by Rebecca King
The activity helped ease the anxiety that continued to plague her. She couldn’t settle because of the horrid sense of foreboding that refused to move. Usually when she had these wretched feelings, once the news appeared – or in Hugo’s case, arrived – then the feeling would lift and she would continue with her life. But this time, something was different. It was warning her that the worst was yet to come - only she didn’t know what it would be, or what would happen. The odd sensation was so strong that she had taken a moment earlier to take a peek out of the shutters covering the kitchen window.
A solitary, unfamiliar horse was meandering around the field adjacent to her garden, happily munching the lush grass. Her neatly tended garden remained undisturbed. There were no other signs of life, which should have reassured her, but did not.
As the resident witch, Harriett was about the safest person in Padstow. Nobody really understood that she was a white witch and would never actually hurt anyone. She was more interested in healing people and doing good, but had never managed to dispel the mistaken notion that she could hex a person, or place a curse on anyone who crossed her. Because of the villagers’ ignorance, the possibility of being on the receiving end of one of her casting spells was enough to make sure nobody threatened her in any way, or entered the house uninvited.
But that didn’t help her if anyone from outside the village turned up unannounced. Especially if they were the ruthless wastrel who had shot Hugo, looking for him at Harriett’s house, so they could finish what they started. She knew that, whatever happened, nobody must know that Hugo was with her; for both their sakes.
It was early evening by the time Harriett had a moment to rest. She was aware of the loud growling of her stomach, which sounded very much like Harrold in its ferocity, and realised that she hadn’t had anything to eat since she had gone to bed the previous evening.
Exhaustion loomed, but she took a moment to cut a piece of wonderful meat pie, some cheese and tear off a lump of the freshly made bread Simon had dropped around the day before. With a sigh she settled back into the chair beside the fireplace in the kitchen. The last time she checked, Hugo had still been sound asleep, and although his breathing was deep and even, and showed no sign of distress, he hadn’t stirred when she had checked his wound either.
She decided to let him sleep for a while longer, at least while she ate. Settling back in the chair, she took a bite and moaned softly as the tastes and textures of the delicious food exploded in her mouth.
“Is there enough for me?”
Harriett jumped, and nearly choked on her mouthful of cheese as she raised startled eyes to a swaying Hugo, who was staring at her hungrily. Mentally shaking her head, she sternly reminded herself that it was food he wanted, rather than her. Harriett jumped to her feet, nodding jerkily, and motioned him over to the chair on the opposite side of the fireplace. He looked as if he needed to sit down, preferably before he fell down. She was relieved when he immediately slumped into the high-backed chair without protest.
“I think you should go back to bed,” she suggested, fetching him a plate and loading it with an array of delicious foods.
Although the meal may have been meagre for someone like Hugo, Harriett felt quite proud of the variety of food on the plate she handed him, even if most of it had been provided by Simon.
Hugo took the plate, trying not to let his jaw drop. He had expected her to live like an impoverished spinster, living on bread, cheeses and a bit of fruit occasionally. Before him was freshly baked bread, the aroma of which teased his nostrils and made his stomach rumble loudly. Pickled tomatoes, apple and eggs sat beside cheese, ham and beef, which were accompanied by a slice of what appeared to be game pie.
“Thank you,” he mumbled, feeling guilty for having judged her so harshly. Clearly the woman could cook, and was more than capable of providing delicious meals that were fit for a king.
Harriett knew she should explain that she hadn’t actually baked the pies herself. It wasn’t that she couldn’t cook. Indeed, there was nothing she liked more – when she was in the mood - but it didn’t seem worthwhile when there was only her to eat the things she made. If she made the effort to bake pies, pastries and cakes on a regular basis, she would be as fat as a barrel by now.
Wisely she remained quiet, unwilling to explain about Simon to Hugo. It wasn’t any of his concern and, given he was going to be leaving soon, it didn’t seem important. Instead, once assured that Hugo was, somewhat clumsily, tucking into his meal, she resumed her seat and continued her own meal.
