Chapter Thirteen

T ammie woke. Her body ached as if she had walked too far or ridden a horse for the first time in months, but the pain was gone, a vanishing memory. She had a dull headache and a dry throat, but the uncomfortable feeling in her gut felt more like hunger than sickness, and her mind was clear in a way it had not been for a long time.

She opened her eyes. Sunlight stretched across the floor from the window, gilding Jowan's silhouette as he sat by the window, studying some papers. His orange and green aura was barely perceptible, perhaps because she was sober. As she watched, he turned a page and shot her a glance, putting the papers down and standing when he saw that she was awake.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Hungry. Thirsty. As if I have been in a fight."

He grinned. "Thirsty I can deal with immediately." He crossed to a jug on a chest of drawers and poured some of the contents into a glass. "Here. Shall I help you?"

She took the glass, shaking her head. "I can manage. Thank you." She had fractured memories of him holding a glass to her lips. Him, and also his brother and the nurse, Evangeline. Bran's aura was predominately blue and yellow, while Evangeline's was pink.

"I will order a tray," he said and left the room. He was back in less than a minute. "As to the fight, Tamsyn—Tammie, I mean—it was one hell of a fight, and from the looks of you this morning, you won."

Suitable food for an invalid was delivered within thirty minutes. Scrambled eggs on toasted bread, and a glass of milk. It looked wonderful and tasted good, too. By that time, Evangeline had ordered Jowan from the room so Tammie could attend to personal needs and have a quick wash.

"My ring," she said, when she got as far as washing her hands. "What happened to my ring?"

"You said that the elf king was turning it to fire, and asked me to look after it for you," Evangeline explained. "It is here, on your dressing table." Tammie tried to put it on, but it hung loosely on her middle finger, and it would not go over the knuckle of her thumb. Evangeline tied a piece of ribbon to it and knotted the ends so that Tammie could slip it over her head.

Jowan returned to watch her eating, and Bran put his head in to express his delight at her improvement. Jowan looked exhausted. In fact, all of them bore the signs of sleepless nights. "How long has it been?" Tammie asked. "Since we left London, I mean?"

To Tammie's amazement, Jowan replied, "We have been here for ten nights." Ten nights! Tammie remembered the first clearly and perhaps three more. Long tortuous nights, with equally long miserable days in between. After that, nothing that could possibly be real.

"Ten nights! No wonder you all look as if you have been run over by a carriage."

Jowan gave a huff of a laugh. "I could do with a decent night's sleep," he admitted. "I guess we all could."

They had suffered those ten days and nights with her, these three. Tammie felt a surge of love and gratitude. "You held on," she said. "All of you. I cannot thank you enough. I know it must have been difficult."

"I've known easier days," Bran admitted. "But it was worth it, Tammie. Or it will be if you stay off the poppy and the booze." The last few words were stern.

"Of course, she will," Jowan told his brother. "You've done it, Tammie. I don't mind telling you I was worried a time or two." He shuddered.

"You will need to rest and recover," Evangeline decreed. "Eat well. Sleep a lot. The rest of us, too, must sleep and recover. But Jowan is correct. You have won. You should be proud of yourself.

"I had help," Tammie said.

*

Evangeline decreed a week of convalescence. On the first day, Jowan wrote to David Wakefield to see what his surveillance of Coombe had disclosed. Jowan couldn't believe that the man had let Tammie go without some reaction.

On the second day, Evangeline allowed Tamsyn out of bed to sit up in the cottage's sunroom, provided someone carried her down the stairs. Jowan volunteered and was shocked to find how light she was. She had already been thin to the point of gaunt, but she now seemed to be little more than skin and bone.

She had little appetite, too. She approached her meals with gusto but lost interest before consuming even half of the small portions she had been served. Evangeline said her capacity for food had shrunk but would expand again quite quickly. "She will need to eat as much as she comfortably can, and do it often," Evangeline said and had a word with the cook.

In the afternoon, Tamsyn begged to go for a walk in the garden. Evangeline agreed, provided Jowan or Bran was on hand to help her if she became unbalanced or overtired. "Afterward, you may feel like a rest," she added. Tamsyn pointed out that she had already had a morning nap.

