“But I take it this was not all. Was she violent?”
“She became more so as the years went by.” His jaw tightened. “The worst was when she hurt Master Jos.”
“Badly?”
He nodded, and brought it out flat and hard. “She said he raped her. She was defending herself.”
“But Mr Roy did not believe it?”
His lip curled. “Rape a woman? Master Jos?”
“Yes, I see.” She wondered briefly if there was something in the air of Barbados, to breed passions that led to violence. “Tell me, did Tamasine ever visit her mother once she was incarcerated?”
“Mrs Whiting took her regularly, but she never left her alone with the mistress. I waited outside.”
“In case she became dangerous and you had to intervene?” Ottilia guessed.
“Miss Florine was strong. Miss Tam also, when she is angry.”
“When she is thwarted?”
He looked disheartened. “She does not mean it. She can be gentle. She can be loving.”
Was she capable of true loving? Ottilia doubted it, but it would be cruel to disabuse Hemp, whose affections towards the child could not be in doubt. But it was far other than the sort of feeling to which Giles was in thrall. Hemp’s feelings, she was persuaded, were of quite another sort.
She was toying with the advisability of putting her suspicion into words when a sudden cacophony broke out beyond the parlour door.
The shouting below attracted Francis’s attention. He left off his search through the drawers in the press where, at Tillie’s request, he was hunting for the missing sugar sweets, and glanced across at his brother-in-law, who was seated upon the bed, engaged in mathematical calculation.
“What’s to do?”
Patrick tucked away his notebook and pencil and stood up. “We’d best go and see.”
Francis led the way into the hall, and the voices raised in anger were immediately audible.
“You come here, trying to cozen your way in, as if the lot of us were not perfectly aware of your intent.”
“That’s Miss Ingleby,” Francis said, leaning over the gallery rail.
He could see the companion over by the door to Sir Joslin’s erstwhile study, which was open. It was evident the argument had been going on for some moments, and had spilled out into the hall. The other party was standing at the foot of the stairs, his great-coat on his back, hat in hand, evidently in the intention of leaving the house. Was this the fellow Tillie had spoken of? The Roy cousin?
“And what of your intent, my dear Lavinia,” came from the man in a drawling tone. “Well and truly are your fond hopes smashed, are they not?”
Miss Ingleby’s cheeks became stained with red. “You know nothing of the matter. Joslin was fond enough.”
“Fond? You had less chance of attaching him than I, had my tastes run in that direction.”
Aha, so their suspicions of the fellow Cadel’s preferences had foundation. The comment had an inflaming effect on Miss Ingleby.
“Be quiet, you hellion! I hate and loathe you!”
“That’s not the opinion you held of me at one time, my dear,” sneered her tormentor.
She uttered a shriek. “Don’t dare begin upon that subject, Simeon Roy!”
“You ought to know by now there is nothing I would not dare. Indeed, if anyone in this household may claim intimate knowledge of me —”
The woman threw herself back against the doorjamb, one hand rising to her throat. “You would taunt me thus? With an episode in the past which filled me — which still fills me — with disgust and shame?”
The fellow Roy’s arrogant stance did not alter. He leaned a little more at his ease, the sneering note pronounced. “To my recollection, Lavinia, you welcomed my advances with far other than disgust. And as for shame, you had none. There, that is cutting up a character indeed.”
Miss Ingleby ran towards him, her hand flying up as if she would slap his cheek, but Roy stepped forward and caught her wrist, holding her off.
“Ah, would you, my sweet? Too ambitious. I am not the youth I once was, to be caught unawares by the claws of a jealous strumpet.”
A strangled sound, much like the snarl of an infuriated cat, escaped Miss Ingleby’s lips. She wrenched herself free and fisted her hands before his face. “If ever I deserved that name, it was all your doing. You made of me what I became, just as you tried to do with that unsuspecting demented child.”
“Tamasine adores me,” returned Roy in a superior tone, “which is why you could not endure to see us together.”
