The Lady Fan Series: Books 1-3 (Sapere Books Boxset Editions)

by Elizabeth Bailey

  “Lord above!” Ottilia stared blankly at the creature, whose china blue eyes turned swiftly towards her.

  “There you are!”

  “Yes,” agreed Ottilia, moving into the room. “But how in the world did you get in?”

  It was then borne in upon her that the Dowager Lady Polbrook’s companion was also present. Teresa Mellis was standing a little to one side, evidently struck dumb by the appearance of the unknown visitor.

  “Miss Mellis?”

  The woman turned towards her, a countenance edged with tension. This was not unusual with her, as Ottilia knew, for the companion was possessed of a nervous disposition, apt to be thrown into play by trifles. For answer, she pointed towards the French window, which Ottilia realised was open.

  “No wonder it is cold.” She moved across with the intention of remedying the matter.

  Miss Mellis intercepted her. “Wait!” Once more she pointed. “Look.”

  Ottilia glanced briefly at the girl, who had not again spoken, but whose oddly fixed stare was following Ottilia as she moved. Miss Mellis took a couple of steps in the direction of the window, her finger stretched out towards it. An oddity in the glass pane imprinted itself upon Ottilia’s vision. It was splintered, with a jagged hole that had scattered shards upon the carpet underneath. A startled question leaped into her mind, and she turned back to the girl even as Miss Mellis’s low-toned warning sounded.

  “You may well stare. See her hand? She broke the glass.”

  By now Ottilia had caught sight of the girl’s bloodied fingers. Without thought, she went up to her and seized her wrist, lifting the hand for inspection.

  “Heavens, child, how in the world did you come to do such a thing?”

  The stranger’s gaze, still fixed on Ottilia’s face, shifted to take in her own hand. A pair of fine brows rose. “How did I do that? I don’t remember cutting myself.”

  Behind her, Ottilia heard Miss Mellis let out a protesting whimper. Ottilia looked round, taking in the fright in the pallid face. On the shady side of fifty, Teresa Mellis was prematurely lined due to the possession of delicate skin with a tendency to dryness, and every distress, of which there were many as Ottilia had noted, showed in her thin features. She spoke little unless spoken to, and was in the habit of making terse pronouncements if called upon to answer.

  “She punched her fist through the glass.”

  The girl made no comment, but merely watched the interplay as Ottilia looked from her and then back to Miss Mellis. “Did you see it?”

  The companion shook her head. “I saw her put her hand through to unlatch the door.”

  “To the detriment of your poor hand, young lady.” Ottilia turned back to the girl with a smile. “I think our first task must be to wash your wounds and make sure you have no pieces of glass embedded in your flesh.”

  The girl’s pretty mouth opened and a tinkle of high-pitched laughter came out. “Like a pin cushion.”

  From the corner of her eye Ottilia noticed the shiver that shook Miss Mellis, and privately could not blame her. The stranger was decidedly odd. But first things first. Releasing the girl’s wrist, she went to close the door and pull the curtains across to cover the hole.

  “Let us at least try to keep in the warm.” Turning again, she addressed the companion as she moved to the bell-pull and tugged upon it. “Would you be so kind, Miss Mellis, as to find lint and bandages? A pair of tweezers too, if you will, and perhaps a magnifying glass. Do you have one?”

  Miss Mellis let her breath go in a shaky sigh. “I will get them.”

  Watching her limp from the room as fast as she was able, Ottilia suspected Miss Mellis was glad to remove herself from the girl’s presence. Her acquaintance with the woman was slight, but sympathy prompted her to make a particular effort to understand the companion, for Ottilia’s introduction to the family had been as the creature’s temporary replacement when the woman had sustained a broken leg over a year before. She would never admit as much, Ottilia guessed, but it was obvious the winter cold was creating problems with her lingering disability.

  Returning her attention to the unexpected visitor, Ottilia summoned a smile and kept her tone even. “Won’t you sit down? I will have one of the servants bring a basin of water and a towel, and then we may see what can be done.”

  The girl made no move to sit, nor to look for a chair, but remained just where she was, her eyes playing over Ottilia’s features.

  “You are not beautiful.”

  Ottilia laughed out. “But you are.”

  “Yes.”

  There was no pride or conceit in the one word. It was merely agreement, Ottilia decided. She set a hand to the girl’s back and moved her gently towards a long sofa upholstered in blue-striped brocade, which was set to one side of the fireplace. She obliged the girl to sit.

  “What is your name?”

  “Tamasine.”

  “How pretty. Do you live near here, Tamasine?”

  The visitor made no reply to this, but continued to watch Ottilia as she removed the warm, hooded cloak she had donned for the purpose of taking her walk and set it aside on a convenient chair. She then placed herself next to the visitor.

  “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 h
urt 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 blan
k 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.