to Tamasine? You will get nothing sensible out of the girl. And while we are about it, what did you mean about that fellow Hemp and an inheritance? Why did he stop you from saying any more?”

  She raised her brows. “Dear me, Fan, which question would you wish me to answer first?”

  Before he could respond, his brother-in-law intervened, stepping up to catch his sister’s arm. “Hold hard! What I want to know is what you make of those two.” He jerked his head towards the study door. “For my money, there is a deal to be learned from that little contretemps.”

  Diverted, Francis stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  Patrick released Tillie’s arm. “Isn’t it possible we have it altogether wrong? What if Miss Ingleby and the Roy fellow are in cahoots, rather than he with Lomax?”

  “In cahoots? After that display? You must be all about in your head, Patrick.”

  “Think about it, Fan. Could they not have played this little comedy for our benefit? We are not supposed to imagine anything but enmity between them. Then the boy marries the child, apparently in the teeth of her companion. As her husband, he becomes her banker with access to her fortune. In due time, as Ottilia suggests, he rids himself of the encumbrance.”

  “And takes up with Miss Ingleby so that they both may live on the proceeds,” Francis finished with enthusiasm. “Ingenious. What is more, if there is a better motive to be rid of the guardian, I have not heard one.”

  As of instinct, he turned to see how his wife regarded this development. But Patrick was before him.

  “Well, sister mine? Possible, do you think?”

  Tillie’s brows rose. “Oh, possible indeed, brother mine.”

  Francis knew that tone. “But wrong? Go on, Tillie, why?”

  “I grant you the farcical elements in their behaviour, Patrick, but I think the spark and fire is genuine. What is more, it would surprise me if they are not at this moment engaged in a passionate embrace.”

  Bewildered, Francis threw up his hands. “But you are painting the very picture to support Patrick’s theory.”

  “Ah, but not, I fear, a premeditated plot.” She touched a hand to his chest in the intimate gesture she was wont to use. “Have you not remarked that creature’s volatile nature? She is no more capable of duplicity on the scale needed to carry out such a scheme than she can help responding to the urgency of attraction she feels towards young Simeon.”

  “But he is more than capable of it,” Patrick insisted.

  Tillie turned to him. “Undoubtedly. Yet his suave front disintegrates every time he comes in contact with Miss Ingleby. Had you not noticed?”

  “I don’t believe it,” declared Francis. “The woman was clearly head over heels for Sir Joslin.”

  “Sir Joslin represented security, a future. Oh, I dare say she was fond of him, but she cannot have been ignorant of his preferences.”

  Patrick entered a caveat. “That does not preclude her loving the fellow.”

  “Between that sort of cool affection and the intensity of passion we have just witnessed, there is a chasm. Successful relationships depend upon a bridge between the two.”

  Francis was silenced. Tillie had just described the exact phenomenon to explain their union. It had not before occurred to him how rare it was. He knew his brother-in-law did not enjoy a like felicity. Nor, with a rapid scan across his relatives, could he point to another within his own family.

  “She’s right,” he told Patrick, and grinned at his wife. “As usual.”

  Her warm smile appeared. “But I must give Patrick credit for his ingenuity.”

  “I thank you. But I bow to your superior intellect.”

  The ironic tone only made Tillie laugh. “When I have learned so much from you? Yes, I can see you allowing me so far. Fie, Patrick!”

  His laughter rang round the hall, and Francis dealt him a buffet on the arm. “Do be quiet, wretch! You’ll have us expelled.”

  “Yes, if Miss Ingleby were not otherwise engaged,” said Patrick, but he suppressed his mirth.

  “Well, Mrs Delabole will undoubtedly hear you. I must say I am sorry for that woman. She has an impossible task.”

  “Indeed she has, Fan, and therefore I will be grateful if the two of you will wait for me in the parlour with her. You may do what you can to calm her fears, which I may say are many and decidedly upsetting to her.”

  Francis groaned. “I thank you, that is all that was wanting to secure my total pleasure in this delightful day.”

  Ottilia twinkled. “Well, let Patrick do the work then.”

