Her thoughts had brought her within sight of the housekeeper’s domain and Ottilia hesitated on the threshold. She must do now what she had intended to achieve before the drastic happenings of the day. It had been meant to prevent them, but a sneaking sense of the kindness of providence could not but obtrude upon her regret. The child was at peace and Mrs Whiting could no longer answer in this world for her misdeeds.
She drew a breath and walked into the room. The door of the housekeeper’s cupboard, which she had fully expected to find locked, was hanging wide. Confusion, shock and dismay attacked Ottilia one after the other.
Had Mrs Whiting left it thus? In the heat of this morning’s debacle had she seized what she needed and rushed to the scene? Or had another broken it open and rifled some of the contents?
She moved to examine the lock. The wood around it was splintered, telling its own tale. Who in the house had forced it? Not Mrs Whiting. She had the keys after all.
Ottilia pulled the door wide and checked over what it contained. The ledgers were still stacked where she had seen them last when the housekeeper showed her the records of Tamasine’s doses. There was no way to tell from memory if any were missing, but there was no gap, so it was safe to assume they were intact.
She shifted her attention to the various bottles and jars on the upper shelf. This was where the laudanum was stored. There was one full bottle and another standing open with its cork vanished. It was half empty. Had Mrs Whiting grabbed a dose in a rush? Ottilia looked around for a set of glasses and spied a measuring tub on the table with the errant cork nearby. In her mind’s eye, she imagined the housekeeper dashing in, aware from the cacophony that a dose would be needed and hurrying to set one up.
But had the cupboard been broken open even then? Was anything else missing? She turned back to her inspection of the shelves. She readily recognised a collection of innocuous household remedies: Asoefetida drops, Turkey Rhubarb, Cream of Tartar and a variety of elixirs jostling one another, along with various unguents and a pot of Mercury pills. Nothing obviously missing. She checked further down.
The lower shelves contained various packages and boxes, but at once a tell-tale gap showed a hefty stack of uniform shape to be conspicuous by its absence. The size rang a bell with Ottilia and she had just placed it when her husband’s voice drew her attention.
“Have you found whatever you were looking for?”
She turned to look at him. “Something is missing.”
He came forward, eyeing the cupboard. “Do you know what it is?”
She returned her gaze to the gap. “I have a fairly good notion. What I don’t know is who forced the lock.”
Francis instantly cast his eyes upon the area where the wood was splintered and cursed. “For pity’s sake! Another mystery is all we need.”
A horrid thought struck Ottilia. “We must stop Hemp from taking Tamasine to her room!” Energised anew, she sped from the little room and hurried along the corridor. “There’s a back stair, Fan. Quickly!”
A burst of excited whispering broke out behind her and she flicked a glance backwards. A couple of maids and a sturdy woman in a stained apron, who was holding a wooden spoon, stood in a cluster a few doors down from the housekeeper’s room. Ottilia ignored them and hurried on.
Reaching the cross-corridor at the point of the door to the main house, she turned into it, pointing towards the stairwell now visible ahead. “There, Fan! Run up, if you please, and head Hemp off if he is on his way. Let him put the girl in any other room but her own.”
Francis was already halfway up the first flight, but he acknowledged this with a nod and clattered on up the wooden stairs.
Out of breath already, Ottilia paused with her hand on the bannister.
“What is it, ma’am? What’s happened?”
One of the maids had braved the scene. Ottilia waved her back.
“That you shall know presently. Stay down here, if you please.” She bethought her of the butler. “Wait! Where is Lomax?”
The maid, a frightened-looking creature with a thin face, crept a few steps closer and dropped a curtsy. “He’s still out searching far as I know, ma’am.”
“Ah, then he was here when all the commotion started, was he?”
The maid’s eyes rolled. “When Miss began a-screaming fit to bust herself, ma’am? I didn’t see him, ma’am, but I heard he went up. I seen Mrs Whiting who went up straight.”
