by Sahara Kelly
“He is ill?” asked Finn.
Augusta nodded. “His mind, you know. He became much troubled over the past few years. He needed some help, and I understand he was institutionalised for a while.” She sighed. “Such sadness for them.”
“And yet the beauty of his art will remain long after we’re all gone, won’t it?” Phoebe’s practical statement made them all nod.
“Beauty never truly dies, Miss Phoebe,” said Finn, with a smile. “I’m sure you’ve both had your portraits painted many times over.”
“Well, yes,” agreed Hestia. “Although for some reason the artists always wanted us to be goddesses or something.”
“That got our clothes off, didn’t it?” chuckled Phoebe. “It got to the point where we had run out of myths, but the artists always invented new ones.”
Hestia nodded. “We didn’t care much. It paid some bills.”
“And I’m sure your beautiful bodies are ornamenting the walls of several very fine stately homes,” grinned Finn. “With or without clothes.”
“I bloody well hope so. Over the fireplace, if we’re lucky. Those studios were damn cold most of the time so I’d like my arse to be warm for eternity.”
Phoebe’s blunt comment made them all laugh, even Lady Augusta choking out a guffaw.
When the merriment died down, Augusta handed the brooch back to Hecate. “And what shall you do with it now?”
“I intend to see if I can locate the owner,” answered Hecate. “Since we have such clear provenance, we need to find out who this Declan Willows was, and why he was giving such a valuable piece to Mary Willes. It would help if we could learn more about either one, but no matter what comes to light, I want this to go to the rightful owner.”
She looked down as it rested in her hand and let her mind wonder over the question of who might have owned it.
She blinked as her palm warmed a little. And then got hotter.
“Oh my,” she breathed.
“Hecate…” Finn half rose from his seat even as Dal went to stand behind Hecate’s chair.
“No, it’s all right…just a moment…”
Hecate let her thoughts clear and opened that strange portal within her mind. Images fluttered around her hand—faces, faded and blurred, but clearly those of a woman and a man. The woman was older, in a cap, and the man had unusual eyes. Eyes that reminded her of…
“Who…” she whispered. “Who are you?”
As if in answer to her question, he turned and smiled at her from the faint vision above her hand.
And she looked into eyes that were a mirror of her own.
*~~*~~*
Finn watched Hecate as she drifted into a place where he knew he could not follow. She was still there, sitting at the table, with the remains of their meal scattered over the surface.
Everything was as it should be for him, but Hecate’s face was locked into expressionless perfection. A statue of some fantastical queen, or Helen of Troy, Venus, Aphrodite…her visage would have outclassed all the classic beauties, leaving them wanting.
Her eyes were still that same strangely alluring mix of teal and blue, but he knew they were unfocussed, seeing things only she could see. He wondered at her gift yet again, knowing that no matter how long he was in her presence he would never really know her on that particular level.
She had come to his rescue and pulled him back from the doorway into the beyond. A feat he still had difficulty understanding.
But he owed her his life. That was without question. And every day he gave thanks to the Fates for ensuring their paths would cross.
He was also coming to the realisation that every day she stole a little piece more of his heart. Something that was both wonderful and frightening. Wonderful because she was who she was…a woman of such charm, beauty and sweetness that no man could ever wish for more than to receive her affections in return.
And frightening because he had no true idea of who he was, or what he had to offer her. He was certain he was no titled gentleman, and did not have lands or a fortune to lay at her feet.
All he had was his heart and he didn’t know if that would be enough.
But as he watched her blink her way back into the room with her guests, he knew as sure as the sun would rise on the morrow, that he would never view another woman the same way. He was over halfway to being in love with her.
What he was going to do about it…well, that remained to be seen. For now, he’d just enjoy the knowledge and try not to press her into anything she wasn’t ready or willing to explore. And that thought made him clench his teeth. He had a feeling that patience wasn’t his strong point.
“You are well, Miss Hecate?” Dal touched her shoulder gently.
