“Simeon Roy?”
“Yes. He was in the bed with them, rolling around as if he sought to evade getting hit himself. I screamed at him to intervene, but indeed he did come under attack for Tamasine leapt upon him and scratched his face.”
“Not so amusing, I surmise,” put in the dowager dryly.
“No, for he began bellowing too and if the black fellows had not thundered in, I don’t know what would have happened. It took both of them, and Lomax too, to haul Tamasine off, by which time all three were making enough noise to wake the dead.”
Ottilia’s imagination was rioting, but her mind fastened upon the one important factor. “Where was Mrs Whiting while all this was going forward?”
“Oh, she came and hopped about, shouting to footmen to bring Tamasine to the attic so she might get a dose inside her, and she went off again. I imagine she met the others up in the attic where of course they had to take the child. I could hear her screaming for an age, but my attention was captured by Miss Ingleby.”
The matron stopped, breathless from her tale, although it was plain the coming upshot was almost more painful to her than the cacophony of the fight. Anxious to hear the rest Ottilia might be, but as the tea tray arrived at this moment, she thought it more prudent to let the woman regather her senses and strength.
While Miss Mellis dispensed tea, Sophie expressed her shock in a manner that had the effect of encouraging Mrs Delabole by having someone sympathise with her feelings.
“I cannot but admire your fortitude of mind, ma’am. For myself, I should by this have been prostrate upon my bed. But I have never been strong, you must know. Such terrible scenes as you have endured are perfectly disastrous for me.”
“Very true,” Ottilia cut in before Sybilla could wither her guest. The dowager had not taken kindly to Sophie’s sickly constitution and had privately accused her to Ottilia of quacking herself. “But what occurred with the perpetrators afterwards? You said Miss Ingleby drew your attention?”
“She and he both.” The matron was sipping her tea, but set down her cup in the saucer and leaned forward, looking now rather more elevated than distressed by what she had to relate. “For one thing, they were in dishabille and you would suppose embarrassment would cause him at least to withdraw. But no such thing. Would you believe it, he tried to get back into the bed with her! But she would have none of him.”
Ottilia was obliged to wait for the comments to die down before asking for further enlightenment. “But you said, I think, that Miss Ingleby has gone?”
Mrs Delabole began to nod in as fervent a manner as she spoke. “Indeed she has. She swore at Mr Roy and knocked him back, shouting that she was leaving on the instant. Then she leapt from the bed and dragged a portmanteau from somewhere and began opening drawers and throwing things pell-mell into it.”
“Did Mr Roy try to stop her?”
“No, it was I who did that. In vain did I beg and plead with her to remain. She showed me her wounds — and indeed they were severe for Tamasine had quite battered and bruised her — and demanded to know if I would remain in a like case, which I am bound to say I would not. The next thing I knew Mr Roy was demanding to know where she thought she was going to go, to which she had no answer. And the long and the short of it was he vowed to drive her somewhere and it is of no use to ask me where for I could not tell you.”
Ottilia was much inclined to think it good riddance to both, except that she found it difficult to believe in this fairy-tale. “Do you tell me they did actually leave the house together?”
“Yes, for he went off to dress, although I have no notion whether he took all his belongings. She most certainly did not. The chamber was strewn with clothes still even when she had rushed out, calling for one of the footmen.”
“Did you see them leave, ma’am?”
“No, for I was so put about and upset I could not bear it and I ran to my chamber to scramble into my clothes since I could scarcely reason further with the wretched woman only in my nightgown. I don’t know what happened, but when I emerged, Hemp told me Mr Roy had driven Miss Ingleby away in his curricle. Which so overset me, I could think of nothing else to do but to come here to you, Lady Francis.”
A faint hope the elopement might prove abortive stirred. After all, it was scarcely in Simeon’s interests to leave with the companion when he meant to secure Tamasine’s hand. Would he forego his sworn hope of that destiny? Besides, he must know Tamasine was unlikely to bear a grudge. In all probability, she would have forgotten the whole episode by the time she came back to herself.
