The Opium Purge (Lady Fan Mystery Book 3)

by Elizabeth Bailey

  “Who are you?” the girl asked suddenly.

  Simplicity seemed the better part of discretion. “I am Lady Fan.”

  Tamasine’s countenance lit with another of those lightning smiles. “Lady Fan, Lady Fan, Lady Fan. You are not like a fan at all.”

  “Well, I should hope not. It is a nickname.”

  There was no direct response to this as Tamasine continued to regard her for a moment. Then she opened an entirely new subject. “They will be looking all over for me.”

  “Who will?”

  “My guardian. And Lavinia.”

  “Who is Lavinia?”

  Tamasine made no answer. Instead her glance shifted off Ottilia for the first time as she looked about the room. It was a large apartment, which managed to feel cosy nevertheless, done out in a faded blue with white-painted Adam curlicues surrounding each of the faux panels, in several of which were hung portraits of past dowagers who had inhabited the house in their years of widowhood.

  “I like it here. Can I stay?”

  Taken aback, Ottilia eyed the girl, trying to read her expression. “But surely you have a home of your own?”

  “Oh, yes. It is not far.” Her gaze returned to Ottilia’s. “I found the garden.”

  “So I saw. You appeared to be enjoying the snow.”

  “I wasn’t cold,” said Tamasine, as if this was disputed.

  Ottilia remembered the glimpse of a spangled gown and glanced down. Sure enough, the cloak had fallen away as Tamasine sat, revealing a diaphanous garment, ill-suited both to the weather and the time of day. Had the girl even been to bed?

  “Were you attending an evening party last night?”

  “I don’t attend parties. They won’t let me.”

  Ottilia was beginning to have an inkling why this might be so, but she refrained from speaking her thought aloud. “Who is your guardian?”

  “Joslin.”

  Ottilia tried again. “Does he have a second name?”

  The bell-like tinkle sounded. “Of course he does.”

  She strove for patience. “What is his full name?”

  “Sir Joslin Cadel.” Tamasine sighed, suddenly dejected. “He is trying to stop me being married, you know. But I shall outwit him.”

  “How will you do that?”

  “I shall escape with Giles.”

  It was perhaps fortunate that a servant chose this moment to enter the room in answer to the summons of the bell, for Ottilia scarcely knew what to reply to the revelation Tamasine was on terms of intimacy with Francis’s nephew.

  “Biddy,” she said, addressing the plump-cheeked youngster who had entered and was staring with unconcealed curiosity at the newcomer, “would you be so kind as to bring a basin of warm water and a couple of towels? Miss Tamasine has had the misfortune to hurt her hand.”

  To Ottilia’s surprise, this request had the effect of causing the maid to start, her eyes popping at Tamasine, who was staring back.

  “What is the matter, Biddy?”

  The maid bit her lip, and wiped her hands down her apron. “I think as it’s Miss Roy, my lady, from Willow Court, the neighbour’s house across the way.”

  Ottilia took in the information along with the strange look that told her Biddy was privy to more information on the matter, but now was not the moment to investigate.

  “Thank you, Biddy. Fetch the water and towels straight away, if you please.”

  The maid started, dropped a curtsy and withdrew. Ottilia turned to Tamasine.

  “Is that your name? Tamasine Roy?”

  “The sugar princess, Miss Tamasine Roy,” said the girl with an air of reciting a well learned lesson.

  “Sugar princess? How charming. I have always wanted to meet a princess.”

  Laughter tinkled from the girl’s mouth. “I am not a real princess, silly. That’s what they call me over there.”

  Over where? But Ottilia did not pursue it. “And how old are you, Tamasine?”

  “Two and twenty, I think.”

  Ottilia began to wonder if the childlike responses merely signalled a backward mind, or if there was a darker significance. One thing was certain. Tamasine Roy was no ordinary female.

  Before she could prosecute any further enquiries, Miss Mellis re-entered the parlour, armed with the necessary implements to take care of Tamasine’s bleeding hand.

