Chapter Eight
With Finn tucked up in bed and sound asleep, Hecate had plenty of time to herself to consider all she’d learned that eventful morning. She shook her head in astonishment at the vagaries of Fate and the universe.
What were the chances that her anonymous patient would have ties to the Ridlingtons? To her family? Her mother? Knowing that Finn had shared rooms with Richard—well, somehow it made him less of a stranger. Hearing him talk of Moira…well, that was something far beyond what she could have imagined.
Somehow she could sense the outlines of a master plan, the framework vague and just outside her grasp, but centred here at Doireann Vale.
As one with the utmost respect for matters beyond the ordinary, Hecate accepted the notion that Finn had been brought to this place by a power greater than his own legs. And she’d been there to save his life at the whim of that power.
The question thus became why?
Some might have spent hours pondering and turning that simple word over in their minds, but not Hecate. Her beliefs assured her that all would be revealed in good time. Finn was alive, his memory was returning and soon they would know all they needed to solve the mystery deepening around them.
Other than that, the only matter that needed some more thought was…his kiss.
Just the memory of it, the way they had fit together like pieces of a puzzle…things inside Hecate liquefied as she recalled the warmth of his lips and the taste of him, the silken heat of their mouths crushing against each other, and the way he’d held her closer than close. It hadn’t seemed nearly close enough…
A tiny shiver rippled through her. Nothing like it had happened before, and she admitted that Finn was the reason. While it was easy for her to say to herself that he was the one, believing it was something else again. Her past had not exactly reassured her that she was prepared for—or even capable of—deeper affections.
Her father had believed her mad, and she’d heard him threaten to send her to Bedlam. She’d couldn’t have been much over six years old at the time, but the menace in his voice, the implied threat, had sent her running as far from him as she could go, and from that moment on she’d taken up residence in the tower rooms. They were cold at first, drafty and inhospitable. But she could disappear there, out of sight, and soon her siblings began to slip one or two comforts her way. Simon had tapped on the door with pillows and warm blankets for the lumpy bed. Letitia and Kitty conspired to liberate some curtains and they spent a cheerful afternoon deciding how to hang them. When Richard appeared with a couple of small rugs rolled beneath his arm, Hecate’s sanctuary was complete. Edmund had gone to sea but his letters were full of affection and encouragement.
This, she realised, was the love of a family, showing even back then. Small things, but they meant so much. Those deeds surpassed the distaste exhibited by their parent and it wasn’t too long before she realised that her father didn’t care much for any of them. That knowledge had created a strange bond amongst the siblings, one that had grown and matured into a closeness that was difficult to describe. It wasn’t the love created naturally by a warm and secure upbringing. It was the need for closeness and the touch of something familiar, deepening into something unique and sustaining. It was the quick hugs, the smiles amongst them as they grew from childhood into youths and finally to adults. It was now unbreakable.
They’d been united by a parent who couldn’t give a damn about them.
But they were united. And that was a miracle in and of itself.
Now, of course, her brothers and sisters had overcome the last of the old Baron’s legacy of callous dismissal, and given their hearts to their mates. From what she’d seen, the extraordinary glow that bloomed in their eyes was genuine; they had found love despite everything.
So the question remained. Could she?
Dancey Miller-James had been a mistake, and she’d known it all along. But it was her first experience with a man who showered her with attention and affection. And yes, she’d foolishly allowed him to sweep her off her feet. She’d turned a deaf ear to her inner voices when they warned her against him, and opened her heart to his sweet words and thoughtful little gifts. He’d made her feel special in that unique way that only a handsome man can do to an impressionable young woman.
She hadn’t wanted to use her gift to lift the veils of her future. She could have tried scrying, meditating…paying lip service to her inner spirits, while contriving to push aside the warnings she knew were there. But she persuaded herself that his kisses were everything a woman could want, and that his highly-charged air of masculinity merely enhanced his masculine appeal.
And when she did finally meditate on what lay ahead—her attempts to summon a vision failed. It was as if she had no future at all.
Which, upon reflection, was very nearly true.
But it had been Miller-James who lost his life in the carriage accident. And he’d brought it all on himself.
Hecate did not assign blame, because that was a useless waste of her emotions. She’d been a silly green girl and become entangled with an unscrupulous man who had one goal only…to claim her virginity. She knew now he would have walked away once he’d achieved his goal; that she had been nothing more than an amusing little thing he could play with at will.
He was gone. His life wasted. She felt sympathy for his family, but little else.
His legacy was her limp, a hip and leg so badly damaged that by the time the bones had healed, she had to learn how to walk again. And would always need to do so with the assistance of her cane.
