Heart in Hiding (The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington Book 6)

by Sahara Kelly

  *~~*~~*

  Finn drifted off to sleep right in front of Hecate’s eyes, and she smiled as she saw his lids droop and his breathing slow to a regular rhythm. This was exactly what he needed—a relaxed period of rest. It would let his body recover and, with luck, clear his mind as well.

  She walked quietly away, hearing a slight thud as Bub jumped from the bed and joined her. Together they left their guest to his nap, and Hecate smiled at the cat as they shut the bedroom door behind them. “He’ll do for now, Bub. I doubt we’ll need to be at his side every minute anymore. Dal will be pleased.”

  Bub lifted his head and glanced at her, giving her his unspoken agreement.

  It was astounding how quickly she and Bub had developed a strange and silent rapport, but for Hecate, it had been one of the most important features of her own recovery. Having this small but independent creature claim her as his own…well, it reminded her to think of him, and others, rather than drifting away and inward, as she had been prone to do.

  A glance from one to the other, and opinions were exchanged in a pleasant non-verbal manner. Whether all cats behaved thus, Hecate wasn’t sure. But she and Bub certainly understood each other very well.

  Now she had yet another person to think of, and she walked downstairs to the kitchens to see Mrs. Trimmer, since they would need to talk about a menu of nourishing foods.

  Lured by the scent of fresh bread, Hecate found her cook frowning into the pantry.

  “Don’t tell me Bub’s been at the cheese again?”

  The cat shot an indignant look at his mistress, as if to say “you’re holding that one moment of weakness against me, aren’t you?”

  “No, Miss Hecate. I’m jes’ worryin’, is all.”

  “About what?” Hecate moved to her side and peered into the cool darkness.

  “I think we’re runnin’ low on flour. An’ there’s none at market fer now…”

  Hecate frowned. “Yes, that could be a problem. There will be hardly any harvest, I’m afraid.” She stepped inside the tiled pantry, moved some things around and peered into the darkest corner. “There are still several sacks tucked behind these baskets, though.”

  “Ah,” Mrs. Trimmer sighed in relief. “I knows I should’ve gone in an’ rummaged, but me back’s a wee bit sore this mornin’.”

  “Well for Heaven’s sake, why didn’t you tell me?” Hecate turned back to Mrs. Trimmer. “I’ll make you some tea. It’ll set you right up, and then you can rest a bit.”

  “Oh no, Ma’am. I got ter finish up ‘ere. There’s scones ter be baked, an’ the meat pie’s got ter go into t’oven fer yer lunch…”

  Hecate held up her hand. “I’ll hear none of that, if you please. Now sit.” She pointed firmly at a chair by the fire. “Come along. Sit now.”

  Mumbling, the cook obeyed.

  Hecate set the kettle back over the fire and busied herself with cups. “I’ll make us both a cup, I think.” She retreated back into the pantry, coming out with honey in her hand. “Thank goodness the bees were generous last season.”

  “Aye,” nodded the other woman. “That clover honey’s t’best I’ve ‘ad in years.”

  Hecate added some herbs to a bowl and stirred. “I think I’m going to make some soup today, Mrs. Trimmer. If you won’t go and take a nap, which I strongly advise you to do, then will you stay and direct me? It would do me good to experiment with a dish or two. One never knows when one will need to fend for oneself.”

  Staring at her mistress with a certain amount of disbelief, the older woman nodded. “I’ll be ‘appy ter ‘elp, Miss Hecate. But honest, I don’t see yerself ever ‘avin’ ter work in a kitchen…”

  “Who knows what our future holds?” She wrapped a cloth around the handle of the kettle and lifted it from the fire, pouring the boiling water carefully into the pot.

  “Why, yerself, Ma’am,” answered Mrs. Trimmer with confidence.

  Hecate blinked. “Er…not as accurately as I’d like.” She put out the cups and the honey. “But I can predict that by the end of today, there will be a delicious soup smell throughout the house.”

  “Mayhap our lad upstairs might want some?” Mrs. Trimmer raised an eyebrow. “Comin’ round a bit, then, is he?”

  Hecate nodded. “It looks as though he is well on the road to recovery, yes.”