  “Thank you, Miss Mellis. Biddy is bringing water and towels, so we had best wait for that first.” Noting the older woman’s reluctance to approach the visitor, Ottilia tried for a way to give her thoughts another direction. “What do you suppose can be done about that window?”

  Miss Mellis had laid the things she carried on a convenient small table near Ottilia, and she went with obvious relief towards the French windows. Pulling aside the curtain, she inspected the damage to one side.

  “Grig must be sent for. He will have it repaired in no time.”

  “Are you talking of that old fellow who works for Lord Polbrook?”

  Miss Mellis nodded, but Ottilia could not help being dubious. From what she had been privileged to observe, the fellow Grig, who seemed to be a sort of handyman, was one of these grumbling old retainers who was apt to protest that every task was impossible. As if she read Ottilia’s mind, Miss Mellis spoke up.

  “He is perfectly disobliging, but he knows how to do and he likes Sybilla.”

  For all her reticence, it had more than once struck Ottilia that Miss Mellis was credited with a deal less shrewdness than she possessed.

  “Well, I will leave that in your capable hands,” she said, noting the faint flush that crept into the companion’s cheek. “Meanwhile, allow me to present to you the sugar princess, Miss Tamasine Roy, whose guardian Sir Joslin Cadel is no doubt hunting for her at this very moment.” She turned to the girl and found her watching the other woman without expression. “Tamasine, this is Teresa. She is going to help me clean you up and get rid of any remaining splinters of glass.”

  The girl’s sudden smile showed. “Thank you.”

  Ottilia was agreeably surprised to hear her speak so naturally. Perhaps her malady, whatever it might be, was not total. Before anything further could be said, the maid returned, accompanied by her older colleague, who bustled in, shaking her head and tutting.

  “What’s all this, pray?”

  It was evident from Biddy having been moved to bring in reinforcements that her tongue had been hard at work.

  “Agnes, this is Miss Roy, who has been unfortunate enough to suffer an accident with the window.”

  Agnes, a buxom dame with a vein of strong common sense, looked across at the window where the curtain was once again drawn back. She stared for a moment, and then looked back to the visitor briefly, before her gaze passed on to Ottilia.

  “I see, my lady. Where would you like this basin putting?”

  Ottilia directed its disposition. About to dismiss the maids, she was forestalled by Miss Mellis. “Agnes, pray send to Grig at the big house to come and mend this window immediately.”

  The older maid glanced once more towards the window. “I should think I’d better, ma’am. Young Toby may ride over at once.”

  Clicking her tongue the while, she departed with her colleague, no doubt with the intention of instructing the lad who served nominally as Sybilla’s footman, but in reality as general help whenever a strong male arm was needed.

  Ottilia at once requested Miss Mellis to sit on the other side of Tamasine and hold her hand over the basin, for she could place no reliance on the girl doing what was needed without assistance. That Teresa Mellis was reluctant was obvious, but she obeyed.

  “Now then, let us see what we can do here.”

  Adopting a cheerful manner, she set about the task of cleaning the hand, making sure not to touch it for fear of causing glass fragments to embed more firmly. Instead she cupped water and poured it over the fingers until the blood was sufficiently washed away to enable her to see where the cuts originated.

  “Dear me,
I am afraid there are several places where you have damaged yourself, Tamasine. Where is the magnifying glass, Miss Mellis?”

  The companion did not release her grip upon the girl’s wrist, but she reached to the little table and lifted the batch of lint, which proved to have been covering the glass. Ottilia thanked her and took it up, along with the tweezers.

  “Now then, keep your hand as still as you can, if you please.”

  “Oh, I can be still for hours,” said Tamasine airily.

  “Excellent,” Ottilia murmured as she applied herself to the tricky task of locating splinters of glass.

  “I used to sit in the canes, you know, hiding from the black fellows. I kept very still so they would not see me and chase me away.”

  This confidence set Ottilia’s mind afire with conjecture. The image it conjured spoke of a place other than England. The canes and black people? Could the girl have lately arrived from a sojourn abroad? She had no chance to explore the interesting possibility for Tamasine spoke up again.