  “Ah, just the fellow,” said Francis with a grin at his indignant brother-in-law. “You are a medical man after all, Patrick, you may as well make yourself useful.”

  “Any more and I shall leave you to bear the whole.”

  Ottilia left them bantering and headed for the stairs. She was relieved to find Hemp awaiting her by Tamasine’s door as arranged. She kept her voice low.

  “Is she alone?”

  He nodded. “Mrs Whiting has gone.”

  “Did you arrange that?”

  His gaze remained steady on her face. “It is what you wish, milady, no?”

  “Just so. I admire your foresight.” He did not answer, but turned to unlock the door. Ottilia put a hand on his arm to detain him. “One moment, Hemp, if you please?”

  He paused, looking a question. She smiled. “When we are done here, would you object to coming out with me for a few minutes?”

  His gaze narrowed. “More questions, milady?”

  “A couple of matters you might help me with.”

  He said nothing for a moment, eyeing her as if he debated within himself. Not unhopeful, Ottilia waited. Abruptly, he nodded, dropped his gaze to the door handle and turned it, gesturing for her to go in ahead of him.

  Tamasine was lying on the four-poster, her feet dangling over the end, twitching as she watched them, counting aloud. “One, two, buckle my shoe. Six, ten, a big fat hen. Eighteen, fourteen, maids a-courting.” Her head turned, and the beatific smile appeared. “That’s me. Maids a-courting.”

  “That is certainly true,” said Ottilia, moving towards the bed.

  She noted Hemp shifting to a corner. He had locked the door behind them. It occurred to her he must be long practised at effacing himself since the girl did not trouble to acknowledge his presence. Tamasine sat up in a bang, clapping her hands as the sing-song chant began.

  “Lady Fan, Lady Fan, Lady Fan.”

  “Tamasine, Tamasine, Tamasine,” echoed Ottilia, and was pleased to note how the game sent the child into an explosion of giggles.

  She dared to sit beside the girl. Tamasine grabbed her near hand and squeezed it so hard that Ottilia winced.

  “Not so tight, my dear, if you please.”

  Tamasine’s bright eyes gleamed and the pressure increased. Ottilia bit her lip to stop herself crying out.

  “Miss Tam!”

  The girl’s fingers opened abruptly as she jerked round. Released, Ottilia cradled her hand, unable to withstand a hiss of pain. Tamasine leapt up and ran to the footman, lifting her fists and beating at his chest, squealing the while. He neither spoke nor moved, making no attempt to stop the assault. It was over in a moment. Tamasine desisted, laughed and flung her arms about his neck. She rose on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

  “See, Hemp, I do love you.”

  “I know, Miss Tam. You be good now, huh?”

  Like a child, Tamasine slipped her fingers from his shoulders to cradle his cheeks. “I’ll be good. Don’t be cross.”

  “Never with you, Miss Tam.”

  Watching, Ottilia experienced a little jolt of sadness. The poignancy of the moment caught at her. Here was this creature, lost in a maze of unreality, unable to control her every impulse of behaviour. Yet there was an instinct of genuine affection for the footman. She remembered Hemp protesting she could be loving.

  Her thoughts faded
as the girl came running back to the bed. “Let’s play a game.”

  Ottilia seized on this. “Yes, let us. I am going to ask you something, and you see if you can answer.”

  Excitement shone in the blue orbs. “Yes, and then I shall ask.”

  She understood turn and turn about? So much the better. A game must disguise Ottilia’s purpose. “I shall start.” Ottilia pretended to think. “I know. What colour is your hair?”

  “Sunshine.”

  “What an excellent answer.”

  A shriek of glee escaped the girl. She clapped her hands. “My turn!”

  “I am ready.”

  “Lady Fan, Lady Fan, Lady Fan.”

  Ottilia was thrown for a second. Best to take it as a question. “Yes, I am Lady Fan.”

  Another shriek. “You are, you are!”

  Ottilia held to innocuous questions for a few more turns, noting Tamasine’s rising excitement at each answer, whether or not it was appropriate. When she felt the girl was sufficiently involved not to note the change, she dared the question she had in mind all along.