  “Ah,” said Mrs. Trimmer. “That’s a good thing. Get him back on ‘is feet and on ‘is way.”

  Oddly, that thought did not bring Hecate any pleasure. But she kept her countenance. “We’ll see.”

  About to pour her herbal concoction into their cups, her hand froze as a piercing scream echoed through Doireann Vale.

  With Mrs. Trimmer right behind her, Hecate rushed up the kitchen stairs to see Dal running down from upstairs. They all ended up in the hall looking at Winnie Trimmer, who was holding a small whisk broom and looking white as a sheet.

  “A-a-a-man, Miss. In there…” She pointed to the room Hecate used as an office. It was small, but convenient. And it had a French door out onto the back garden.

  The door was open when Dal looked in, with Hecate right behind him. Footsteps showed in the soggy ground outside. This wasn’t anything imaginary; the intruder had been quite real.

  “Are you all right, Winnie? Did he hurt you?” Hecate touched the young woman’s arm.

  “No, Miss. I was goin’ in t’do some dustin’, an’ I turns round an’ there ‘e is. All covered in dark clothes, an’ a scarf round his face. I screamed an’ ‘e ran out the door.”

  “I will track him down, Miss Hecate,” snarled Dal.

  “No, no don’t,” she urged. “Look it’s starting to rain again. Any tracks he leaves will vanish within a few minutes.” And the downpour that followed her words did indeed start the process right before their eyes. “It would be a waste of your time. Shut the door and let’s see if we can uncover his purpose.” She touched his arm. “Please, Dal. Let him go.”

  “A sound piece of advice.”

  The voice from the door made them all jump. It was Mr. Finn, quite fetching in his improvised garments.

  “My quilt looks well on you, sir,” commented Hecate.

  “Er…yes. Well, needs must, you know.” He lifted his chin and tugged the quilt around his body more tightly. “What’s a man to do when a woman screams?”

  “Since you’re not only awake but have managed to come downstairs, please sit here.” She pointed at the couch. “Winnie, could you light the fire? We’ll see if Mr. Finn might like a change of surroundings for a little while, but he must keep warm.”

  “I will fetch an appropriate garment for him, Miss Hecate.” Dal moved from the now-closed glass door.

  “And I’ll bring that tea up ‘ere, Miss.” The cook hurried off.

  Hecate smiled. Her little household brigade proved itself to be flawless and in very little need of direction.

  Finn caught her eye. And he smiled too, a warm and appealing flash of blue eyes and white teeth from his pale face.

  He was, she realised, a very attractive man. Very attractive indeed.

  Chapter Five

  “Let me guess. A mouse?” Finn’s tone was wry as he watched Miss Hecate fuss around the room.

  She shot him a rather stern glance. “Indeed no. An intruder.” She frowned at the small desk, littered with paper. “I wish I knew what on earth he was looking for.”

  “Obviously an intentional act,” he mused.

  “Why do you say that?”

  He returned her look. “I doubt the casual thief was out for a stroll and thought he’d break in to your study on a whim.” His gaze turned to the window. “Not in this weather…”

  “A logical deduction,” she agreed. “Or it would be, if I had anything of value to a thief.”

  “No jewellery? Small but valuable pieces of art? First editions?”

  She shook her head. “None of that. Which is why I can’t even recall if I locked that door. Or if I’ve opened it since I’ve been here. The weather
has not encouraged trips out into the garden.”

  “Then I also have to wonder what he was looking for.” Finn found himself at a loss.

  Hecate patted a stack of papers back into order, then looked up at him. “Who are you?”

  He froze, his mind wrenching back from the curious case of the intruder, to…to blank nothingness. “I don’t know.”

  She came to his side then, her hand reaching out for his bare shoulder, but stopping short. “It’s all right. Truly. I had hoped that since you weren’t thinking about it, something might jump back into your memory, unbidden as it were.”

  Mrs. Trimmer appeared at the door. “Where’d yer like yer tea, Ma’am?”

  She pulled a small side table away from the wall and brought it closer to the couch. “Right here, Mrs. Trimmer. Thank you.” She transferred things from tray to table. “Did you save a cup for yourself?”