Miss Ingleby’s features became the more enraged and the fists were raised to either cheek, stabbing at her own face as if she sought to punish it for ever catching the fellow’s attention.
“You fiend! You don’t love her, you never did. You eloped with her only for the sake of her fortune.”
Roy launched his upper body towards her, losing some of his assurance in a display of temperament almost equal to her own. “Much you know about it! You were so jealous you could not see beyond the end of your nose.”
“I saw through you right enough, Simeon Roy! And if you think to find an ally here, you are mightily mistaken. None in this house will support your schemes, and Tamasine is too well guarded to be spirited away this time.”
The combatants suffered an interruption. A voice was heard crying out for the companion, and Mrs Whiting came waddling down the corridor behind Francis and Patrick.
“Miss Ingleby! Miss Ingleby!” She did not appear to notice the gentlemen standing to the side of the staircase as she hurried down. “Miss Ingleby, have you seen Tamasine? She is not in her room.”
Simeon Roy let out a gust of crude laughter, as he shifted further into the hall. “Slipped her leash again? So much for your strict guardianship. The chit is more than a match for you, Lavinia.”
The taunt went unregarded. Miss Ingleby met the housekeeper at the foot of the stairs. “Have you looked in the attics?”
Mrs Whiting was puffing, one hand at her ample bosom. “I’ve not the strength to go up there. I searched all the rooms on the first floor.”
Ignoring the fellow Roy, Miss Ingleby sailed down the hall, out of Francis’s line of vision and he heard her calling for the footmen.
“Hemp! Cuffy!”
The lighter voice answered at once. “I am here, madame.”
“Hemp, thank heavens! Run up to the attics and check for Miss Tam.”
Francis stepped forward to meet the fellow as he reached the top of the stairs. “Can we help?”
Hemp paused. “No, sir, I thank you. I know all the places where Miss Tam hides.”
With which, he was gone, his steps pounding along the corridor. A deep voice sounded below, and within a moment, Cuffy came charging up the stairs and disappeared in Hemp’s wake.
“Come on, Patrick.”
Francis led the way downstairs. Simeon Roy had disappeared, and Miss Ingleby was in urgent conference with Lomax by the green baize door at the back of the hall.
Spying his wife standing just inside the parlour door, Francis crossed quickly to her and slipped inside. He waited only for Patrick to join them before closing the door softly behind them.
“And what did you make of all that, Tillie?”
A sneaking regret for the situation into which he had precipitated himself plagued Giles as he waited in the woods. He was chilled, anxious and irritable, feeling as much guilt at appointing this clandestine meeting as he felt apprehension at its object.
Word of the open verdict had reached him the previous evening, his uncle having sent Toby with a note. All Francis’s arguments intruded upon his peace of mind, cutting it to shreds. Not that he truly believed a charge of murder could implicate him. He had not been next or nigh Willow Court until after the fellow’s death. The niggling worry that had seeped unwanted in his mind was far more pertinent.
Could Tamasine have had a hand in her guardian’s death? Though he steadfastly believed in h
er artlessness, that trusting nature might prove her undoing. Could she be worked upon by another to do what she did not understand to be wrong?
His encounter with that cousin of hers rankled. He had not liked the fellow. Roy had been altogether too free with Tamasine, and it was plain she was disposed to be fond of him. Had she not indicated she was relying on his services to right her wrongs? He remembered his uncle asking about the reckoning. Was this the vengeance she and Simeon Roy had sworn? Could it have a bearing on this unexplained death?
And all this added to the necessity to arrange an elopement. Common sense told him it was the only possible course, were he to meet his obligation to marry Tamasine.
When had he started thinking of it as an obligation? Not a day since, he would have sworn he could like nothing better than to make her his own. Today, in light of the verdict, everything his relatives had said to the disparagement of his inamorata’s mental capacities had come swirling into his brain and refused to be dislodged.
The light running footsteps coming through the trees startled him, even though he was expecting to hear the sound. Schooling his features to a welcome he was far from feeling, he strained for a sight of Tamasine. His heart jerked as he caught a glimpse of her. She was flitting from tree to tree, hiding at each point as if she feared pursuit.
