by Sahara Kelly
But now…now, she could see little. It was unsettling; as if her gift slept in her mind. It was still there—there were no empty places. But it did not respond to her summons.
All she could do was be patient until it decided to return. In the meantime, she was warm, content, well fed and cared for.
And there was Finn.
She still believed that he was the man who would change her life.
But at the moment, she wasn’t quite sure how.
Chapter Ten
It had snowed!
Hecate stared from her bedroom window, trying to remember the last time she’d seen snow in October. It dusted the ground, clung with tiny fingers to the tree branches and coated the shrubs that still held a few dead leaves. A very light fall, but given the month and the fact that it was supposed to be autumn…
Nothing about this year had been in any way normal, and something inside her trembled a little at the hardships that would have to be endured should they be heading into another savage winter.
The fire in her bedroom was banked low, and the air was chilly enough to discourage lingering in her nightgown for very long, so she dressed quickly and headed downstairs to the small parlour, more than ready for a cup of tea.
Finn was already there, his cheeks rosy, his eyes bright.
“You’ve been outside,” she said, observing all the evidence.
“Indeed I have. ’Tis colder than a witch’s…well, it’s damn cold.” He caught himself up before voicing a common description that involved intimate parts of a female witch’s person.
She stifled a laugh. “I’m not surprised.” Pouring herself tea, she gathered toast and came to the table. “Did you walk?”
He shook his head. “No, but I did sweep off the top steps. We don’t want any of today’s visitors to slip and fall. They might ask to be housed here while their bones heal.” He sipped his tea. “I couldn’t stand the thought of that.”
She grinned. “You are an intriguing element hereabouts, Finn. You are single. A war hero…in their minds, anyway. And you are well-spoken, so that indicates well-educated. Nobody has been so crass as to inquire about your financial worth, but you can wager that it will come up soon enough.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “I preferred it when we were quiet. When it was just the two of us.”
Hecate’s heart thudded at his words. She opened her mouth to answer, then paused. She had to be careful…her emotions and feelings about this man were still in their fledgling stage. Whether they might turn into anything more than that was yet to be seen.
She could not—must not—betray herself.
“I agree that it has become a lot busier. But I suppose that’s how it is in the country.”
He smiled. “Ah, yes. I do recall a busy front door step at home in Ireland. And you are, essentially, correct. Country folk are more sociable and more supportive of each other. I suppose they have to be, in order to survive. Especially now.” He glanced out at the snow once more. “I could wish that our visitors leaned more toward the supportive than the social, however. Some of those looks I receive…” he rolled his eyes.
“Let’s hope the snow will keep visitors away today, in spite of our clean front steps. I’ve been hoping for an hour or so to ask you your thoughts on our stables. We do need a mount, and possibly a gig. But we also need to be able to feed and house the horses, and I’d like to protect a gig as well, rather than leave it outside and prey to the elements.”
“So you’re thinking of expanding then?”
Their conversation ranged over the subject, with Hecate listening to Finn’s suggestions and Finn paying close attention to her comments.
Two hours later, both Hecate and Finn were bent over some plans of the buildings that comprised Doireann Vale, deep in a discussion of the best way to enlarge the stables and perhaps add on some kind of covered kitchen garden. Hecate was hell-bent on harvesting her own vegetables if at all possible, and since a conservatory was out of the question, she was proposing a glass-house instead, or a walled garden, using the walls of the stable for economy.
“And think how easy it would be to move the fertilizer,” grinned Finn. “A bucket full from the stable, mix into the garden soil—and you’ve got the best vegetables around.”
“In that case, we should think about cattle as well. Their fertilizer is also praised, I’ve heard,” she retorted with a giggle.
“If we’re going to talk about sh…”
Before he could finish his cheeky sentence, their attention was distracted by the sound of a loud knock on the front door.
Hecate sighed. “Damn it all. Here we go again. Not even the weather can keep an eager mother at home.”