  “I did, Miss Hecate. Thank yer.” The cook dropped a quick curtsey. “I’m gonna get them vegetables goin’ fer yer soup, an’ throw in the meat. Yer can let it all simmer a while. I’ll be takin’ that nap yer promised me.” She grinned.

  “Excellent,” nodded Hecate. “And thank you for adding the scones. I’ll see if they tempt Mr. Finn here.”

  Mrs. Trimmer gave him a stare. “Jes’ make sure ’tis only the scones temptin’ ‘im.”

  Hecate blinked. “Of course.”

  Finn could have sworn the comment had caught her completely by surprise. Which was both good and bad news for him. The good news was that she betrayed no signs of having any designs upon his person. The bad news? She had no designs upon his person. He’d be quite willing to have some of those designs performed on his person by this remarkable young woman. Just as soon as he could stay awake for more than an hour, and also dress himself.

  As Mrs. Trimmer left, Dal entered, with what looked like a silk blanket over his arm. “Best I could do, Miss Hecate. I believe it will be necessary for us to procure new clothing for Mr. Finn.” He held up a rather exotic robe. “It will be large, but I have not had occasion to use it. It should suffice for the moment.”

  Hecate nodded and turned her back as Finn managed to push himself to his feet. Thankfully Dal was there, since those feet and the legs attached to them were none too steady and he found himself swaying a little. But the other man was careful and gentle, and within moments, Finn’s arms were pushed into sleeves that were a little too long and his chilly skin wrapped in thick silk, a band of which looped twice around his waist to secure the robe completely.

  “Keep the quilt with you, Mr. Finn,” said Dal. “The warmth will help.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Dal.” Finn sank gratefully back into the couch. “Thank you both. This is the first chance I’ve had to try and express my gratitude.”

  “There is no need.” Dal bowed from the waist. “I am Dal, by the way. Just Dal.”

  “You are not ‘just’ anything, Dal. And you have my eternal thanks for your care.” He looked at Hecate. “As do you, Miss Ridlington. I have no words to tell you how profoundly grateful I am to you for saving my life.” He was quiet for a moment. “You did save my life, didn’t you? I think I remember someone telling me I had typhus…”

  Hecate pulled up a small chair and sat, picking up the pot of tea. “A cup for you too, Dal?”

  “Thank you, but no. I wish to walk a little, outside. In spite of the rain.”

  “You won’t find him,” said Hecate.

  “Bear with me. I must look.” He dipped his head, turned and left.

  “Yes he must,” she sighed, passing a cup to Finn. “This is an herbal tea for relaxation and pain relief. I made it for Mrs. Trimmer who is have some trouble with her back. But I believe we could both use a little relaxation right about now. And it will ease any pains you might be having.”

  “Thank you.” He took the cup and sipped. “Mmm…honey. I remember some honey water when my throat was dry. It was ideal.”

  “You did have typhus, Mr. Finn, in answer to your earlier comment.” Hecate looked at him steadily. “You appeared to have been wandering in the forest for some time, because you were also malnourished. And there is a lump on the back of your head.”

  He frowned, reaching up and finding it with a little wince. “Ah. Yes. There is indeed.”

  “We wondered if perhaps you had fallen and hit yourself.”

  “I have no memory of such an occurrence.” He tried the tea, blinked in surprise, and then drank more.

  Pleased that he liked the tea, Hecate continued her gentle conversation. “We’ll let that rest for the moment, then. For the basic facts…you are presently in northern Devon. A small village lies nearby…Little Beechwood. Does that sound familiar at all?”

  He thought for a few moments, then shook his head. “No. No, I’m afraid not.”

  “Never mind. I am convinced your memories will return. And I am always right. My family will vouch for that fact.” She smiled.

  He managed a grin. “You have family then?”

  “I do indeed. Five brothers and sisters. All settled now, married and starting families. I am an aunt already and will be again, many times over I’m sure, within the next few years.”

  He glanced at her. “Ridlington?”

  “That is correct. My oldest brother is Baron Edmund Ridlington.”