“Tamasine!”
She reappeared, looked directly at him, waved and broke into laughter as she hid herself behind another tree.
Giles struggled to overcome a rise of exasperation. Was this a moment to be playing silly games? “Tamasine, come here!”
She slipped into sight again, laughed delightedly, and came towards him at a run, her arms held out. He received her perforce into his embrace, almost falling at the impact.
“Steady! You nearly had me over.”
She allowed him to set her on her feet, but her arms twined around his neck and she gazed up at him with those shining blue eyes and her wide smile. “Giles, Giles, Giles! Will you kiss me? You must kiss me.”
Her beauty was breathtaking, and for a moment a revitalised wash of pleasurable sensation swept over him. He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her with a fervency he had not previously dared. To his combined shock and amazement, Tamasine pressed herself closely against him, sinuous in her motions, although her mouth remained closed to him, unmoving under his.
The oddity of the womanly body and the child’s kiss struck him forcibly and he tugged himself free, holding her off, as he hastily sought for excuses.
“We must not. It is bad enough that I am meeting you in secret. I must not compound the fault with such liberties as this.”
A flash of something vengeful showed for an instant in her eyes. Cold and alien. Then it vanished and she was laughing again.
“Silly! You can kiss me as much as you like. They can’t see. They can’t stop us here.”
Giles did not know how to answer this. Her naivety had been endearing, but could only irritate in his present mood. He strove for patience.
“Not now, Tamasine. I need to ask you something.”
“Giles, Giles, Giles,” she sang, and there stopped, smiling up at him.
Disconcerted, he stared at her. Was she not the least bit interested to know he must question her? Any ordinary girl would be agog. Eager, anxious, or both. With an inward sigh, he took her hand and led her to a fallen tree trunk, obliging her to sit. Nothing loath, she planted herself where he put her and sat, looking up at him, apparently awaiting his pleasure.
How to begin? He meant to lead up to it gently, but it occurred to him that subtlety was not Tamasine’s forte. There was nothing for it but to be direct.
“Tamasine, you remember you told me there was a reckoning?”
Her expression altered at once. He could not with justice call the look in her eyes now anything but malevolent.
“They will pay.”
They? Instinct prompted Giles. “Who?”
She looked surprised. “Joslin, of course.”
“But he is already dead.” Who else?
She frowned, puzzlement flitting across her face. Then her brow cleared and the tinkling laugh sounded. “Yes. There, Giles, you see. The reckoning came to him after all.”
He wanted to ask, by whose hand? But he was afraid of the answer. Then he remembered his earlier thoughts of Simeon Roy.
“Why did he have to pay a reckoning, Tamasine? What did Joslin do to you?”
The wide-eyed look was bent upon him. “Not me, silly. Mamma. She died. He had to die too. I pushed him down the steps. Joslin hurt Mamma, didn’t you know?”
Chapter 12
The day was clement, and Phoebe knew herself well enough recognised in the immediate environment for a lone walk to be perfectly safe. Willow Court was across the way from the Polbrook Dower House at Barnwells, which was only a matter of a mile from her own home at Hemington Court. She had no intention of burdening herself with either a groom or her maid upon this particular mission. To dispense with the services of either was not wholly unprecedented. To dispense with both might well attract notice.
Phoebe did not care. Let the world make of it what they would, she had every right to this foray. Lady Polbrook meant to send for Giles to discover the truth, but what was the use of that? If he was promised, then so be it. But what better way to discover for herself than by going directly to the horse’s mouth? The conviction Giles would heartily disapprove of her action served only to make her the more determined. He had forfeited all right to be the arbiter of her conduct. But that did not mean she was prepared to give him up without a fight.
She reached her objective without incident, and was just walking up the drive to approach the front door when she was accosted by a voice.
“Who are you?”
The bright tone of interest came from a little distance and Phoebe turned, casting her eyes about the sun-dappled lawns.
