“We understand that all the black fellows had to work in the sugar manufactory from time to time. Was that true of all those in Mr Roy’s service?”
“You wish to know if I had a hand in distilling,” stated the butler flatly, his cynicism once again rife. “It wasn’t part of my duties, but I was interested enough to learn a bit. Some of it had its uses.”
“Such as the making of rum?”
Lomax shrugged. “Make of it what you will, sir. But if you’re trying to discover whether I laced his rum with opium to poison Sir Joslin, I fear you’ll be disappointed. I doubt there’s anyone in the house who doesn’t know he kept a bottle hidden in the stupidest place you could think of. Who empties chamber pots but the servants?”
“I should have thought of that,” Ottilia said fretfully, when Francis relayed this tidbit over a luncheon back at the Dower House.
The meal was attended only by the three of them, the dowager having roused herself to take Sophie Hathaway to visit one of their neighbours. There was no sign of the boys, who were doubtless off on some adventure of their own.
“Is it still worth taking an analysis of the bottle, Patrick?” asked her husband.
“We must be thorough. If we should find a fatal dose, you may at least console yourself with the reflection that your nephew is not the perpetrator. He cannot have known about the hiding-place.”
“Unless Tamasine told him,” put in Ottilia, earning herself a black look from Francis.
“I thank you. Just when I was beginning to feel a trifle relieved.”
Ottilia sighed. “Yes, and it is not of the least use to be sanguine, for I am obliged to concede that Tamasine’s laudanum is strictly controlled, just as Mrs Whiting claims. I would defy anyone to get into her cupboard, and her records are impeccable. Only she could have used that particular source.”
“If she did,” Patrick said, a faint frown wrinkling his brow, “it would be easy enough for her to cook her books, would it not? Quis custodiet ipsos custodes, eh?”
“Miss Ingleby,” said Francis, “if it concerns the girl Tamasine.”
But Ottilia regarded her brother with interest. “Detection, Patrick? Am I to understand the man of science is shifting his ground?”
Patrick grinned. “You are very persuasive, sister mine.”
“Isn’t she just?” put in her spouse.
“Not that I’m convinced, but the flaw in Mrs Whiting’s testimony rankles.”
“Yes, I do not think we can rule her out,” Ottilia agreed.
“Or anyone, come to that,” Francis said on a note of irritation. “If you ask me, the lot of them are capable of murder.”
“I’m afraid you are right, Fan. And that is not all, for we have still this fellow Simeon to take into account.”
“Yes, but he wasn’t even here,” objected her spouse.
“That doesn’t mean he is not culpable. I doubt some of Tamasine’s more bizarre notions came out of her own head.”
“But how would he instruct her from a distance, if the wretched girl cannot read or write?”
“An accomplice?” suggested Patrick.
Francis jumped on this. “Someone on the spot, yes. But who?”
Ottilia ran a mental eye across the inmates of the house. “Not Miss Ingleby, I think. Mrs Whiting perhaps. Or Lomax.”
Francis was drumming his fingers on the table. “That fellow Hemp seems to be as thick as thieves with the chit.”
The idea startled Ottilia, throwing doubt into her mind. She had thought to have conveniently pigeon-holed the footman into the Willow Court scenario, but had she overlooked this possibility? If she was right about Hemp, would he knowingly aid and abet the fellow Simeon in whatever scheme he had dreamed up? His grief had been real. He would not have connived in a plot to murder his master. The same applied to Cuffy. The fellow would have to be a supremely gifted actor to be as convincing as he had been. And had not Hemp told the boys Simeon was a lazy fellow? Did such an opinion preclude helping Tamasine to correspond with the man? For if one of them was writing on Tamasine’s behalf, it must surely be the educated Hemp.
The silence at the table impinged upon her consciousness and Ottilia came to herself to find that both gentlemen were staring at her intently. “What?”
“You were deep in thought. If I’ve learned nothing else in these months with you, my love, I’ve learned when to let you be.”
Ottilia smiled as she put out her hand across the table. Francis took it and kissed her fingers, holding them lightly as he quirked one eyebrow. “Well?”