She nodded. “Thank you, Dal. Yes. A bit of a vision…” She glanced around her, seeing the twins sitting wide-eyed across from her, and Lady Augusta looking worried.
“One of my little burdens to bear,” she chuckled. “Every now and again I find something that speaks to me. Quite loudly.”
“I saw a man who did that,” nodded Phoebe. “Only he was in the circus. Charged a sixpence, and said he could find things you’d lost.”
“You wasted sixpence to try and find Percy Standish,” snorted her sister. “Turns out he’d married two weeks ago.”
“Well the man told us where he was,” said Phoebe defensively. “We didn’t know. So I’m thinking he earned his sixpence.”
“It was in the paper the day before, silly,” sighed Hestia. “I found it on a table when we got home.”
Phoebe rolled her eyes.
“Anyway,” said Lady Augusta, cutting off any further bickering, “what can you tell us, Miss Hecate? About the miniature, that is?”
“I think I may have a sixpence, somewhere,” grinned Finn, happy to see a smile warm her eyes.
“You don’t. Believe me, I checked,” she grinned back. “Very well, then. If you must know, I saw a gentleman’s face, and he had eyes just like mine.” She held up her hand, forestalling the questions. “I do not know my Irish relatives, so it might well be one of them. But I also saw an older woman. In a cap of sorts. A servant perhaps? I really cannot say.”
“Hmm,” said Finn, thinking over her words. “Not a lot of help, but more than we had before. A place to start, I say.” He looked around. “What say you?”
A chorus of “aye’s” greeted his question, with the exception of an “indeed” from Dal.
“We could ask Digby and Harvey if they’d allow us to go with them into the village,” said Phoebe.
“That’s right. They’re going to see about more wood tomorrow. I’ll wager someone knows who used to live hereabouts. Or could point us in the right direction at least,” added Hestia.
“You plan on returning to the farm?” Lady Augusta’s eyebrows rose. “I am surprised you find it entertaining…”
“They’re ever so nice, my Lady. Really. You should see how hard they’re working on the building.”
Phoebe nodded in agreement. “They want to finish as much as they can before winter sets in. So we…” she nodded at Hestia, “sort of said we’d help with painting and the like. And…” she hesitated a little before lowering her voice “Hestia can sew.”
It came out as a whisper, as if those listening might be shocked into apoplexy.
“How wonderful,” said Hecate. “Just the very thing for the poor lads. So much work on their hands, it will take curtains and other things to make the house into a home, no matter how good the structure is.”
“Just what we said, Miss Hecate.” Hestia nodded. “And I don’t, in the usual way of things, talk about sewing, but there’s been a few times when it came in handy…”
“I’m sure,” agreed Hecate.
Finn bit his lip against a laugh. “’Tis a talent to be much praised, Miss Hestia. The two gentlemen must be very thankful to have met you.”
“As long as it’s all right with you, my Lady,” Phoebe looked at Lady Augusta with uncertainty. “I
f you need us, we should be attending you…”
“Not at all, my dears. You did me a great service by accompanying me on my journey. Now that I am feeling a little more the thing, you must take every opportunity to be useful to others. This seems to be a time where your abilities will be most welcomed, so you have my blessings.”
Both girls applauded and Finn could have sworn he saw Lady Augusta tip Hecate a quick wink.
Farmer Digby and Farmer Harvey had less chance of remaining single than a trout on a line had of escaping the baking dish.
Chapter Fourteen
As the days grew shorter, it became evident that winter was going to arrive well ahead of schedule. But given the lack of anything resembling a summer, Hecate wasn’t surprised.
The Tisdale twins still slept at Doireann Vale now and again, but were least in sight for the rest of the time. Mrs. Trimmer’s cousin lived five minutes from the farm, and had a convenient guest room she was very happy to let out to Phoebe and Hestia. Her own daughters had married and moved away, so having girls back in the house was something she very much enjoyed.
Hecate thought she might also be enjoying the developing romances.
But she could see that both Hestia and Phoebe were beginning to find their feet as normal young women busy about building lives. No longer were they hunting likely protectors or chatting loosely about their London careers.