*~~*~~*
Finn was about to make his escape, when Dal walked into the parlour, followed by a tall lad.
“You’re pardon, Miss Hecate. This gentleman says he’s been sent by your brother Mr. Richard Ridlington. His name is Frank Worsnop and he’s here to be your…er…” Dal consulted a small piece of paper. “General chap-around-the-place.”
Hecate giggled and rose with a warm smile, taking the paper from Dal and glancing through the few lines it contained. “Mr. Worsnop. I’m so pleased to see you again. And so glad Richard thought to send you to me.” She moved to his side and held out her hand in welcome.
The lad, colouring all the shades of red there were, wasn’t quite sure what to do with the hand, but he left off crushing his cap, and took it, giving it a brief shake along with a quick half-bow. “Uh…thank’ee, Ma’am. Mr. Richard says I’d be a ‘elp ‘ere, an’ ’tis better fer me than ‘angin’ ‘round ‘ome an’ mopin’ w’out our Davy.”
Hecate glanced at Finn. “Frank’s brother was lost at Waterloo.”
He crossed the room and slapped the lad on the shoulder. “Welcome, Frank. I lost a lot of close friends too, but not family. My heart’s with you and yours. And I’m very glad you’re here…we need a good set of strong hands, right? All of us who served under the Iron Duke qualify for that description.” He looked at Dal and then at Hecate, hoping they understood.
“Absolutely, Mr. Finn,” said Dal with gravitas. “There are many things I cannot do, since I have other matters to attend to.”
“It is kind of your family to spare you to us, Frank. And yes, you will be Frank to us all,” she noted his embarrassed look. “I’ve met your father, remember. He is Worsnop to me. You have to be Frank. “I need a reliable footman, someone who can answer the door,” she refrained from glancing at Finn, “and take care of the house.”
“I dunno, Ma’am…I ain’t done much o’ that stuff…”
“No matter,” she answered breezily. “Everyone will show you how to go on.”
Dal nodded, as the door opened to admit Winnie Trimmer with a tea tray. “Ah, Winnie.” Dal took the tray from her. “This is Mr. Frank Worsnop. He’s going to be our head footman for now. Will you show him around?”
Hecate couldn’t hide her smile this time, as Winnie looked over the almost six foot of awkwardness that was Frank Worsnop, and let her mouth fall open. Then she recovered herself, blushed, and nodded. “Will ye come this way, sir?”
“Uh…”
“Go along, Frank. It will be fine.” Hecate made shooing motions with her hands.
“Yes, Ma’am.” He made to touch his cap, which wasn’t on his head, gulped, and then hurried after Winnie.
Hecate smiled at Dal. “A good lad, I think.”
Dal nodded back. “It will be most pleasant to have a footman, Miss Hecate. We certainly need one. The Fates have provided.”
“If he served in Belgium, he’ll do well,” added Finn. “A soldier’s discipline has produced many fine men.” He wrinkled his nose. “And a few bounders too, of course, but Frank looks as solid as they come.”
“I’ve met his family; Richard set up a memorial for Davy Worsnop, along with the other local lads around Branscombe Magna who were killed at Waterloo.” She sighed. “And I venture to guess tha
t Frank is going to be yet another success with some local girls. If Winnie doesn’t get to him first.”
Finn rolled his eyes. “There’s something in the water here, isn’t there?”
Hecate wasn’t sure how to answer that, so she merely grinned. “Right then. Shall we get on with these plans? While it’s quiet?”
“I think we have the outlines settled,” said Finn, returning to the paperwork they’d spread over the small sideboard. He moved a branch of candles closer and glanced out the window. “Skies are getting darker. More snow, d’you think?”
She sighed. “Could be. Much too early, but this year? Who can tell.”
They bent together over the drawings, Hecate at ease now with Finn’s closeness, although her awareness of his heat, and his growing health, still caught at her senses.