“I don’t think either Hemp or Cuffy killed Sir Joslin,” she offered, giving a brief summary of her reasoning.
“Then that leaves Mrs Whiting, Lomax, the Ingleby woman and Tamasine herself,” Francis recited, ticking them off on his fingers.
“And Simeon, I infer,” put in Patrick, “if only by proxy.”
A flurry of footsteps in the hall interrupted the conference as Ben and Tom erupted into the dining-parlour, both out of breath and bursting with excitement.
“And where, may I ask, have you been?” demanded their father, with an assumption of severity. “Absent without leave, and no message to explain —”
“We did leave a message!” broke in Tom. “At least, we would have left one, if we’d thought of it.”
Noting Patrick’s twitching lip and Francis’s faintly raised eyebrow, Ottilia quickly intervened. “You look as if you are big with news, the two of you. What is afoot?”
As one, the boys dashed past their father and crowded about Ottilia’s chair, almost falling over their words in their hurry to get them out.
“We’ve been talking to Hemp and Cuffy, Auntilla,” disclosed Ben.
“Yes, and you’ll never believe what they told us!”
“It’s about the madwoman.”
“Tamasine?” asked Ottilia.
“Not that madwoman, the other one,” came scornfully from Tom, as if she should have known.
His brother cuffed him. “Let me tell it, you’re not making sense.” Ignoring Tom’s loud-voiced protest, Ben turned back to Ottilia. “It’s the madwoman’s mother, Auntilla. You know, the one they call Florine.”
“She was mad too,” put in Tom irrepressibly.
“What about her?” asked Ottilia, trying to stem the tide.
“I’ll wager you don’t know how she died,” said Ben, blue eyes fairly blazing with excitement.
Ottilia’s heart missed a beat as her mind took a leap and she eyed Ben’s angelic features with concentrated attention. “Tell me.”
Tom elbowed his brother in the ribs, glee in his face. “Go on, Ben.”
“She got poisoned too. With opium.”
CHAPTER TEN
The drive from Polbrook to Willow Court was relatively short, but Giles took it at an easy pace, having a care for his horses. His conscience pricked him, for while his black mood held, he had driven the greys into a lather, careering about the countryside in a vain attempt to throw off the memories invoked by his grandmother’s words.
Failing to find relief, he sought it instead in the brandy bottle and the effects of his potations kept him at home while his father and the Frenchwoman he was obliged to acknowledge as stepmother showed themselves in church for Sunday Service, accompanied by his two half-siblings. He could wish his sister had not retired to stay with their Aunt Harriet the moment the festivities had concluded. He might have confided in Candia, for she was never critical. They had besides grown closer through the adversity of recent events. If the worst came to the worst, he could follow her to the Dalesford’s estate.
His distresses subsiding, the reflection struck him he had failed to attend upon Tamasine for too many days, which scarcely accorded with the conduct of an affianced husband.
Honesty compelled Giles to admit a faint reluctance to present himself at Willow Court. Not that he was in any way regretting his hasty proposal. He wanted nothing more in life than to marry Tamasine, yet unworthy doubts p
lagued him of her mental capacities.
The blame lay with his relatives, and with Phoebe’s forthright condemnation. Giles would not have thought it of her, and was inclined to resent her attitude. Anyone might suppose her all but jilted, which certainly was not the case. He had never given her reason to think he would fall in with the scheme concocted by their respective fathers. Nor had she shown any disposition to encourage such a match.
His sense of ill-usage grew. By heaven, but apart from his sister, he was unlucky in his association with females! Not only did the girl he had hitherto considered his greatest friend condemn him, but the chit with whom he’d fallen in love had jockeyed him into making a declaration before he’d had time to consider his position.
The infelicity of this thought jabbed into his mind and he tried to quash it. Had Tamasine not been such an innocent, he might with justice make the complaint. But her charm lay in the natural insouciance that paid little heed to the dictates of convention. He admired that in her. If there was a sneaking traitorous thought that such a wayward character did not augur well for a future marchioness, Giles was resolute in crushing it out of existence.