“Did she come down again, do you know?”
The maid shook her head. “I seen her go up, but she ain’t come back down since.”
No, for she could not. Then she must indeed have seized a dose and taken it up with her. But who had broken open the housekeeping cupboard? She thanked the maid and headed on up the stairs, still pondering. On recalling the butler, she’d wondered if he was the culprit, although it was hard to think why he might have occasion to do such a thing. Then she recalled Mrs Delabole mentioning Lomax having helped the footmen to overpower Tamasine.
Instinct pointed her in one direction. If she was right, it would explain a great deal.
By the time she reached Tamasine’s bedchamber, she was out of breath again, but was relieved when Francis came out of the room, looking exceedingly grim. Ottilia halted in the corridor, surveying him.
“You’ve found them!”
“If you mean what I think you mean, the remains are scattered all over the place.”
Ottilia walked into the familiar bedchamber and halted on the threshold. The boxes lay everywhere, the empty packages strewn across the bed, the floor and clinging here and there to the curtains. She went to pick up one of the boxes, turned upside-down on the unmade bed. It was an exact copy of the box of sweets Tamasine had offered to Ottilia the day before and it was, like the rest, empty.
“She stole them. She must have been eating them all night.”
“And you think Mrs Whiting gave her another dose?”
Ottilia sighed out a hopeless breath. “I should doubt of her being able to. I would not be surprised to find a vessel spilled on the floor in Tamasine’s attic. She might have had a dose last night. But if she ingested five boxes of these wretched sweets, it is unsurprising she was maddened this morning. She might have been hallucinating.”
“What, when she killed Mrs Whiting?”
“Who can say? I only know she meant to kill her — someday. Just as Mrs Whiting intended, at a suitable moment, to dispose of Tamasine. Only I don’t think she did. Tamasine saved her the trouble.”
When, at length, Ottilia expounded this view to Mrs Delabole, that lady burst into sobs, sitting plump down upon one of the parlour chairs where she had taken refuge as soon as she returned to the house.
“Thank heavens! I could not have borne it if the wretched creature had done such a thing. But does that Justice fellow believe you?”
“I have not troubled him with that tale, ma’am. He has enough on his plate coping with Tamasine’s destruction of the unfortunate woman.”
In fact Ottilia had abandoned as futile any attempt to explain her theory about Tamasine’s revenge. The Honourable Mr Robert Delaney, arriving along with the coroner in default of his colleague Mr Lovell who was still away, had no difficulty in believing Tamasine had committed the murder. The condition of her gown and the blood on her face were proof enough. Not to mention the weapon.
“For I understand from your good brother, Lady Francis, that the insane can display superhuman strength if they are in the throes of a mad fit.” Horrified he might be, but he was inclined to think it a judgement upon those who knew no better than to allow an insane person to roam free. “What if the creature had bludgeoned some innocent instead of a member of the household? I can only suppose it a merciful dispensation of providence that she was found within the house since I understand most of the inhabitants were out hunting high and low for her for some time.”
He considered the case as closed and gave leave for the dead to be buried as soon as may be, saying he would write u
p his report for the authorities, who would, he asserted, be perfectly satisfied with his judgement.
Ottilia did not doubt it and was glad to see the back of him at last. By the time he departed, the undertakers had arrived, closely followed by the unexpected return of Miss Ingleby and Simeon Roy. The ensuing uproar, when the events of the morning were divulged to the truants, was enough, Francis said, to wake both corpses from their rest.
He refused to allow his wife to become embroiled, and indeed Ottilia was relieved to leave the cacophony behind her.
“Though I feel sorry for poor Mrs Delabole.”
“It is time and past she took charge of the situation. I only hope she will not feel it incumbent upon her to come crying to you at the Dower House whenever she can’t cope.”
The dowager, when informed of his hope, told him he was baying at the moon.