She would never dance, never run to pick up her child. She wasn’t even sure she could bear a child, let alone play with it. It had taken some time for her emotions to heal when these realisations crept upon her.
Over almost two years she worked to come to terms with who and what she now was. At last, here at Doireann Vale, she could look forward, knowing she had grown through times of pain and trial, and had survived.
The woman she was now could move on with her life, such as it was.
Whether Finn would play a role in it…well, that was a question best left unanswered for the present.
*~~*~~*
With the arrival of clothing for Finn, procured successfully by Dal on his visit to Bideford, the following days fell into a pattern that Hecate found both comfortable and oddly pleasant.
An independent woman by nature, and solitary in her habits, it took a little getting used to. Sharing the breakfast table with a gentleman to whom she was not related…it turned out to be more exhilarating than embarrassing.
Finn’s willingness to help was evident, and Hecate was happy to accept his advice and suggestions, which she noted were readily given when requested, but not otherwise. A restraint she much appreciated.
Less than a week after that embrace—which neither had mentioned since—she was glad of his presence when a rap at the front door revealed two magnificently moustachioed men, standing erect, inquiring if there might be work to be had.
Finn had taken one look at them and demanded the names of their regiments.
Within moments, hands were shaken, salutes and laughter exchanged, and she left them to it while she ordered tea from Mrs. Trimmer.
Finn glanced at her as she returned and invited them into the salon, which now boasted a fire and a tray including small sandwiches.
“Thank you, Miss Hecate. They’re good men, these two.”
At that moment, both “good men” were looking nervous and unsure of what to do with themselves.
She chuckled. “Gentlemen, please make yourself comfortable. I have tea and some food here, and I certainly shall not be able to eat it all myself.”
Finn showed them the way, by pouring his own tea and filling a plate. “While you’re busy with all this, perhaps you can tell us what kind of work you’re looking for?” He returned to his seat. “I cannot believe a Hussar would settle for working as a groundskeeper…”
The taller man, whose name turned out to be Harvey Woodruff, shrugged. “We’ll take whatever we can get, Ma’am,” he said. “Neither Digby nor I can live on air, the army discharged us with little to live on, and there are too many others like us scraping for paying jobs. We’ve managed up to now, but this weather’s so bad that there’s no farm jobs anywhere. Everything else is either filled up or closed up.”
Digby—Hecate wasn’t sure if that was his first or last name—nodded in agreement. “Nothing but the truth, Ma’am. We even asked up and down the coast, since it’s likely there’s still fish to be had.” He sighed. “There’s ten men ready for each sailor’s boots.”
Hecate sipped her tea and thought about their problem, letting possible solutions dance around her mind, ignoring some, considering others. She listened with half an ear to their conversation with Finn, paying barely any attention while her mind roamed over any way at all she might be able to help.
And then, completely out of the blue, it came to her.
“Do you two know much about farming? I mean actually running a farm, not just working one. Planting, crops, yields, all that sort of thing?”
She noticed Finn’s head turn to her as she asked the question, but she wanted an answer before going any further.
Harvey spoke. “In truth, Miss Ridlington, and not to boast of my own capabilities, I could manage a farm quite well, I think.” He glanced down, his face colouring. “My father owned a fair acreage when I was a lad, and I had a hand in the running of it. He let me take care of the books, the buying and selling, replenishing stock…things like that. He was not in the best of health and as he failed, I took over more and more of it.”
“You never mentioned that…” Digby stared at his friend, his mouth agape.
“No, well there wasn’t much time for chat about backgrounds in the middle of the fight, now, was there?”
“I suppose not.” Digby still appeared shocked. “Well, for my part, I know a bit about the land. Although my family weren’t landowners…” he shot a frown at Harvey, “we were involved in some business with all the local farmers around where we lived. My father was what he liked to call an agent. He’d put farmers and buyers in touch with each other. If one farmer needed a good load of fresh hay, we’d send him to whoever had more than they needed. So I got to know about crops and planting. Which is why I can see how bad things are right now when it comes to the land.” He shook his head.
Finn looked at Hecate once more. “Those are excellent answers, lads. I have to wonder why Miss Hecate asked?”
She smiled. “All right. Here’s what I’m thinking.” She put her cup down, rose from her seat and reached for her cane, walking across the room and opening a desk. She withdrew a map, and brought it back to the group around the fire. “If I might ask you gentlemen to look at this…” She unfolded it onto a side table, muttering as it flopped over the side. “Too large, but that’s no matter.” She straightened it as best she could. “Here.” She tapped a finger on the map. “This is what I’d like you to see.”
Her finger rested on a marked lot of land at the boundary of Doireann Vale’s holdings.