Silence settled between them for several long moments. The only sound within the room was the crackle and hiss of the logs burning heartily in the fireplace beside them.
“You are a very good cook, Harriett,” Hugo said, finishing as much of the wonderful food as he could manage. Tiredness had begun to take hold again, and he wondered how he was going to make it back to bed without leaning on her.
“I didn’t make it,” Harriett reluctantly admitted, rising to ease his plate off his knee. She began to clear the pots away, hoping to stem his questions by being busy, but was aware of the intensity of his gaze. Eventually, she couldn’t stand it any longer, and turned toward him with a sigh.
“I think you should go back to bed now and get some rest. I need to change your dressings again. Does your arm still hurt?”
Hugo winced and glanced down at the offending limb. “Just a bit,” he admitted carefully. It hurt like the very devil, but he was loath to admit it, especially to Harriett.
Harriett hesitated for a brief moment, and carefully sat on the edge of the chair opposite to look at him.
“I can make you a tisane to take for the pain,” she offered cautiously. She knew he was aware she was a witch, and knew that was the reason he had sought her out, but she still hesitated to offer him her potions – even if he was in dire need of them.
He could feel her caution and wondered if she felt he was going to judge her. Carefully keeping his face impassive, his eyes met and held hers directly. “If you could come up with anything that might help ease the pain, then I would be extremely grateful,” he said softly.
“Let’s get you back to bed. The more sleep you get, the better you will feel,” she murmured, standing beside his chair patiently until he pushed to his feet with a low groan. Instinctively, she moved to help him, only to pause. Something about him warned her that he wouldn’t appreciate her help, so instead she stood to one side and let him shuffle past. After several steps it was clear that he was struggling to remain upright, much less keep his balance. With a sigh, Harriett lifted his good arm and draped it around her shoulders, wedging herself under his well muscled arm. Surprisingly, he made no objection, merely leaned on her and allowed her to help him back to her bedroom.
His low groan when he lay back down told her that he was in significant pain. Leaving him to tug the covers back over his legs, she went into her workroom and pulled out the various herbs she would need.
“What’s in it?” Hugo asked, frowning down at the murky liquid minutes later. Although good manners and curiosity had dictated that he accept anything she offered him, now that the liquid was in his hand, he felt his stomach churn in protest at the faintly minty tones that assailed his nostrils.
“The cup you are holding is nothing more than mint tea. It will stop you feeling sick again. This cup is a tisane of valerian root and skullcap in honey. It will relieve your pain and help relax you while your body heals. The honey will help it taste better.”
Hugo’s eyes shot up to hers in surprise. How had she known he was feeling sick?
Harriett smiled secretively at him, knowing she had surprised him. She wanted to admit that she had seen the traces of his sickness on his shirt, but wisely remained quiet. If keeping him on guard stopped the growing closeness between them, then she would prefer to remain mysterious.
Taking a fortifying breath, Hugo looked at the green liquid; the strong scent of mint wafted up at him for a moment before he began to drink.
It really didn’t taste that bad; minty, of course, but there was another, slightly sweeter taste beneath it that made it rather pleasant. He had no sooner finished it than the cup was taken out of his hand and replaced by the second cup holding the herbs Harriett had mentioned.
With a shrug he downed the second drink, tasting the slightly earthy tones that were quite different to the first drink. He wasn’t sure if the concoction would make him sick or not, but anything that could help ease the fierce pain in his arm would be a bonus. He knew that until the pain eased, it would be impossible to get any more sleep. With his stomach pleasantly full, he blinked sleepily and looked at Harriett when she began to tuck him in.
Carefully placing a hand over hers, he waited until her eyes met and held his.
“What else was in there?” he whispered, knowing from the look in her eyes that she had given him something she hadn’t mentioned.
“Nothing, I promise,” Harriett whispered back. “It is all right, Hugo trust me.”