“Mark my words! The creature will be over here dragging us into the business before the cat can lick her ear. She can’t leave until all is settled, I presume? How did you fare with Delaney?”
Since Sophie, attended by Miss Mellis as usual, had swept her sons upstairs with her, refusing to let them out of her sight, Ottilia had no qualms in relating what the Justice had said and her mother-in-law, doubtless querulous from the horrors of the day, animadverted on the man’s character for several moments.
“Of course he has no notion,” Ottilia said when she could get a word in, “for I did not feel it incumbent upon me to tell him, that Tamasine’s attack upon Mrs Whiting was the culmination of her reckoning.”
Sybilla, seated across from her on the sofa, cast her an eagle glance. “How so?”
“Mrs Whiting poisoned her mother.”
This announcement was productive of a sudden silence. Lady Polbrook stared. Patrick, occupying the other end of the sofa, raised his brows. And Francis, in his favourite stance by the fireplace, one elbow resting on the mantel, bent a frown upon his wife. He was the first to speak, his tone reproachful.
“I dare say you have known that for days.”
“Of course she has,” said Sybilla on a scornful note. “You did not tell us that when you said you thought Mrs Whiting made those wretched confections.”
Patrick raised an eyebrow. “That is what makes you maintain she intended to do the same by the daughter?”
“I am quite sure she did. If Tamasine had not broken into her housekeeping cupboard, I expect she would have fed her those sweets every day in hopes that her addiction to sugar would do her work for her.”
“Along with the doses to quiet her? Yes, I must concede that would be enough to do the trick. Without time for the body to get rid of the poisons, the accumulations would inevitably result in coma, and very likely death. You could scarcely hope for an emetic to remove enough to keep her alive.”
“You are certain it was Mrs Whiting feeding the sweets to Tamasine?” asked her husband.
“Who else? No one had access to those boxes except herself. Tamasine stole five from the cupboard and there may be more in there. I did not have time to make a thorough check.”
“Do you mean to tell me,” broke in Sybilla, evidently still struggling with the truth of it, “that the wretched woman had it in mind all along to dispose of that afflicted child?”
“Yes,” said Ottilia baldly, “I do. What is more, I am convinced that the moment she realised how her machinations had helped to put paid to Sir Joslin, even though by accident, she found every opportunity to increase Tamasine’s dosage in the hope the girl would succumb as quickly as possible.”
“But how callous!”
“To her mind, I believe, she was performing a service. Just as she did for Florine, after it became clear the woman had become too violent. When I spoke of Tamasine suffering imprisonment, or perhaps hanging, Mrs Whiting was horrified and said she could not let them do it. She preferred to dispose of her in a fashion she thought humane. I suspect Tamasine’s attack upon Phoebe sounded her death knell.”
Francis’s frown was direful. “Mrs Whiting did not bargain for Tamasine’s scheme of revenge, I take it?”
“I doubt she even guessed Tamasine knew she had poisoned her mother. If she heard her speak of revenge at all, I imagine she took it for another manifestation of the girl’s deranged mind, and never thought to be upon her guard. Only Miss Ingleby understood the streak of rationality that ran through Tamasine.”
“That creature? I thought we had been rid of her at least!”
“Oh, I imagine you will be, Sybilla. I cannot suppose the rekindled passion between those two has as yet burned itself out. Although, I would guess Simeon will wish to remain for a while, in hopes of a share of Tamasine’s fortune.”
“For my part, they are welcome to each other,” said Francis. “A more quarrelsome pair I hope I may never meet. As for that fellow, Lomax, he may go hang for all of me. What troubles me more is what is to become of those blacks.”
“Won’t they return to their native land?” Patrick suggested.
The dowager’s eyes were afire. “To be slaves again?”
“No, no, they are both free men, Sybilla,” Ottilia reminded her. “Tom and Ben discovered as much from Hemp and he said so himself to Mrs Delabole. Indeed, Hemp has some sort of competence. And I cannot suppose Sir Joslin, or even Matthew Roy himself, will have forgotten to provide for Cuffy.”