  “If the reckoning is not yet done, what is still to do?”

  The child quieted on the instant. A hushed feeling entered Ottilia’s breast. Had she miscalculated? The stare was intense, but there was no trace of malevolence on this occasion. She waited.

  The answer came on a whisper of breath. “Mamma.”

  Ottilia knew not how to proceed. She dared not speak, for fear of saying the wrong thing. She regarded the girl without, she hoped, showing any reaction, hoping for more.

  Nothing came. A veil appeared to descend and Tamasine’s eyes went blank. They closed and she sank slowly to the bed.

  Alarmed, Ottilia looked across at Hemp. “Is she…?”

  She hardly knew what she wanted to say. Was it a swoon? Had the child lapsed into coma? The footman walked swiftly to the bed and leaned a little to look at the girl’s face. His eyes lifted to Ottilia’s. He moved away from the bed and beckoned Ottilia to join him.

  “She is unconscious,” he murmured low. “It will pass in a moment.”

  She matched his level. “Does she do this often?”

  “You touched something, milady. She cannot face reality. There are moments when she is lucid, but they are few and have this effect.”

  “Then she does have vengeance in her mind.”

  Hemp shrugged. “I do not think she understands the concept. If so, it is twisted.”

  That, certainly. But Ottilia was not convinced of Tamasine’s ignorance. At her core, she knew, even if she was incapable of vocalising the notion to make sense of it.

  “Lady Fan, Lady Fan, Lady Fan.”

  Ottilia turned. The child was up again, as bright and apparently carefree as before. She scrambled along the bed to her pillows and dug underneath the mound. Grabbing at an object, she tugged it out. Then she was off the bed, dancing to Ottilia’s side. She was clutching a flat wooden box of Tunbridge ware, with a pretty inlaid design on the lid, of stars and crescents. A child’s toy. Tamasine opened it up and held it out to Ottilia.

  “You may have one, if you like.”

  A rush of heat cascaded into Ottilia’s chest and her mind buzzed. Within the box lay a quantity of thick paper-wrapped rolls, each about three inches long, and emblazoned with the Flora Sugars emblem — the missing sweets.

  Her mind afire, Ottilia waited for Hemp to close and lock the door behind him. She was just going to speak when he set a finger to his lips. A whisper reached her.

  “Not here, milady. Miss Tam’s hearing is acute.”

  He led her into the main corridor, taking a path towards the back of the house. Within a moment or two, he stopped, opening a door to one side. An anteroom was revealed, furnished with a set of inlaid commodes and a long mirror with an open door leading off through which Ottilia glimpsed the edge of a four-poster. An unused dressing room? A musty smell pervaded the place and the shutters were closed.

  Hemp went across and opened them, revealing the back view from the Court. He remained standing by the window, half silhouetted against the light. He was so still Ottilia began to wonder what he was thinking. Was he apprehensive about her questions? He surprised her, coming to life and turning suddenly to survey her.

  “You have worked it all out, I think.”

  Ottilia eyed him. “All but a few details, I believe, with which I am hoping you may be able to help.”

  He was looking in her direction but his position made it impossible to see his expression. Ottilia moved to the other side of the window. He watched her gravely, but did not speak. It struck her she was more nervous than him. She drew a steadying breath.

  “You told me Florine Roy attacked Sir Joslin, but you did not tell me why?”

  Was that a faint sigh? “It is not a pretty tale, milady.”

  “That much I had deduced from the hint you gave me last time.”

  He was silent for a space. Then he seemed to relax, leaning against the edge of the shutter and folding his arms across his chest. “With Madame Florine’s malady there was a need not shared by Miss Tam. She is too innocent. Madame Florine was not innocent. She tried with Master Jos what she had tried with black slaves, to no avail. None would dare take this chance. A black man would be hanged for taking advantage of a white woman.”

  Ottilia was conscious of a sensation of kinship with her mother-in-law’s abolitionist views. She refrained from any word of sympathy, judging that Hemp would take it amiss.

  “I did wonder, when you said her story was that he had raped her. Sir Joslin was unresponsive, I take it?”