Jowan offered his elbow and let her set the direction. As they made their slow way around the garden, Bran and Evangeline followed, chatting quietly. Apart from noticing that Evangeline was laughing, Jowan ignored them, all his attention on Tamsyn, who was examining everything they came across as if it was new to her.

"It feels… real, Jowan," she said. "The colors, the shapes, the smells." She stopped and put her head back, her eyes shut. "The wind." She looked up at Jowan. "I did not even know I missed this. The poppy blurs the pain, but it also blurs the edges of everything else." With a soft smile, she stroked a leaf and then the bark of a tree. "Can we sit down? I am a little tired."

He conducted her to the bench they'd almost reached and handed her onto the seat, then sat beside her. Evangeline and Bran nodded as they passed and continued down the path, still talking. Jowan sat with Tamsyn, content to be silent if that was what she wished.

He was weary to the bone. If she had another nap, he would take one himself, but he was somehow afraid to sleep when she was awake as if she would be snatched back by the fairies if he did not keep a close lookout. Which was a silly thought, and just proved how tired he was.

Had Janet, the heroine of the ballad, looked at the knight she had stolen from the faery queen and wondered if she could live up to the expectations of someone who had been in faery land? Or if she even wanted to?

Was she haunted by the shapes her knight had taken in her arms and the secrets he had disclosed in his torment? What simple maiden could hope to have the bedroom skills to satisfy one who had been with the Queen of the Fae—and who knew how many of her ladies?

What simple boyo from Cornwall could hope to measure up to the sophisticated lovers his Tamsyn had had, starting with Guy, and including how many others? The names she mentioned in her delirium echoed in his brain, but he had no desire to count them. Jowan, who had twice been with a bargirl in Oxford, and had visited a cheerful widow in Launceston once a week for a six-month, had otherwise sought satisfaction on his own. He knew nothing by comparison to those sophisticates.

She had turned to him for help but as a friend, not as a lover. Their youthful promises were seven years in the past, separated from the here and now by a mountainous terrain of broken promises and different experiences.

He would not press her. Perhaps, in time, this Tamsyn, the one shaped by the past seven years, would come to love this Jowan. In the meanwhile, all he could do was offer her his support. The devil of it was that he had not changed. Not in the essentials, not in his love for Tamsyn.

In the past ten days, he had come to know her again, at least a little. And surely the Tamsyn he saw in her agony was a true picture of the woman—still determined, still passionate, still brave and intelligent.

He'd learned more than he wanted to know about what her life had been like, but it didn't change his love. She had been debauched. He blamed Coombe for it. She had been actively involved in orgies. Coombe's fault again. She had helped Coombe to capture others and addict them so Coombe could force them to his will. She hated herself for it, but Jowan absolved her and blamed Coombe.

Coombe needed to be destroyed, but Jowan had no idea how a country baronet from a remote corner of England could manage to take down a popular earl with contacts throughout the English aristocracy and beyond into Europe.

He was roused from his thoughts by Tamsyn's voice. "I do not think I can walk inside, Jowan," she told him. "Not up the steps, at least. Will you carry me?"

"I will carry you to bed," he said, "and then I will find my own. An hour's sleep would be a good idea."

By the third day, she was eating more and staying awake for longer between naps. And Evangeline and Bran both looked better for a couple of good nights of sleep. Jowan, too, when he examined his face reflected in a shaving mirror, was less pale and the bags under his eyes less pronounced.

That was the day that David Wakefield and his wife Prue arrived from London. He had sent two reports over the past few days. In one, he had mentioned that Thatcher had been let out on bail and had disappeared. The other had been about Coombe's efforts to find his missing Devon Songbird.

"We thought we would see how you were, and let you know what we have discovered," David explained after the initial greetings were over. "It is, after all, only an hour's drive and Coombe has no watchers on us since he has not discovered our involvement in the rescue."

"Not for lack of trying," Prue added, dryly. "He or those working for him have been questioning everyone they found that came in touch with either of you gentlemen. Including David, of course."

David chuckled. "A couple of locals, which was useful, for they knew enough about me not to be stupid. I told them that I never discuss my clients' business. They attempted a bribe but didn't bother with any threats. Coombe came himself but got no further."

Prue was indignant. "The man tried to bully you, David. He must be an utter fool."

"He has an elevated opinion of his importance, Prue," David told her.