Later, alone with Francis, Ottilia was more forthcoming when she broached a matter she had been turning over in her mind. “Fan, should you object to it if I were to offer Hemp a position with us?”
Her spouse stared at her. “A position? What in the world do you want him for?”
“He engages my sympathies, Fan. Only consider: he has spent his life in service to his father and his half-sister, for little or no gain. Now he will be adrift, with no purpose to fulfil and in a foreign country to boot.”
Francis appeared unconvinced. “Well, he may not choose to remain in England. Besides, he said himself he is independent. I don’t say he might take his place in society, but he may set himself up somewhere, if he so chooses.”
“How, Fan? A black, in the climate that persists in this country? He is an intelligent man, and deserves to succeed. Besides, what level of competence is this? Will it be sufficient to enable him to support himself here rather than in Barbados?” She came to him, laying her hands against his chest and smiling up into his face. “Dearest Fan, I feel for him, indeed I do. He will be grieving for some little time, and perhaps it would help him to have an occupation.”
“But what in the world is he to do for us? We don’t need another footman.”
“No, and I should not dream of asking him to take such a lowly position.”
“What, then? It seems to me, Tillie, you have not thought this through at all.”
“Indeed I have not. I freely confess it. I don’t know, Fan. He may be my personal steward or some such thing. I am sure I shall think of something suitable.” She read the condemnation in his face, and added on a coaxing note. “Pray indulge me in this, Fan.”
“But, why, Tillie? I dare say the wretched fellow will not in the least wish to come to us.”
“In which case, the matter will be instantly resolved.”
To her relief, he looked to be thawing. He slid an arm around her and sighed. “I wish I understood what you mean by this, my love.”
Ottilia stood on tiptoe to kiss him, and then leaned back into the circle of his arm. She tried to smile, but knew it went awry as her voice turned husky. “This has been a tragic episode, my dearest. I feel so badly, you cannot imagine.”
“Oh, can I not? As if I did not know you well enough to be sure you have by this persuaded yourself the whole thing has been your fault from start to finish.”
She gave a watery chuckle. “Not quite as bad as that, but you must see —” She broke off and drew a breath. “No, I will not tease you with my megrims. Only permit me to save a little something from the wreck.”
“More than a little, my dear one.
Giles and Phoebe have a hope of coming out of it relatively unscathed, once we can bring Randal to his senses. Which may appease Mama’s temper at last. While as for my darling wife —”
She stopped him with a finger to his lips. “You need not say it. It has indeed served to divert me, despite the horrors we have endured. And if you will only allow me this one little thing, I swear I will not utter one word of complaint throughout the remainder of my pregnancy.”
He gave a shout of laughter. “If I believed that, Tillie, I should be taken at fault within a week!”
She was obliged to smile, but she did not lose sight of her objective. “And Hemp?”
He hugged her. “Do as you wish, my darling. I admit I like the fellow. It is a small price to pay and you deserve a reward, if only for enduring the hideous madness of Willow Court.”
Content to have won her point, Ottilia thanked him in a manner appropriate to the occasion. But her spouse seemed to have few illusions.
“Yes, it’s all very well to play off your cajolery on me, but I warn you I shall not be encouraging you in any more such enterprises, my Lady Fan.”
*****
Want to find out what’s next for Lady Ottilia Fanshawe? Read The Candelit Coffin — Book Three in the Lady Fan mystery series.
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A NOTE TO THE READER
Dear Reader
The idea for The Opium Purge was a snatch of something I thought would be the start of a romance. A girl comes over to the new neighbours and pleads for sanctuary, but a brother comes to fetch her and tells the neighbours she is mad. In that scenario, the girl was being held against her will and was perfectly sane. That, as you have now read, did not materialise when it turned into Ottilia’s next adventure.
The Opium Purge (Lady Fan Mystery Book 3) Page 35