But he could not avoid the lessening of enthusiasm with which he directed his cattle towards the dwelling of his inamorata. He must set that down to the slight headache that still afflicted him from his depredations upon the brandy bottle.
Pulling himself together, he turned the equipage into the drive and trotted the greys around behind the house to the stable block. His groom jumped down and went to the horses’ heads, steadying them even as one of the stable lads came out to his assistance, and Giles was able to alight.
“Giles!”
The cry came from behind, and he turned to find Tamasine coming towards him from the vegetable garden situated at a little distance from the stables. The brightness of her welcoming smile in the matchless countenance set his doubts to rest, and Giles strode forward to meet her.
“You must forgive my tardiness.” He hunted for a plausible excuse. “I was detained on business and I would not disturb you on a Sunday.”
Tamasine did not appear in the least put out. She smiled sunnily upon him as she came up, putting out her hands. “They are all gone and you can know the secret first.”
Giles took her hands and raised first one and then the other to his lips. “You are as lovely as ever.”
Her delighted laughter smote his ears. Belatedly he took in the import of her words. He looked down into her innocent orbs and sighed anew at the sheer impact of her beauty.
“But it is our secret, my dearest, is it not? I already know it.”
Tamasine did not respond to this sally, but pulled her hands away and turned. Her wave drew attention to a figure a few paces behind, which Giles had not noticed until this instant.
“Simeon, come!”
He stared blankly at the gentleman addressed, his hackles instinctively rising as he took in the bland good looks and easy carriage. As the man approached, he noted dark locks falling from under a beaver hat, a tall and well-formed figure and features that placed the fellow’s age at a few years his senior.
“Lord Bennifield, I infer?”
The newcomer sketched a slight bow with a careless grace that made Giles set his jaw.
“You have the advantage of me, sir.”
“Simeon Roy, my lord. I am Tamasine’s cousin, you must know.”
The implication struck Giles like a blow. This was the fellow concerned in Tamasine’s “reckoning”. They had sworn vengeance together, she’d said. He wondered uneasily if he had been too sanguine in supposing it had been a joke between them.
“Simeon has come,” Tamasine announced unnecessarily. “I knew he would. I told them all. And he will avenge me.” She turned a glowing face towards the man. “Won’t you, Simeon?”
The fellow Roy gave an indulgent laugh that grated on Giles’s ear, and his tone was positively avuncular. “I am your obedient servant to command, my dear Tam.”
“Yes, and they will be sorry.” Gleeful, she turned back to Giles. “Simeon won’t let them put me in my eyrie, and I can wander as much as I like.”
“As long as you don’t set the countryside by the ears, my pet.”
A form of address that could not but revolt. As if the girl was a dog. To Giles’s satisfaction, Tamasine ignored the remark, addressing herself to him instead.
“Joslin wouldn’t let him come, but now he’s dead and he can’t stop Simeon any more.”
A twinge of something like disgust attacked Giles, but he brushed it aside, and tried to capture her hand, speaking in a low tone meant for her ears alone. “Can we talk, Tamasine? Where is Miss Ingleby?”
To his chagrin, Roy chose to answer this. “I gather that Lavinia, along with Lomax and Mrs Whiting, has gone to attend the inquest. I found little Tam here in the charge of Hemp.”
Shock jerked at Giles. “Inquest? So soon?”
Why had no one mentioned it to him? Not that he had been next or nigh the Dower House since Grandmama chose to ally herself in the enemy camp. But his uncle Francis might have sent him word. Especially as there had been this ridiculous notion that he could be involved in Sir Joslin’s death, merely because of his association with Tamasine. His chagrin increased when Roy answered on Tamasine’s behalf.
“I dare say there was urgent need for it. My cousin Joslin’s death was wholly unexpected, I understand.”
Giles gazed at him, reflecting that the fellow did not yet know the half of it. He could not speak of his aunt Ottilia’s suspicions before Tamasine, however. “I thought Tamasine was your cousin.”