Every instinct Hugo had told him that she had put something in his drink to make him sleep, and he should be extremely angry at her, but staring into her calm, reassuring gaze, he couldn’t be summon the energy to lambast her. He had little choice now; he could feel the slightly warm, foggy sensation begin to roll through him and couldn’t summon the energy to fight it.
Strangely, his injured arm began to grow blessedly numb, and he felt more relaxed and at peace with the world than he had for many years. With a sigh, his eyes firmly locked on Harriett’s, Hugo fell into a deep, untroubled sleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
The following morning Harriett had to leave the protection of the cottage to check that Hugo’s horse was all right, and tend to her neglected garden. There were herbs she needed to gather to make tisanes for Hugo, who was still sleeping soundly, and some of the plants were in desperate need of some water. It had rained recently, but it wasn’t enough for the thirsty plants.
She had checked on Hugo several times during the night, unsurprised to find he had remained undisturbed throughout. Having changed the poultice on his wound, Harriett had been relieved to note that there was no sign of infection. It hadn’t yet started to heal, but at least it wasn’t bleeding any more. She had cleaned it as best she could, and applied a new poultice, while Hugo had been sleeping, blessedly oblivious to any discomfort she was causing.
Closing the door carefully behind her, she drew in a deep breath of sea air, enjoying being outside. Gulls dipped and soared high in the cloudless skies above. The stiff breeze coming off the sea was chilly, but the brilliant sunshine banished any cold to the very fringes of consciousness.
Harriett tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders and began her chores, spending several moments stroking and talking to Hugo’s curious mount, who had wandered over to the fence for some attention.
Time passed as she carefully worked her way down the neatly tended rows of herbs and plants lining her garden. She tutted and sighed when she saw large boot marks in the soil. It was enough to prompt her to weed her beloved plants and turn over the soil around them, obliterating all trace of Hugo having been there. It was close to noon when she suddenly became aware of a dark shadow blocking out the sunshine.
Instinctively she knew that this was the reason she had experienced such deep feelings of foreboding over the past few days. Her stomach tightened nervously as she sat back and looked up at the new arrival.
“Hello, miss,” the man offered jovially.
Harriett nodded once, briskly, and rose to her feet. All her instincts were screaming at her that this was a dangerous man. Although his smile was wide and welcoming, his eyes didn’t match his friendly demeanour. She watched as they darted this way and that, scanning the area around them, clearly looking for something – or someone. The small hairs on the back of her neck rose as she studied him. He was smaller than average height, and thin, with small narrow eyes that were so dark, at first glance they appeared almost black; soulless eyes that were now glinting menacingly at her. There was something almost feral about him that warned her that this man was someone who could strike at any time.
She knew without asking, that this most probably was the man who had shot Hugo.
Silence stretched between them for several long moments. The man was clearly waiting for Harriett to launch into conversation, or enquire what he wanted. Harriett wasn’t prepared to make things any easier for him, and stubbornly remained silent and watchful.
Eventually the man relented and, with an awkward cough, shuffled forward a little. Harriett knew he was trying to intimidate her by moving closer, but refused to be cowed by him and remained perfectly still. She knew her instincts were right when she caught sight of the brief frown that marred his brow for one infinitesimal second, before it was gone and replaced with the overly bright grin once more.
“I wonder if you could help me? Is that your horse?” he asked, nodding to the horse in the field behind them who was watching them with interest.
Harriett nodded and waited.
“It looks very much like my friend’s horse, you see,” the man shuffled forward once more until he was mere inches away from Harriett, who could feel his hot breath on her face when he spoke. The black pebbles of his eyes were staring relentlessly at her. “He is injured, and I wanted to check he is all right.”
Harriett’s eyes met his and she raised her brows in feigned surprise. There was a lilt to his voice that warned her that he had to work hard at an English accent. “I am sorry sir, but I don’t know who your friend might be. I have not seen any strangers in the area recently, except yourself,” she added pointedly, trying to keep her tone polite yet dismissive.