He was almost healed, and yet his memories after Waterloo remained sketchy and vague. One or two things he’d said made her believe they were returning, but if he tried to remember, he ended up frustrated at himself. So she let time take care of it, secure in the knowledge that he would eventually regain his recollections.
She wasn’t sure, however, what they would contain.
Fate granted them another hour, before the front door knocker sounded once more. Hecate walked to the door of the parlour, pleased to see Frank, spruced up nicely with his hair slicked back, lift the large interior latch.
She wasn’t surprised to hear a woman’s voice, but when that woman walked into the hall, Hecate caught her breath.
“Good God.” She moved to Frank’s side.
“Miss Ridlington. I’m not sure if you remember me…”
“I do indeed. You are—were—a…close friend of my brother-in-law, Sir James FitzArden.”
The woman managed a little smile. “Indeed yes. We met in London briefly, when you were there.” She closed her eyes and swayed for a moment. Then opened them as Frank moved to take her arm. “I’m all right. Thank you, young man.” She lifted her chin and gazed at Hecate. “I’m Augusta Pierpoint. James sent me to you.”
“He did?” Hecate raised her eyebrows. “Why?”
“I suppose because I need your help. You see I’m not feeling too well at the moment.”
And indeed this was not the vibrant and notorious woman who had been James’s mistress. This woman was tired, pale, and thinner than she used to be. Her garments were creased, as if she’d travelled a long way and her eyes betrayed some inner anguish.
“How may I help you, Lady Pierpoint?”
Tears filled the woman’s eyes. “I’m not sure you can.”
Chapter Eleven
Finn walked into a scene of confusion, and although it took him aback, he was relieved to see none of the participants were known to him. Perhaps he’d have one day’s freedom from sharp-eyed mothers and their blushing daughters.
Then more voices sounded and two women entered, encumbered with bags.
They were blonde. They were twins. And their eyes settled on him with the accuracy of a falcon about to catch a fish.
There was an older woman, leaning on Frank. The lad was having a rapid indoctrination into the business of being first footman, but he seemed to be holding his own. The soldiers’ code worked.
“These ladies agreed to accompany me on my journey,” she said, her voice tired. “Hestia and Phoebe Tisdale. They found their way to me through Sir Paul DeVoreaux, Viscount Purlieu.”
Hecate nodded. “My sister-in-law’s brother.”
The blondes curtseyed in unison. “Sir Paul is so thoughtful,” said the one in the blue cloak. “He and Lady Harriet suggested we accompany Lady Augusta down here.”
“That is most kind of you,” began Hecate.
“Not really,” said the one in the maroon cloak. “You see we were having a spot of bother with a gentleman in London. So it was decided that we should probably leave for a time.”
“Ah,” said Hecate. “Well then. It all worked out quite satisfactorily then, didn’t it.”
Clearly she was as confused as Finn, but he had faith she’d work it all out. Her competence had been put to the test several times recently and she’d not failed yet.
“I have letters,” said Lady Augusta, reaching into her reticule. “Perhaps they will help explain our situation.” She passed the folded papers to Hecate.
“I shall read them immediately, of course, but I think we should settle you all. I assume you’re staying for a little while?”
“If it’s not inconvenient.” The words were hesitant, almost as if she expected to be turned away.
Hecate looked at Frank. “If you could bring in Lady Augusta’s luggage and anything else the Misses Tisdale might need; I’ll ask Winnie to take the ladies to their rooms.”
“I can help,” said Finn, walking to Hecate’s side. He smiled at the older lady. “Lady Pierpoint.” He bowed over her hand. “I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting you, but I do recall seeing you at some event or other in London a couple of years ago.”
That courtesy elicited a tired smile. “How kind.” She blinked at him. “Are you a relative of Miss Ridlington’s?”
“Finn…that is, Mr. Casey…is recuperating here. He was injured recently and suffered a debilitating illness. But I’m happy to say that he is on the way to a complete recovery.”