Tamsyn was clearly concerned. She leaned forward in her eagerness to convince the Wakefields. They did not know Coombe the way she did. "You must take him seriously," she said. "He is friends with the king, and has other highly-placed friends, too. And if seeking to have you harassed by the magistrates and planting rumors to destroy your reputation does not satisfy him, he is not above hiring low criminals to attack you directly."

"We appreciate your warning, Miss Lind," Prue said, "but you must not worry. A relative of David's has already had a word with the king, and we have far too many allies in Society for any rumors to take root. In fact, any attempt to destroy our reputation is likely to backfire and undermine Coombe's, which is no more than he deserves."

"David is a half-brother of the Duke of Haverford and a protégé of the Duchess of Winshire, and he and Prue have worked for at least half of the ton," Jowan explained.

Tamsyn opened her mouth, but Prue spoke first. "As to your other concern, our house is well guarded and we and our children travel with armed guards, some in plain view and some not. We rather hope there is an attack, for we shall catch the attackers and perhaps follow the trail back to Coombe, which would be the best possible outcome."

Jowan could see by Tamsyn's face that she was still worried about Coombe. She said nothing further, but he had a concern of his own. "They would not have followed you, would they?"

Prue's look was reminiscent of a governess attempting not to laugh at a silly question, but David said, "We were not followed. We did not leave our house by carriage or as ourselves, and we had people checking for trackers." He chuckled. "We will have the carriage drop us off directly at our house though. Let the watchers explain that to Coombe."

He sobered. "I have a full report which I will leave with you, Jowan, but the short form is that Coombe has been overreaching himself, inveigling the sons of the aristocracy into his web. At least a dozen peers have sons or nephews who fell into or just avoided Coombe's toils on the Continent, and he has made two failed attempts and begun grooming another two young men since he returned to England."

He handed what must be the report to Jowan. "We haven't definitive evidence of anything illegal, though many of his tactics skirt the edges and are at least immoral. But if we cannot get him on breaking the law, we probably have a large enough group of annoyed parents to force him offshore again."

Jowan wasn't satisfied with the idea of letting the man go. "He must have broken the law. He is too immoral and too arrogant not to."

"Look at singers or musicians who died unexpectedly, or who disappeared," Tamsyn suggested. "I can give you names and approximate dates."

Everyone in the room turned to stare at Tamsyn, Jowan with dawning horror as he realized how frightened Tamsyn must have been over the years. With no one else to turn to, and the knowledge that people who displeased Coombe ended up dead, what could she do except disappear into the false dreams of the poppy and other substances?

How strong she must be to have survived.

*

When Tammie had answered all his questions, Wakefield was bluntly honest. "I'll do my best, Miss Lind. But I am not hopeful. It will be next to impossible to prove Coombe guilty of any of the disappearances that happened in Europe or even farther abroad, and the flutist who died shortly before he took you overseas was six years ago. I'll check the coroner's report and follow up with witnesses. Perhaps we will be lucky."

But more likely they would not. That was what he was really saying. Tammie was not surprised. Guy seemed to live a charmed life.

"One point worth considering is whether Coombe thought the evidence might point to him," said Mrs. Wakefield. "After all, you say this was shortly before you left for overseas. Odd to go on a concert tour in the middle of a war. Was it a trip he had planned for some time, do you know?"

"No," Tammie replied. "No, it was not. One day he was talking about funding an opera at the Royal, and the next, my maid was told to pack my bag, for we were leaving."

"Interesting," Wakefield commented. "We might find something after all."

I trust you have finished with my patient," Evangeline interjected. "She is almost asleep on her feet."

It was true. She was tired. How lovely to be tired when she knew she would be able to sleep and would wake refreshed!

Wakefield and his wife apologized. "We should have remembered that you are convalescing, Miss Lind," Mrs. Wakefield said. "I hope we have not caused a setback."

"Not at all," Tammie assured them. "I am ready for sleep, but I am better every day. Am I not, Evangeline?"

"Ask me again in three more days," Evangeline replied dryly.

*

The juice of the poppy kept one from having to face unpalatable facts. Or liquor would do, at a pinch. Tammie was not going to admit to the wonderful people who had seen her through the torment of the past fortnight that she still yearned for peace, the freedom from care. It was a false freedom, and she was determined not to succumb again.

