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 that 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.”