Even their outfits had changed, since there was no fashionable modiste to garb them in frills and furbelows.
They were in serviceable cloaks on this particular morning, bundled against the sharp wind and bracketing Digby who had come to fetch them, and carrying a few more of their clothes in bags.
Hecate watched them chatter animatedly as they walked away down the drive.
“It’s delightful, isn’t it?” Augusta’s voice sounded behind her. “Watching those two become the girls they were supposed to be.”
Hecate detected a bit of a wistful note in the older woman’s tones. “It is indeed. I don’t believe it’s ever too late to become the person we were meant to be…”
Augusta smiled a little. “Thank you for that, my dear. And thank you for all your care.” She sighed. “I cannot tell you what a low point I had reached when I arrived on your doorstep. And you had no reason to take me in. But you did.” She reached for Hecate’s hand and grasped it tightly. “You saved my life, Hecate. Truly you did.”
“Will you join me by the fire?”
Augusta hesitated. “I won’t be in the way?”
“Of course not.” Hecate held out her hand. “Come. Just an hour. You and I.”
Unable to resist such a persuasive invitation, Augusta nodded. “All right.”
Settled by the fire, and watching the flames dance as the wind whistled around the corners of the building, Augusta sighed. “It’s odd, you know.”
“What is?” asked Hecate.
“That I should sit here and feel no urge to be anywhere else. No desire to buy a new gown, find a new lover…just sit here and let the world pass by.”
“Perhaps the desire to enjoy some solitude was buried beneath the fast pace of your life in London,” Hecate suggested.
Augusta raised her eyebrows.
“Would you give me your hand, Augusta?”
“I…of course…” The older woman extended her arm. “What for?”
Hecate took it and enfolded it with her fingers. “Let me ease your mind.” She closed her eyes.
Augusta remained silent, perhaps in confusion or curiosity.
Within her thoughts, Hecate once again allowed her gift free rein. It had been silent of late, but now, with Augusta’s hand in hers, it returned. A flood of pain made Hecate gasp, and she knew she was sharing some of the heartbreak that only a mother who had lost a child could experience.
“Oh dear God,” she whispered, tightening her grip. “Let it go, Augusta. All of it…”
Whether she realised it or not, Augusta did. The love she’d felt for the father and the heartbreak when he’d turned away from her after she told him about the babe.
And the guilt. Dear Lord, the guilt.
Once again she spoke softly. “It was not your fault. You did nothing wrong. This babe was not meant for you, Augusta. It could not survive. Its spirit will be born to another. You were never at fault in this.” She gripped Augusta’s hand hard as she drained the agony from her. “Believe me. You were never at fault.”
Augusta broke their connection and fell back in her chair, a weak cry on her lips and tears on her cheeks. “I thought it was me. I thought I’d killed the child somehow…that I had done something…”
Still reeling from the onslaught of such distress, Hecate shook her head. “No my dear. You were wrong. And it is time for you to set such feelings aside. You have a life to live and now you have a greater wisdom at your command.”
Augusta cleared her throat and blew her nose. “You’re right.” She took a breath. “Hecate. What did you do? I feel as if someone lifted a cloud from my heart.” She turned and stared, her eyes wide.
“I did little other than help you release your emotions,” answered Hecate. “Some say I have a gift for such things.”
“I would be one of those, then,” responded Augusta. “For you have indeed changed something inside me. Cleared the shadows. I am…well, I am amazed.”
Hecate squeezed back. “You give me too much credit.”
Augusta shook her head. “I don’t, but we’ll let it rest there.” She let Hecate go, but stayed at her side, looking out at the leaves blowing across the drive.
They remained thus, silent, for many minutes, until finally Augusta spoke again.
“I’m not sure what to do now. I have my life back, but I am loth to return to London. There is nothing there for me anymore.”
Hecate glanced at her. “Do you have property, or a home anywhere other than London?” She touched Augusta’s arm. “Forgive my impertinence in asking such a personal question.”