  He nodded, and Ottilia noted the careful restraint in his face. Was this one aspect of the dead man’s character he did not regard with sympathy?

  “Madame Florine seized up a knife —”

  “A knife! How is it possible she was allowed near any such implement?”

  The black brows pulled together. “She escaped.”

  “Like Tamasine. The similarities do rather leap to the eye.”

  His frown deepened, a trifle of confusion coming in. Ottilia did not enlighten him as to her full meaning.

  “What happened?”

  “Madame Florine chased Master Jos into the sugar factory where they make the loaves. There are many sharp implements for trimming the sugar.”

  “Chased him? From where?”

  “He found her in the canes and was seeking to return her to her house. She tried to — to interest him. When he refused, she seized a cut cane and began to beat at him. Master Jos was never strong. He ran, looking to seek refuge in the factory. The mistress cut him badly before slaves came at the noise and pulled her off.”

  His story ended, Hemp dropped his gaze to his folded arms, avoiding Ottilia’s eye. She studied him, the burgeoning of conviction seeping into her mind.

  “How long was it after this event that Florine died?”

  Comprehension came into Hemp’s eyes. Had he made the same leap?

  “It was a matter of days, milady. We all thought it was connected, but nothing could be learned to prove anything at all. And the master was too distressed to pursue the matter.”

  “Yes, I suppose that was inevitable.”

  “May I ask what is in your mind, milady?”

  Ottilia smiled, prevaricating. “I’m not sure. But on another matter, how old was Tamasine when Simeon Roy first attempted an abduction?”

  The flash of rage startled her and he straightened, his arms dropping, his fists clenched. “She was a child! Barely sixteen. I wanted to kill him.”

  His voice was raw with pain. The urge to offer words of comfort was strong, but Ottilia could not afford to waste time. Besides, she was by no means sure she had any comfort to offer. The ideas revolving in her head were unlikely to alleviate Hemp’s distress.

  “How was the plot foiled?”

  “Miss Lavinia realised what was afoot. She went to the master directly.”

  “Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned,” Ottilia q
uoted.

  Hemp’s mouth twisted. “That is not for me to say, milady. There was much argument between Master Jos and my master, who wanted to send her packing.”

  “He thought she had neglected her charge?”

  “Everyone on the plantation knew of the liaison between her and Mister Simeon. They were not discreet, and the slaves see everything. Besides, they quarrelled loud enough to wake the ghosts.”

  “Did Tamasine know of it?”

  A harsh laugh escaped the man. “He told her, milady. He has no shame, that one. He encouraged her to think she might cut out her companion if they ran away together.”

  “She confessed all this to you?”

  “Miss Tam has no understanding of secrecy. Besides, she has always spoken her mind in my presence.”

  Ottilia could not refrain from offering a crumb of comfort. “I must own I believe she is sincerely attached to you, if to anyone.”

  Hemp’s complexion deepened in colour and his voice became gruff. “As I am to her.”

  “Yes, I have no doubt of it.” Could she press for the truth now? Did he trust her enough? “Why did you stop me earlier in the hall, Hemp? Why did you not wish me to speak of that matter?”

  Hemp’s head came up, pride in every line, and the harsh note returned. “It is not for Mr Simeon Roy to know how matters stand.”

  “Yet he had Lomax hunt for some paper that might prove your claim. Lomax found it, and perhaps destroyed it, for all I know. I am sorry if this ruins your hopes, Hemp.”

  A faint smile surprised her as his pose relaxed a little. “It does not matter at all, milady.”

  “Doesn’t it?”

  “I am not dependent on proof. Mr Lomax does not know of it, but Master Matt made his dispositions before he died. He took care of me.”

  Ottilia sighed out a breath. “You cannot imagine how relieved I am to hear that.”

  “Master Matt knew that above all things I craved independence. I have presented my credentials to his lawyer here in England. I can leave here at any time, milady.”

  “Then you stay only for Tamasine.”

  Hemp’s jaw clenched. “I gave my word.”

  Ottilia watched his face, a shaft twisting in her breast for the agony she detected there. She spoke softly. “What will happen to her, Hemp?”