“He is my friend, Harriett. I am worried about him,” the man replied softly.
The hint of threat in his voice irked her. She knew by his revelation that he had been asking around the village and now knew her name, but why had he asked about her? Had he followed Hugo to her house?
“Then I suggest you go and look for your friend,” Harriett replied crisply. “If you will excuse me.” She was about to turn away when her arm was captured in a cruel grip, halting her movement. Turning abruptly, she scowled at her ‘guest’ and was about speak when a new arrival interrupted her.
“Harriett, are you all right?”
Harriett had never been so glad to see Simon in her life. There was something about the man before her that was inherently evil; she could sense the danger practically shimmering around him. It unnerved her.
“This man is looking for his friend,” Harriett replied, shooting her father a silent look of pleading as she wrenched her arm out of the fierce grip. “He is just leaving.” Her tone dropped several notches and she shot the small, wiry man beside her a fierce look of contempt as she stalked past to stand beside Simon.
Her father stood beside her, tall and broad-shouldered. He had aged well, and despite some slight greying at his temples, which gave him a debonair look of aristocratic good health, he was very fit and agile for someone of his age. For once, Harriett was glad he was beside her.
Together they stared at the other man.
“I won’t stop you, then,” Simon said, his voice dropping to menacing tones as he stared challengingly at the man who had been threatening his daughter.
Harriett didn’t know it, but he would protect her with his life, and he was outraged that anyone had felt at liberty to lay hands on her. He drew himself up to his full height and dropped his hand to the heavy pistol resting on his hip, a movement not lost on Harriett’s visitor, who, with a wry twist of his lips, bowed almost mockingly at them both. It wasn’t the soft bow of politeness, it was a crisp, brief bow accompanied by an instinctive click of heels that came naturally – and confirmed he was indeed foreign. The man seemed to realise his faux pas, and seemed to make the decision to leave.
“Please give him my regards,” the man murmured to Harriett as his eyes met and held hers threateningly.
“I have no idea what you
are talking about,” Harriett snapped, refusing to be threatened by him. “Now please leave.” She didn’t miss the lingering look the man gave the horse, before he flicked a dismissive glance at her. “Tell him, I’ll be waiting,” the man said as he ambled past.
Neither Harriett nor Simon moved. They watched and waited as the man sauntered casually out of the small garden and disappeared around the side of the house. Harriett took a breath to thank Simon for his efforts, only for Simon to grab her wrist gently. The shake of his head so small that, if she hadn’t been looking at him, she would have missed it.
They walked over to the horse and stood beside the fence for several moments. Harriett was aware that although he was standing in a seemingly casual pose, Simon was anything but. She could feel the tension thrumming through him as his eyes scoured the surrounding area for any sign of their visitor. Although the small, wiry man had disappeared around the side of her cottage, that didn’t mean he had left the area.
At that moment, Simon reminded her so much of Hugo that she began to see him with new eyes, and wondered just how much she didn’t know about her father.
“Who is he?” Simon whispered, wondering what kind of trouble Harriett was in. He wanted to order her back to the Manor and the safety of his protection, but knew that was the last thing she would permit.
Harriett shook her head and shrugged. “I have no idea.” She was telling the truth; she had no idea who the man was. But she did know that he was the man who was after Hugo, and was undoubtedly the man who had shot him the night before.
“Have you seen him before?” Simon asked with a frown.
“Never.” She glanced at her father ruefully. “The only visitors I get are either sick or injured, or you.” She didn’t mean the last comment offensively, and was reassured by the wry look he sent her, confirming that he hadn’t been offended by her pointed remark.
He did visit her regularly. Maybe too regularly for her liking, but he was her father, whether she liked it or not, and now her mother had passed on he was her only surviving parent. She should be able to turn to him in times of need. Like now. He was eternally grateful he had decided to walk in this direction, and had been on hand to help her when she needed it.