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 FOURTEEN
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 having 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.
“Come, child, why did you send for me? What is the matter?”
Gathering her courage, Phoebe looked him in the eye. “I believe Giles is cured of his tendre for — for the girl. But…”
“But?”
She swallowed. “It is this open verdict, Robert. I had not realised you were no longer involved in the investigation.”
“And if I were?”
“Well … well, even if you are not, I felt I could not do better than to consult you.”
His brows rose. “What has this to do with your young gentleman, my dear?”
“Well, that is just it, Robert.” Her anxiety surfaced and she swept on. “Has it anything to do with him? He cannot be supposed to have plotted with Tamasine, can he? I know Sir Joslin did not approve his suit, but surely you cannot suppose Giles would go so far as to help her dispose of her guardian?”
Robert’s expression altered, and a measure of his customary disdain entered in. “This is because of that business with his father, I take it? You are afraid of history repeating itself?”
Phoebe gripped her fingers together in her lap, and nodded.
“As I understand it, my dear, there was a cogent reason for Polbrook to be suspected of making away with his wife. It is manifest, now that he has married the creature.”
“Yes, I know, but he did not do it, did he? Nor, I venture to say, would Giles dream of any such undertaking.”
A faint smile curved Robert’s mouth. “My dear girl, there is no evidence to suggest Bennifield had anything to do with Sir Joslin’s death. Moreover, I could not find, from sifting the details of the inquest when I prepared the report for Lovell, that Miss Roy, despite her unfortunate condition, could have been instrumental in her guardian’s death.”
“But Lady Francis believes he was murdered.”
Robert’s tone became sceptical. “Yes, I have heard of the lady’s apparent prowess in that line, but I take leave to doubt of anything useful coming from her poking her nose into what does not concern her.”
“It concerned her because Giles was involved,” Phoebe said, unable to help a resentful note. She had taken to Lady Francis Fanshawe and formed a good opinion of her common sense. “Her husband is his uncle, after all.”
“I am perfectly well acquainted with Lord Francis, I thank you, Phoebe. I have known the family for some years. And I may say, I am in agreement with your father that if it were not for Polbrook’s rank and fortune, an alliance with them would be out of count.”
“Well, it does not now look as if there will be an alliance, so Papa may rest easy,” Phoebe flashed.
“Oho, so that is it, is it?” Robert’s lo
ok became indulgent. “My dear Phoebe, I trust you will think well before you throw away such an advantageous opportunity, merely upon a whim.”
“A whim? When I have been insulted and degraded? Thrown aside as of no account?”
At which inopportune moment, one of the footmen entered upon his knock and announced Lord Bennifield.
Giles halted upon the threshold, his gaze going at once to Delaney, who rose to his feet. Phoebe felt a flush rising in her cheeks, her embarrassment in no way mitigated by what Robert chose to say.
“Ah, Bennifield, there you are, my dear boy. I believe Lady Phoebe has something she wishes to say to you.”
Phoebe kept her eyes lowered, a riot in her bosom as she heard Giles’s response and recognised an unwonted humility in his tone.
“How do you do, sir? Am I intruding?”
“I will be leaving directly. Phoebe desired my — er — advice.” A pause and then, “Phoebe, my dear?”
She looked up. “Yes, Robert?”
“Send for your maid, my child. Unless you would wish me to remain?”
“No!” Realising this was scarcely polite, she amended it. “No, indeed, there is no necessity for either. We are accustomed to leave the door open whenever we —”
She broke off, conscious all over again, and was unable to help shooting a look at Giles. He appeared pale, but his expression was determined. Lord help her! What did this visit betoken? What would she say if he meant to proffer an apology? She did not feel in the least little bit forgiving.
Delaney looked from her to Giles and back again. Then he walked over to the door, pointedly setting it wide. He looked back to where Phoebe remained, still in her chair, her clenched hands on its arms.
“Remember what I said, Phoebe.”
She kept her eyes on him, refusing to look again at Giles. “Yes.” It was non-committal, but she did not feel like giving the assurance he sought. She was by no means certain she wished any longer to marry Giles, even should he offer for her, which she doubted was his present intention.
The Opium Purge (Lady Fan Mystery Book 3) Page 27