However, being faced with a future in which no one else made her choices for her had its negative sides, too. Apparently, Prue Wakefield had asked if she wanted to return to Cornwall, and she had said yes. Since the day she woke without a fever, everyone must have assumed that was the plan. Until this morning, six days later.

It came up for discussion at breakfast. "Are we going to be able to leave tomorrow, as planned?" Bran asked Evangeline.

"I see no reason why not," the nurse replied. "As long as we travel at an easy pace. Tammie's health is much improved."

"Six days on the road," Jowan suggested. "Six to seven hours a day with a long stop in the middle of the day. Will that do, Evangeline? And a longer stop if Tammie needs it. You do still want to go to Cornwall, Tammie, do you not?"

More than anything. "Yes, I do," Tammie said. It was only then she realized that what she wanted was to go back to the Cornwall of seven years ago, and the Tamsyn who existed then. Cornwall would have moved on, just as Jowan had.

In the last six days, she had been watching him. He was not the boy she remembered. It was not just that he was a grown man. The seven years had changed him. For a start, he had the same easy friendship with his half-brother that he had had, in her memory at least, with her. He was also the baronet, and that meant he had work to do.

Important work on which other people's livelihoods depended. The work didn't stop because he was in hiding. He had given his stewards and managers Wakefield's address, and messengers from Wakefield arrived every other day, bringing him letters and reports and documents to review, and taking away his answers to the previous dispatches.

Bran was fully in his confidence, and acted as his secretary, his sounding board, and, at times, his adversary, forcing him to fully articulate the reasons he was leaning towards a particular decision. Robust discussions would leave the room they had adopted as their office and carry on through meals and into the evening, so Evangeline and Tammie were spectators to their debates. Sometimes, Bran would change Jowan's mind. Sometimes, Jowan would change Bran's.

Tammie's envy of Bran's relationship with Jowan grew by the day, and embarrassed her mightily, for she had no right to feel Jowan was her property.

It would be worse in Cornwall, because Jowan had a place there, and so did Bran. Tammie did not have a place anywhere. On the stage, perhaps. But she could not risk returning to London. Guy would have her back under his control again before her bag was unpacked.

"What will I do in Cornwall?" she wondered.

"Rest and recover," Jowan ordained.

"At your expense?" she asked, the weight of all he had done for her suddenly presenting itself. "I have no money," she realized. "No way to support myself. Not in Cornwall. I cannot even begin to pay for what you have done already." Not that he would demand payment. Jowan was not like that. But, if she understood some of the conversations she had overheard, the baronetcy had been left in a parlous state. Jowan had mended things, but he was not wealthy.

His response was to be expected. "You owe me nothing, Tammie. I was glad to help an old friend."

"What of your earnings from your concerts?" Bran asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Has it all been spent?"

"Bran!" Jowan warned. "It is not our business."

"It is a fair question," Tammie said. "But I do not know the answer, Bran. Guy handled my bookings, my contracts, any expenses, and any payments made. I was never asked to pay for anything, and I was never given money. Oh, but I have jewelry. I forgot! I sewed some pieces into the hem of the skirt of my riding habit. How could I have forgotten? We can sell it, and I can at least pay whatever you are charging, Evangeline. And perhaps have enough that I will not be a charge on you, Jowan."

"Your skirt may be hanging in your room," Evangeline suggested. "You were wearing it when you arrived here, so we will be able to find it."

She stood as if to look straightaway, and Tammie rose, too. "You will let me pay my way, Jowan, will you not?"

"You have your inheritance from your mother, too," Jowan told her. "You have her cottage and her savings. I instructed the lawyer to invest the savings for you and to rent the cottage until we could ask you what to do with them, so I expect you have a tidy bit there."

That news stopped Tammie in her tracks. "I have a cottage?" She and Mother had lived at Inneford House when she was last in Cornwall. Mother kept the house and warmed Sir Carlyon's bed.

Jowan merely nodded. "Go and check for your jewels. But you need have no worries about supporting yourself, Tammie. You are a woman of property, if not substance."

But not a woman with a future , Tammie mused, as she followed Evangeline upstairs. Or, at least, not a future I can work towards. I need a goal. I need some reason to keep breathing and to keep away from my personal demons.