  “There’s something…that name…” He bit his lip in frustration. “If only I could recall…”

  “Mr. Finn. Please do not fret overmuch.” Hecate leaned forward. “If it will help, I believe your memory loss was sustained when you injured your head. If that is the case, then it is not an uncommon event, and your memories will return, little by little, over time. Just be patient?”

  He sighed. “I think it is safe to make one assumption, at least. I do not believe I am by nature a patient person.”

  “I doubt if anyone could be, under these circumstances.” She sipped her tea, noticing he’d finished his. “But we will find a solution to your problems, I can assure you. And while we’re working on that, you will become healthy and strong; able to reclaim your life with vigour.” She leaned back. “I am sure. Very sure.”

  “Mmmm…”

  The tea had worked. Finn was sound asleep.

  *~~*~~*

  “And we still know nothing further?” Dal frowned at Hecate. They were sharing a meal by the fire, something they did from time to time, especially when there were things to discuss. Neither felt obliged to do so, but tonight, after ferrying a sound-asleep Finn back to his bed, they agreed to meet in the parlour and talk about what to do next.

  Hecate shook her head. “He cannot yet remember much. For some reason, when I mentioned my family, that got a response. He knows the Ridlington name.”

  “Hmm.” Dal looked thoughtful as he finished his meal. “We must begin to add up our small store of information. The facts we know…” He held up one hand and began to count off as he spoke. “First, he is a soldier.” One finger was bent over.

  “But we do not have any identification as to his posting. Was he a Hussar? Or Light Infantry? Perhaps a Foot Guard…we simply can’t tell. It’s possible that the uniform he wore was borrowed or stolen.” She wrinkled her nose. “But I saw him in battle. And I’m convinced it was Waterloo.”

  “I agree with your assessment. His bearing, manners…all speak to the military in his background. But the fact that your brother the Baron is a well-known naval officer, and Mr. Richard spent some time in Brussels before Waterloo…” Dal raised an eyebrow at her. “Perhaps a letter to those worthy gentlemen might obtain some useful results?”

  “I’ve been hoping to avoid that,” she said ruefully. “If my family learns I have an unidentified man staying here, one who has no memory of anything and no name…well, someone will come running to rescue me from the follies of my actions.” She sighed. “I’d prefer that not happen. At least not yet.”

  Dal shrugged. “They are your family, Miss Hecate. Of course they will be concerned.”

 
“I know. And I love them for it. But it can become a little oppressive.”

  “Which is why we’re here, so far away from Ridlington Chase?” His dark gaze rested on her face.

  “In part,” she answered. “Yes, I did feel a little smothered by their care and attention. After all, we had not been very close as youngsters. It’s only since the old Baron died that we’ve learned so much about ourselves as a family.” Even now she could not bring herself to call him Father.

  Dal nodded. “Very well. We will put the notion of letters to your family aside. For now. I still believe it might result in more information, but I will wait until you think the time is right.”

  She smiled. “Thank you, Dal. And I will write to them, I promise. I suppose I’d like to see our Mr. Finn in better fettle before doing so.”

  “He improves…”

  “Indeed he does. Coming downstairs when Winnie screamed? That must have taken a lot of effort, since he’s been off his feet for quite a few days.”

  “I believe the gentleman to be of a determined disposition, Miss Hecate. I will also add that he is well-spoken, which argues for an educated upbringing. Not one of the lower classes. Now that he is awake, he will be set on making progress on all fronts.” Dal paused. “He needs clothes.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “If we can get some measurements, I’ll ask Mrs. Tompkins in the village if she can run up a few things.”

  Dal pursed his lips. “Have you considered that it’s not just your family who might find Finn’s presence here somewhat improper?”

  “Oh dear.” Hecate rolled her eyes. “You’re right. Once the village finds out there’s an unmarried man in one of my rooms…I shall be either ostracized or besieged.”

  “He cannot be your family. There is no similarity at all that could be marked by eager eyes.”

  “A cousin perhaps?” Hecate thought about it. “One of my brothers-in-law?”

  “You’d have to invent another sister, then dispose of her, since I doubt she’d be willing to leave her husband here with you. And that also wouldn’t help with the missing memory problem.”

  “I suppose not.” She tapped her fingertips together. “I would be able to supply many basic memories for a family member. I cannot do that for Mr. Finn.”