A figure was poised at the head of a set of stone steps, half silhouetted against the brightness behind. It was female, Phoebe realised, taking in the shadowed gown beneath a dark pelisse. A pulse fluttered in her throat as she lifted a hand to shade her eyes the better to see who had hailed her, suspicion at once burgeoning as to the figure’s identity.
As she did so, the female ran lightly down the steps and started towards her. Phoebe moved closer, her gaze hunting the features as they became momently more visible. There could be no doubt of the female’s youth, and since she wore no hat, the golden hair clouding around her head was clearly visible. Within feet of the girl Phoebe halted abruptly, her heart plummeting.
Oh, but the creature was exquisite! Such clear blue eyes, such a rosebud of a mouth and a little tip-tilted nose. Small wonder Giles had fallen head over heels for the wench.
“You must be Tamasine.”
A huge smile broke across the girl’s lovely face, mirroring the day’s unexpected sunshine. Phoebe’s heart sank to the soles of the sturdy boots she had donned for walking, and for the first time in her life she regretted her own lack of beauty.
“Who are you?” repeated the girl, without troubling to answer Phoebe’s supposition.
Phoebe grabbed at the remnants of her dignity. “I am Lady Phoebe Graveney.” She began upon the excuse she had prepared. “I came only to offer my condolences on your sad loss.”
The girl Tamasine appeared unmoved by these words. She did not respond at once, but merely stood, her china blue gaze drinking Phoebe in from her head to her heels. Then she opened her mouth in that dazzling smile again.
“You are not beautiful.”
“Alas, no,” said Phoebe before she could stop herself.
“Your boots are muddy.”
Phoebe was disconcerted, but she answered readily enough. “The day looked so fine, I forgot about the recent snow. I’m afraid it has left the roads in a quagmire in places.”
“I like to walk in the woods. But they won’t let me if they catch me first.”
Dear heaven, but could not Giles tell at once th
at this girl was abnormal? A burning sense of injustice invaded her breast. How could Giles prefer such a creature to their settled companionship?
The girl’s confidences were not yet at an end. “They don’t know I have got out. Lavinia will scold me dreadfully, but I have Simeon to protect me now.”
At a loss how to answer, Phoebe felt her brain in a whirl. Her mind caught on the name of Simeon, and a half-formed spurt of hope prompted her into intemperate speech.
“Who is Simeon? Are you betrothed? Then you no longer favour Giles!”
Tamasine’s blue eyes darkened and a faint frown creased that perfect brow. “Giles met me in the woods. He comes when I send to him.”
A sliver of hurt raced through Phoebe’s bosom and turned swiftly to rage. “Does he indeed? I would not set too much store by that, if I were you, Miss Roy. Giles has shown himself fickle once, and I dare say he may do so again.”
Too late Phoebe realised the foolhardy nature of this speech. A malignant look entered the other girl’s eyes and her head turned on one side in a manner that was distinctly unnerving.
“Giles is mine, for he kisses me. He is not yours.”
Despite every evidence of the need for caution, Phoebe could not prevent the protest from leaving her lips. “He was! Until you came here, he was completely mine.”
The only warning was a low mewl, like a kitten with its tail vibrating as it readied to attack. Then Tamasine pounced.
Phoebe caught two blows to the head before she took in that she was under siege. Reeling, she tried automatically to defend herself, throwing up her hands against the onslaught. Tamasine batted them out of the way and leaped for Phoebe’s throat. The grip deprived Phoebe of breath and she staggered backwards, losing balance and crashing heavily to the turf. The punishing fingers were ripped away by the fall, but her adversary landed almost on top of her.
Instinct made Phoebe roll onto her front even as she fought to drag breath into her lungs. She felt the monster grab at her shoulders and curled inwards, hugging her own head for protection. Blows pummelled at her back. She concentrated on controlling her breath and enduring the pain, keeping her body as balled a target as she could.
The Lady Fan Series: Books 1-3 (Sapere Books Boxset Editions) Page 92