“If you are in the need of a healing touch, Lady Pierpoint, then you are absolutely in the right place.” He took her hand and placed it on his arm. “If you will allow me, I will escort you upstairs.”
He was pleased to see a little of her colour return as one of the Tisdales took her cloak.
“The two guest rooms at the end of the corridor, I think, please Finn?” Hecate knew they were tidy, and that the chimneys worked. “I’ll have fires lit as soon as possible.”
“We’ll take care of her, Miss Ridlington,” said the other Tisdale. “Phoebe and I have come to know her quite well. She’s an interesting lady and we’re learning lots of things from her.” She leaned toward Hecate and lowered her voice. “But she’s got a bad case of the megrims. Very bad. So we tried to keep her spirits up on the way here.”
Finn caught the conversation, his gaze turning to Lady Augusta. She had also heard, but just shook her head. “They call it the megrims, Mr. Casey. I call it a shattered soul.” She glanced over her shoulder, “They have no idea. But they’re good girls.”
Hecate nodded as Winnie hurried in and took over, encouraging Frank to guide the girls upstairs behind Finn and Lady Augusta. With the extra set of hands, he was able to see them into their rooms with little fuss, and gratefully turned away, knowing they were all where they were supposed to be. For the time being, anyway.
Returning downstairs, he found Hecate sitting on a small side chair, reading her letters.
“It looks like we’ll have a house full for dinner,” he remarked. “And where is Dal? He should know about this development.”
Hecate waved her hand absently. “Just a minute…let me finish this…”
A few moments later, she sighed, folded the letter and looked at him with sadness in her eyes. “Lady Augusta does indeed need our help, Finn. She’s just miscarried a child.”
*~~*~~*
Hecate had viewed the arrival of Lady Augusta with reservations.
She knew of the previous “association” with James FitzArden, since Letitia had been driven to distraction with jealousy when the woman had shown up, unannounced, in the middle of Letitia’s courtship.
In London, Hecate had observed Lady Augusta’s flamboyant presence on several occasions, and the gossip always ran hot when the notorious woman took a new lover.
But now, here at Doireann Vale, Lady Augusta seemed to have shed her glamour and her poise. Thin of face and pale of complexion, she bore little resemblance to the stunning beauty who had gathered men like flowers in spring, ornamenting her life with them.
How old was she, wondered Hecate? And did her age have anything to do with losing her babe? There were many unanswered questio
ns, but being a patient woman now, Hecate knew she would wait, and let Lady Augusta sort out her own feelings before she asked any of them.
As far as regaining her health was concerned, that would probably be a matter of good food, rest and tranquillity. All of which she could offer her guests without a problem.
The Tisdale girls, on the other hand…she wasn’t sure they’d be content staying in the quiet surroundings of the country. Paul, Rosaline’s brother, had recommended them to Hecate. His brief letter lay with the others.
“Silly girls, much given to heightened passions and always on the hunt for anything in breeches.”
Hecate had to chuckle. So much like Paul, blunt and to the point.
“But Harriet believes there are honest hearts beneath their indecent décolletages, and hopes they can be persuaded to find the good she’s convinced lurks within. While I adore and love my wife beyond measure, I will hold my agreement in reserve on this matter, trusting in your sound judgement.”
She read portions of the letters to Finn, knowing he’d enjoy the contents just as much as she did.
“Your family is fascinating,” he declared, after laughing over Paul’s comments. “Do you believe his assessment of the Tisdales?”
“I have no reason not to,” she answered. “And yes, I find my family wonderful as well. Overall, that is. When they start trying to manage my life—that’s a different matter.”
“You’re the youngest. I doubt that will ever change.”
“I agree. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I know it’s done out of love, but still. Some acknowledgement of my adulthood would be pleasant, I believe.” She sighed. “But never mind that. What are we going to do with our guests?”
Finn stared from the window in thought. “Well. I believe Lady Augusta will need some care. She is not physically very strong, from what I saw, and her eyes are so sad.”