“Perhaps Simeon took her only for the purpose of giving her time to recover her temper,” she suggested. “I should strongly doubt he will in fact run away with Miss Ingleby. I own it would be an excellent thing if he was to go for good, but that young man has an eye to the main chance. I should think he at least will be back before long. Moreover, I cannot suppose he will allow Miss Ingleby to depart since he won’t wish to manage Tamasine without her assistance.”
Unfortunately this opinion found no favour with Mrs Delabole. She seemed determined to consider the case hopeless and wasted a great deal of time debating whether to pack her own bags and withdraw altogether from the debacle, or to hire another companion without more ado. Since she interlarded her musings with animadversions upon the disreputable conduct of Miss Ingleby and Simeon Roy, assisted in this endeavour by both Miss Mellis and Sophie, it was some time before Ottilia could have edged in a word, even had she made the attempt. She did not, her mind busy with possibilities.
Aware of Sybilla’s narrow regard, she was rather glad than otherwise that it was impossible for her mother-in-law to demand what she was thinking. She would have been hard put to it to answer. Her scheme of taking Willow Court by surprise to try to finalise her conclusions was effectively blasted. Impossible to engage in the battle she had anticipated when the attention of the household was concentrated upon Tamasine. Although, if Francis were here, she might persuade him to make the attempt without the culprit being present, a proceeding far more likely to succeed. It would take some explaining, should events prove her wrong, but Ottilia did not believe that would happen. The delay chafed her, but it could not be helped.
Mrs Delabole was just returning to what Ottilia supposed passed for normal in her temperament when faint shouts from without arrested everyone’s attention.
The dowager set down her cup and saucer with a bang. “Oh, what is it now? Don’t tell me they are bringing the fracas over here!”
Just then a voice a little nearer at hand could be heard, calling for “Miss Tam”.
“That’s Hemp, I think,” Ottilia said, rising and going to the French window to look out.
The matron uttered a cry. “She must have escaped again! Oh, what have I ever done to deserve this?”
Sybilla was up, moving to join Ottilia. “Inevitable, I suppose, after all that fuss and bother. I could wish my house was situated elsewhere!”
Next instant, her sister-in-law was bobbing about by Ottilia’s elbow, a frantic note in her voice. “Should we not lock all the doors, ma’am? By the accounts I have had from my sons, the girl could get in anywhere.”
“Very likely,” returned the dowager, “but since she has made a habit of entering by this way, I doubt it is necessary to go to such an extreme.”
It was plain to Ottilia that Sophie was dissatisfied with this answer, for she argued the matter for several moments, only ceasing when she bethought her of the boys, commenting aloud her relief that they had gone with their father upon his errand. Ottilia caught Sybilla’s eye before she could refute this statement, giving her a quick shake of the head. The dowager’s brows rose, but she mercifully refrained from saying anything. They did not need Sophie in hysterics as well as Mrs Delabole.
The calling, which had continued unabated, receded into the distance. Ottilia opened the door and slipped out, moving into the garden and peering down towards the slope that led to the road between the two propert
ies, at once feeling the chill through the thin sleeves of her gown. She could hear more voices, but it was impossible to tell from where they came, nor who was crying out Tamasine’s name.
“Come back inside, Ottilia,” commanded her mother-in-law, opening the door and leaning out. “It’s cold and I want to lock it. If that wretched child is wandering about, the last thing I need is for her to come battering on this door.”
Obedient to the common sense of this, Ottilia went back in and closed and locked the door behind her. Turning, she beheld Mrs Delabole once more in the throes, weeping this time all over Sophie. With an inward groan, she would have gone to the rescue, but Sybilla detained her.
“Let Mrs Hathaway deal with her, my dear, you have done enough.” She added under her breath, “Besides, it will do her good to be thinking of someone else’s difficulties for a change.”
Ottilia smiled. “No doubt. I wish Tamasine had not escaped. I imagine the whole household is out looking for her. Else I would have gone across and consulted with Hemp, I think.”
“No, you don’t! You don’t stir from this house until Francis is here to go with you. Good God, Ottilia, have you forgot how strong that girl is when she gets into one of her mad fits?”