“Joslin too, though a trifle more distant. Matthew, Tamasine’s father, you must know, was my first cousin through our fathers. Joslin hailed from the distaff side.”
“Giles, you didn’t kiss me,” chimed in Tamasine with impatience.
Feeling warmth rising in his cheeks, Giles withdrew a pace. “Not in public, Tamasine.”
Her laughter tinkled. “It’s only Simeon, silly. He won’t mind.”
“Well, I do.”
Giles with difficulty held back a glare as his glance swept the look of cynical amusement in the other man’s face. Tamasine paid no heed, but reached up to catch at Giles’s shoulders, raising her face to his. He dipped his head and gave her a quick peck on the lips, unable to help his gaze from shifting to Simeon Roy, who was openly grinning.
Laughing again, Tamasine turned her radiant smile on her cousin. “We are betrothed, Simeon. Giles is going to marry me.”
Horrified, Giles shot a look at the fellow’s face. Roy appeared entirely unmoved, merely raising a pair of dark brows.
“Indeed? I must congratulate you, my dear Tam. An excellent catch.”
Giles cut in swiftly. “It is not generally known. I must beg you to keep silent on this subject, if you will.”
The brows rose higher. “Oh? Did not my cousin Joslin approve your suit? Now, how improvident of him. I must confess myself astonished he did not jump at the chance to offload — I mean, to see young Tam so suitably established.”
The slip had not escaped Giles and a sliver of apprehension shot through him. There was no visible change in Tamasine’s expression. With luck, she had not understood the implication. He felt compelled to defend.
“Sir Joslin was unwilling to see Tamasine betrothed to anyone before her come-out, but I had felt hopeful of persuading him to change his mind before long.”
Simeon Roy openly laughed. “Come-out? You are jesting?”
Giles frowned, as another of those uncomfortable shards attacked him. “Why should you think so?”
But at this, the fellow raised a deprecating hand and fell back a little. “My dear Lord Bennifield, if you don’t know, far be it from me to enlighten you. I would not care to do my little cousin such a disservice.”
Undecided between demanding an immediate explanation or planting the fellow a facer, Giles hesitated too long.
“And now I fear I must leave you, m
y dear Tam,” said Roy with another flourishing bow. “I trust my valet will have unpacked by now and I may hope to remove the travel stains from my person and freshen up in general.”
Tamasine had watched the give and take of words without, to Giles’s relief, apparent alarm, but at this she entered a protest. “You are going? But Simeon, I want you to stay with me.”
The fellow smiled and chucked her under the chin. “But you have your betrothed to amuse you.”
A daunting scowl marred Tamasine’s exquisite features for a moment. “But I want you!”
“Now, now,” said Roy on a chiding note. “No tantrums, my child, or I shall be sorry for having come all this way to see you.”
Tamasine stamped her foot. “I hate you, Simeon!”
To Giles’s faint and reluctant admiration, Roy refused to rise to the bait. He laughed instead, seizing his cousin’s hand and lifting it to rest against his cheek for a moment, in a gesture peculiarly intimate. It was also distinctly possessive and made Giles’s hackles rise all over again.
“No, you don’t. You love me really. And I shall be with you again in a trice, never fear.”
With which, he released her hand and walked quickly away towards the rear of the house.
Giles looked at Tamasine, half fearful of an explosion, but found her once again wreathed in smiles as she turned to him.
“Simeon is going to save me.”
Save her from what? But he did not ask. Instead, he offered his arm. “Would you like to walk a little, Tamasine?”
With a cry of delight, she tucked her hand into his arm and set out beside him, walking as sedately as any debutante as he led her around the drive towards the lawns at the front of the house. His doubts faded.
“I am sorry we cannot announce our betrothal just yet, my dearest.”
Tamasine flashed him a frowning look. “Why can’t we?”
“I fear it would be thought a trifle callous, with your guardian but just dead.”
“But if he is dead, how can Joslin object?”
“I don’t mean that. Besides, I’m afraid Miss Ingleby will not countenance my suit.”
The Opium Purge (Lady Fan Mystery Book 3) Page 20