  “Giles said I must be still while he kissed me.”

  The hand Ottilia was working on jerked, and she threw a reproachful look at Miss Mellis, who was wide-eyed, her jaw dropping. Ottilia could not altogether blame her, for this alarming little piece of news was enough to send anyone into shock. Was young Lord Bennifield courting Miss Roy? Leaving the matter of canes, Ottilia probed gently as she extracted a minute sliver of glass from the girl’s hand.

  “How did you meet Giles?”

  “He is quite handsome.”

  Did she not remember, or did the question have no meaning for her? Ottilia tried another tack. “Did Giles come to your house?”

  “Joslin said he must not. I told him to come.”

  “When did you tell him?”

  “In the woods.” The high-pitched laugh sounded. “He nearly fell off his horse.”

  Ottilia could well imagine it. The unexpected sight of Tamasine’s extraordinary beauty might be counted upon to stun any young male. But Lord Bennifield was spoken for, and if he had not the wit to recognise that Tamasine Roy was clearly unfit for dalliance, it did not augur well for his future with Lady Phoebe Graveney. There was some excuse for Miss Mellis’s dour look of disapproval.

  Setting aside another splinter she had extracted, Ottilia deftly turned the subject. “Have you been many weeks in your new house?”

  Tamasine set her head on one side as if she considered the question. Having deliberately phrased it in a way to make it easy for her to grasp and answer, Ottilia was gratified to find her responding in a more natural fashion.

  “The leaves were falling when we came. The woods are pretty when the trees are red.”

  “Indeed, yes. I am fond of autumn myself.”

  This was productive of nothing more than a blank stare. Did she not understand the seasons by name? Ottilia began to wonder just how much this girl was able to fathom of life. She seemed to inhabit a world of her own, and it was doubtful anyone had been able to instil much into her mind by way of education.

  Intrigued, Ottilia determined to discover what she could, but was frustrated in this design by the entrance into the parlour of her mother-in-law, the Dowager Marchioness of Polbrook.

  “What in the world is happening here?”

  The tone instantly set Miss Mellis trembling so that Tamasine’s hand shook and Ottilia had perforce to cease her labours. She looked across as Sybilla came up, her black eyes snapping from one to the other of the women grouped on the sofa. Mindful of the dowager’s currently lacerated temper, Ottilia rose swiftly, catching her mother-in-law’s gaze.

  “Sybilla, are you acquainted with Miss Roy?”

  An arrested look came into the dowager’s features and a frown creased her brow. “Roy?”

  “Tamasine Roy, yes. From Willow Court. She had the misfortune to cut her hand on the glass in the door.”

  Ottilia gestured towards the French windows as she spoke, infusing meaning into both eyes and voice in hopes of arresting Sybilla’s attention. The dowager, like the maid before her, looked across at the damaged glass and back to the girl on the sofa, who was staring up at her with unaffected interest.

  “I am sorry you were injured in my house, Miss Roy,” Sybilla said, throwing a questioning look towards Ottilia.

  Tamasine’s glowing smile appeared. “You are Giles’s grandmama.”

  Ottilia noted the stiffening of the dowager’s straight back and the tautness that came into her cheeks, and swiftly stepped into the breach. “Quite right, Tamasine. It seems Miss Roy became acquainted with your grandson in the woods while he was out riding, Sybilla.”

  The dowager’s direful glance came to rest upon Ottilia’s face. “Indeed?”

  “Giles comes to see me every day,” announced Tamasine.

  A grim sparkle in the black eyes as they turned back to the girl made Ottilia cut in quickly. “Tamasine’s guardian has warned him off, however.”

  “But I told Giles to come. I like him to come.”

  Hoping that it would not occur to Tamasine to mention the kiss, Ottilia flashed an apologetic look at her mother-in-law and gave an infinitesimal shake of her head. Sybilla’s gaze narrowed, but she did not speak. Ottilia let her breath go and quickly sat down again, taking up the tweezers and magnifying glass.

  “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 TWO

  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.