“I have not, but I dare say she has calmed down again, if she has slipped out in the old way. She usually does so out of mischief rather than fury, if I am not mistaken.”
“I dare say. Nevertheless, I will not have you risk your safety. ”
Sighing, Ottilia allowed herself to be urged back into the room. It irked her to be idle at such a juncture. On the other hand, she had promised Francis only the direst necessity would draw her forth.
The sudden sound of feet pounding in the direction of the house drove her back to the window, the dowager right behind her
“Don’t open the door, whatever you do!”
By now the rest of the party had realised something was up and, although Mrs Delabole shrank back in her cushions, both Sophie and Miss Mellis came crowding round.
“Is it that girl again? Come away, do, Lady Francis, or she will be throwing stones again!”
“I hardly think she will do that, Miss Mellis. Besides, it does not sound like her steps.”
No sooner had she spoken than a figure appeared at the window. A shorter one than Tamasine, with uncovered blond locks, who first tried the door and then knocked frantically on the glass.
“Auntilla! Auntilla!”
Sophie uttered a shriek. “Oh, heavens, it is Ben! What is he doing out there? Is she after him? Let him in, Ottilia!”
Ottilia’s fingers were already turning the key. She wrenched open the door and her nephew flung through, seizing her arms and shrieking in a terror-stricken voice.
“Auntilla, you’ve got to come quick! The madwoman! She’s got Tom!”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
For a heart-stopping moment, Ottilia could neither move nor think, but as pandemonium broke out around her, she came to her senses in a bang. Ben was moving towards his mother, who had given way to immediate hysterics, crying out her younger son’s name and collapsing onto the sofa. Ottilia caught her nephew about the shoulders.
“Let be, Ben! Your mama has two ladies attending to her already.”
“Where’s Papa?”
“Out, but he will be sent for at once.”
She found Sybilla at her elbow. “Go, Ottilia! I will despatch young Toby to fetch back both Doctor Hathaway and Francis.”
Ottilia lowered her voice. “Keep Sophie from following, Sybilla!”
“Stay! You ought to take a cloak. It’s freezing.”
“There is no time. I will survive, never fear.” Seizing the boy, she went quickly through the French doors, leaving her mother-in-law to shut them behind her. “Let us hurry, Ben! We have not a moment to lose. You may tell me on the way just what occurred.”
Only now did it strike her that her nephew was dashing tears from his eyes. His voice was choked.
“It was my fault, Auntilla! I should never have suggested we go there.”
“Yes, never mind that. What happened?”
The chill was penetrating, but Ottilia barely noticed, her concentration on setting one foot in front of the other safely even at speed. Her pulse was behaving in a distressing fashion and her chest was hollow, but her mind remained all too clear as she pictured the images Ben was painting.
“We never meant to do more than scout around the village, I swear, Auntilla, and we had got up a game of skimming pebbles on the pond with some of the boys hereabouts. Then that fellow Simeon came racing along in his curricle and he had Miss Ingleby up beside him. He was driving hell for leather, Auntilla, and she was looking like a nightmare! As they passed I heard her say she was never going back and they could all go to hell, for all she cared.”
Ottilia grasped his hand. “A little slower, if you please, Ben. And you need waste no time telling me of that pair. Mrs Delabole has given me that story. What about Tamasine?”
Moderating his pace, Ben sucked in a distraught breath. “She went missing, Auntilla. Or at least they thought she had. Only she hadn’t. She was —” He broke off, drew a sobbing breath, and tried again. “At first we just went on with our game, but in the end I said to Tom we should go and see what was up with the place, and I know I shouldn’t have, but —”
Ottilia shushed him. “Keep on with the story, Ben. There will be time for regret later.”
“Yes, well, we went and — and I only thought to find Hemp and ask him what was toward. Only by the time we got there no one was in sight. Nor was there any row or anything, no screaming like you’d expect. So we went to the kitchen and the cook said everyone was looking for Tamasine.”