“This is, or I should say, was, a farm at one time. I’d guess it has been without tenants for at least a year, and the fields have run amok. There are still some good stalls there, which is why it attracted my attention in the first place, and there’s even a farmhouse with good bones, although repairs are needed. Quite a few repairs.”
The two men leaned over as Finn came to Hecate’s side and watched over her shoulder. She could feel his heat against her spine and the sensation was pleasant if distracting.
“There’s water…” muttered Digby.
“And it looks like a road here, down to the village. Makes for easy transportation.”
Hecate let them comment and review the situation for a few more moments, unwilling to move away from Finn’s warmth. She turned away from them and toward Finn’s face. “They’re good men, you said?”
He nodded. “The best,” he breathed.
“Very well.” She put her hand on the map once more. “Gentlemen, if you are in agreement, I would like to ask you to take over this property.”
Two mouths dropped open.
“It will not be easy, but I am prepared to advance you a small loan which I hope will get you started and with luck render the farmhouse liveable over the winter.” She returned to her seat and leaned the cane up beside it, sitting and folding her hands in her lap. “There should be enough for a couple of cows if you can find some at a fair price, and seed too, but planting this year? Probably not. So I would suggest the first thing would be to repair the house, grow whatever you can in the way of late vegetables, and perhaps set up a hen house. Chickens seem to be in ready supply and are easily bred.”
Two pairs of eyes remained fixed on her face.
“What say you? I am not offering much, I’m afraid, but with hard work and luck, you might be able to make a go of it…”
“Ma’am,” sputtered Harvey. “I don’t know what to say…”
“Me neither, Miss Ridlington,” agreed Digby. “’Tis more than we could have hoped for…”
“I want to return Doireann Vale to its former health, gentlemen. I see signs of the estate it used to be, and I believe it can return to that condition with the help of the right people. Should you be able to work that farm, then I will ask that you regard yourselves as Doireann Vale tenants, until such time as you have provided us with fair and equal amounts of grains, meat and other supplies that will equal the value of farm. At which time it will become yours. I will still expect provisions, and the land will still belong to the Vale, but the farm will be yours.”
“You mean we’ll own the farm? Not just work it?” Harvey struggled.
“I do,” nodded Hecate. “There are several more farms that could use fresh blood. But now is not the right time to look at each of them and talk to the farmers, since none of us can control this damned weather.” She glanced out of the window at the grey skies. “It won’t be easy. But it could be worthwhile…”
“Ma’am, if you’re serious, then yes. Yes, indeed. We’ll do it.” Digby’s voice broke.
“We will indeed, Ma’am. We’ll give you the best farm we can, and the best in the county if the sun ever shines.” Harvey’s eyes glistened. “Thank you. You’ve saved our lives, you know.”
“She does that a lot, I’m coming to realise,” grinned Finn.
“I will ask Dal to attend to the financial end of things for you,” she said. “He will let you know when the matter is done. In the meantime, if you’d prefer to stay here…”
“You’ve done too much already, Miss Ridlington,” said Harvey with a small bow. “I think I speak for both of us when I say that right at this moment, we can’t wait to get to this farm.” He looked at Digby. “Our farm.”
“Sabrage Farm,” Digby grinned.
“An unusual name?” Hecate raised an eyebrow.
“But an appropriate one,” Finn interjected. “Sabrage is the act of opening a champagne bottle with a sabre. A feat, I might add, that is the specialty of the Hussars. The rest of us pop the cork off like everyone else.”
Hecate held back her snort. “Then Sabrage Farm it shall be.”
Cheers and back-slapping took place, followed by a period of awkward and profound expressions of gratitude she waved away. “You’ll work hard, sirs. Don’t thank me yet.”
Finally, they took their leave, and she smiled at the sound of excitement in their voices. A far cry from the sense of desolation which had surround them a scant hour or so before.
“You are an angel in their eyes, now, you know.” Finn came back into the room after seeing the two new farmers on their way. “A guardian angel.” He retook his seat and sneaked a biscuit from the tray. “Is that to be your lot in life, Hecate? Ministering to those in need?”
“You make me sound like a nun, Finn.” Flustered at his comment, she shifted in her chair.
“And we both know you’re not,” he smiled gently. “You kiss much too enthusiastically to be cloistered away.”
“I-I do?”
“Mmm hmm.” His smile was pure Irish charm, his blue eyes filled with laughter as he watched her confusion.
“Well then.” She swallowed.
He rose and gathered the tea things. “I’ll take this down to Mrs. Trimmer. No sense in her rushing around when I need the exercise.”
“All right.” It was a weak response, but he’d caught her off guard. Again.
These flirtatious moments had to stop. They were unnerving, and she liked them far too much.