Page 15 of Lady Tamsyn and the Pixie's Curse
She didn’t get much practice seeing untruths with her questions, but she did begin to get a picture of what it was like to live here, in this castle and in this community. And it didn’t sound nearly as bad as Marjorie had predicted. She asked each person she ran into about his or her favorite local spot and almost wished they’d fibbed in their answers, so she could see the beauty that theydescribed.
But the servants mostly seemed happy to answer her questions and ask a few of their own, so she continued on, until she heard giggling coming from the portraitgallery.
Two of her sisters were there, poking fun at the ancestralportraits.
“Mother tired of our chatter and sent us to learn something about our ancestors,”reportedGwyn.
“And what have you learned?” Tamsyn asked withagrin.
“That they seemed to have passed a questionable fashion sense from generation to generation,”saidRose.
Tamsyn laughed. “Their fashions were dictated according to the custom of their time, as are ours.” She waved toward a lady in wide panniers and stiff stomacher. “She’d likely think us wanton and fast for going about inmuslin.”
“It’s the Elizabethans I always feel sorry for,” Gwyn said. “Those ruffs look horridlyuncomfortable.”
“And those short pantaloons on the men,” Rose groaned, “all puffed up and beribboned. Look, here’s a whole collection of them.” She made a face at a mid-sized painting of agroup.
“Isn’t that the kirkyard in Bocka Morrow?” Tamsyn steppedcloser.
“Oh, yes, I believe it is. Gryff took us there, remember? On our lastvisit?”
“Iremember.”
Gwyn nudged Rose. “One of the maids told Mama that you were outside talking to him on theterrace.”
“Yes. I bumped into him in the passage. Quiteliterally.”
“And what were you talking about?” Both sisters waitedexpectantly. “Hmmm?”
“Nothing!” she protested. “Oh, I beg your pardon, he did make it clear that he thinks I belong in London, notCornwall.”
“Well, of course you belong in London,” Roseagreed.
“But that doesn’t mean you cannot also belong here,” Gwyn continued. “Honestly, why do men always try to fit everything within tidy littleboxes?”
“It’s as if they are blind to nuances,” nodded Rose. They exchanged a look, and rolledtheireyes.
Tamsyn stared at her sisters. “They are, aren’t they?” Just as her parents tried to fit her into Marjorie’s marriage minded mold. But the girls were right—and Gryff was wrong. She didn’t have to choose London or Cornwall, one life or the other. She wasnuanced. She lifted her chin. “Thank you,girls.”
“Well, I’ve had enough education,” Rose waved a hand. “Now, I’m off to primp before tea. I caught a glimpse of the newest arrival last night, before Father closeted himself away with the man. Good heavens. Trust me, my dears, you’ll want to look your best when we all meet upagain.”
“I’ll come.” Gwyn turned to Tamsyn. “You,too?”
Tamsyn was looking at the painting again. “I’ll bealongsoon.”
“Suityourself.”
The girls left and she stepped closer to the painting they had been discussing. It looked like a gathering of village notables, with everyone in fine dress and drawn together around a temporary stage beyond the church. One of the gentlemen in the painting had caught her eye. An old man he was, bald, and with stick-thin legs clad in the tight fitting hose of the day. But it was the brooch holding his shoulder cape that had caught her attention. Even this smaller version showed the intricate design and the head of a bird in relief. It looked identical to the one in the carvingdownstairs.
Curious. Could it be the same brooch? It wasn’t a child wearing it, but then again, the child Grindan would have been long gone. This painting had been done hundreds of years after the time of the Domesday Book and that carving below. But if the story was a local legend, perhaps the brooch had become a family heirloom? The Cornishmen did seem to love a goodstory.
With a shrug, she set off. She was beginning to feel like she’d been embroiled in a story herself. Well, perhaps she had been. Just like a heroine in a story, she had layers, and no matter what Gryff said, she was going to do her best to make sure she had the happy ending shewanted.
Just as soon as she figured out what thatmightbe.
* * *
Gryff threw down his quill.Three times he’d added this column. Three times he’d calculated a different sum. And he still hadn’t driven the taste of Tamsyn fromhismind.