“No, no, dear girl. Ask what you wish.” August smiled. “I believe I may have a small home somewhere near Southampton. I know a cousin had asked to live there a few years ago. I haven’t really thought about it since.”
“Perhaps it bears looking into,” answered Hecate. “But until then, you have a place here at Doireann Vale. In fact, it is a pleasure having your company, not to mention the countenance you lend us. With Finn now fully recovered, you are functioning as both friend and chaperon. A valuable task, you’ll agree.”
Augusta thought about that. “An interesting notion, and thank you again,” she smiled. “But I will indeed look into the property matter. I have an address of a lawyer in London; one who would be disposed to assist in that business.” Her smile grew. “There are a few old friends I can rely on. But not as many as I would wish.” She shrugged. “For now, that is enough. And I believe it is time for me to find Dal. I am teaching him to play piquet.”
Hecate’s eyebrows flew up at that pronouncement. “You are?”
“Yes indeed. And he’s very adept already. Quite the risk taker…”
Gulping down her shock, Hecate chuckled. “I confess myself astounded but also very pleased. You must go and continue to broaden his skills.”
Augusta’s step was light as she nodded and left the room, which made Hecate wonder at the unlikely duo of a notorious London Society beauty and an inscrutable and mystical Indian gentleman bending together over a game of piquet.
Winnie Trimmer poked her head around the door a few moments after Lady Augusta’s departure.
“‘Scuse me, Ma’am, but me mum’s ‘eard back from ‘er aunt ‘bout that Willows stuff. Do yer want ‘er ter come up ‘ere?”
“No, no. I shall come down to the kitchen directly.” Hecate’s thoughts skittered around in her head. “Let me find Finn. I want him to hear what she has to say.”
Winnie nodded. “‘E’s readin’ in t’study, Ma’am.”
And indeed he was. But he looked up immediately as Hecate
opened the door.
“Is everything all right?” He stood, putting his book aside. “You look…excited about something.”
“Mrs. Trimmer has heard from her aunt.”
Fortunately, this obscure statement was crystal clear to Finn and he hurried over to her. “Thank goodness. I was starting to wonder if we’d ever have answers to our questions.” He took her hand without a second thought. “Come on. Let’s see what she has to say.”
Hecate allowed him to lead her from the room, realising that with him at her side, she had no need of her cane. It was as if his strength flowed through their linked fingers and into her body—definitely a pleasant thought.
*~~*~~*
The kitchen was warm and smelled of fresh baked bread and blackberry pie.
Finn’s mouth watered as he entered with Hecate, and he looked toward the pantry in case there might be something that required tasting.
Hecate tugged on his hand. “Not now, Finn. We’re here for news not food.”
“How did you…” he glanced at her then chuckled. “Oh, never mind.” She was who she was, and he had to adjust to it. There would be no getting away with much around her.
“Sit then, Miss Hecate,” said Mrs. Trimmer, pulling a letter from her apron pocket. “This ‘ere’s jes’ come from Aunty. Lemme read it to yer.”
She squinted and put the paper flat on the table as Hecate sat, Finn behind her.
“There’s stuff ‘bout family, but I’ll pass on that…’ere we are.” She took a breath. “Yer asked ‘bout Willows. I remembers ‘im, a’cos Mr. Declan ‘ad them eyes yer never fergit. Blue as the tropics, they used ter say. Nice lad ‘e was. ‘Is sister used ter visit some, Moira ‘er name was. Pretty as a picture and ‘ad those same eyes.”
Hecate’s breath caught in her throat. “My mother. Good God, my mother stayed here.”
“There be more, Ma’am, if’n yer ready?” Mrs. Trimmer looked at Hecate. “Yer all right then, are yer?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “I think so. Please go on. Let’s hear all of it.”
“Righty then.” Mrs. Trimmer resumed her squint. “As ter Mary Willes, I be thinkin’ she were a lass wot took care of t’children. Stopped in an’ kept an’ eye on ‘em fer when the parents were off someplace. She used ter live over by Bridgeby, ‘ad a nice cottage by the inn, she did. Dunno if she’s still there…”