By this time, they had reached the roadside and Ottilia glanced across at the coming height she must climb. She was conscious of fatigue for the pace was faster than she was used to, but she ignored it, forcing her steps onward. Once on the Willow Court grounds, she urged Ben to continue.
“How did Tamasine get hold of Tom?”
The explanation came in staccato fashion, Ben gamefully saying his piece while remorse and anxiety still clearly held him too near tears for comfort. It appeared that, in a praiseworthy effort to help, the boys went all over the house, just in case Tamasine was not in the grounds where the rest of the household were out hunting for her.
“And she was — in the house, I mean. Only — only — it was horrible, Auntilla! Every time I think of it, I feel quite sick.”
“Think of what, Ben? Come, hold it together, if you please. Just tell me.”
Thus adjured, he sucked in another shattering breath and continued. “She was in her eyrie. Up in the attic. Only we didn’t know. Couldn’t see her. But — but when we peeped in, there was a — a body…”
Ottilia’s throat constricted. “Oh my God! We are too late!”
Ben’s gaze hunted hers. “What do you mean, Auntilla?”
“Never mind. Go on, Ben.” The steps were beyond the rise ahead and her thumping heart warred with the dread. “Quick, for we are nearly there!”
“It was her. The fat, dumpy one.”
“Oh, dear God! Mrs Whiting?”
“Yes, and she was lying near the window. We didn’t know, Auntilla! She might have fainted or something.”
Ottilia’s brain was whirling, though the leaden feeling in her chest increased. Too late! Fainted? If only it were so innocent! She ought not to have waited. A bad misjudgement. Had she not known it might come to this?
Ben’s voice thickened. “There was blood. That’s why we went in. At least, I wasn’t going to. But Tom ran forward before I could stop him. I shouted. But I was too late. The madwoman rushed out. She must have been hiding behind the door.”
Ottilia’s heart contracted, horror in her head.
“I saw Tom turn. He cried out. I tried to get in, I swear I did. But she slammed the door in my face. I heard the bolt go in.” The boy was crying now and had come to a standstill right at the top o
f the steep flight of stairs. “I kicked the door and I screamed and screamed at her. I yelled to Tom to keep away from her. I yelled I was going for help. But I couldn’t find anyone when I ran downstairs. I called and called for Hemp and Cuffy, but nobody answered me, Auntilla. And she’s got Tom! She’s got Tom!”
He threw his arms around Ottilia as she caught him close, murmuring words that in no way expressed her own feelings. “We’ll get him back, Ben, we’ll get him back. Never fear. She won’t hurt him. She has no reason to hurt Tom. Come. Let us go and rescue him at once!”
Her words, brave as they sounded, were as empty as her heart. But they served their purpose. Ben straightened, dashed his hands across his eyes, sniffed and turned with resolute steps to stomp down the stairway.
Ottilia followed more cautiously, her whole being consumed with dread. Would Tamasine hurt him? She was eminently capable of it. And if she had killed once…
Reaching the flat again, she began to hurry, only to be brought up short by Ben standing stock-still, mouth open in a silent scream. Ottilia’s gaze followed her nephew’s pointing finger up to the roof and the breath stopped in her throat.
Tamasine was standing on the parapet, her arms wrapped about Tom’s slight chest, holding him in a grip that looked like certain death.
An eon of time held Ottilia in thrall to sick horror, unable to move, unable to think.
In reality, it could not have been many seconds before the cogs began to shift and roll again. One salient fact hit her with violence. Tom was alive! She could yet save him.
Acting on sheer instinct, she moved towards the open front door, not pausing to wonder why it had been left thus, but grateful in a corner of her mind for the fact of it.
Her nephew was dogging her steps. Ottilia whirled on him.
“Find Hemp! I don’t care how you do it, but find him! Quick, Ben!”
And then she was running, speeding through the door and clattering up the wooden stairs, her skirts held up so as not trip her. Somewhere in her head she thanked her stars for having found the way up onto the roof before this, but a litany was forming in her mind.
The Opium Purge (Lady Fan Mystery Book 3) Page 33