Heart in Hiding (The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington Book 6) Page 6

  “One solution would be to travel further than Little Beechwood. If I borrowed a horse, I could easily reach Bideford. Less attention would be paid to my ordering clothing from there.” He glanced at her. “I might even find some clothing ready-made, which would tide him over for a few days.”

  Hecate leaned back and closed her eyes. “Damn propriety.” She opened them again. “That is a good idea, Dal, if you’re willing to go. I would like it if you were to replace your cloak at the same time. I’m sorry we couldn’t clean it, but I believe we did the right thing. And it has reminded me that now the stables are nearly finished, we really must see to getting some animals in there.”

  Dal regarded her with a sober expression. “Riding will not be possible for you, Miss Hecate.”

  She swallowed. “I know, Dal. I know. But if we can find ourselves the right horses, then a small gig for me and a mount for you should be all we require? It will allow me to get around a lot more and give you a chance to see more of the countryside than is visible in a walk.”

  It wasn’t easy, she realised. There were things she’d given up as she recovered…she would never be able to lightly trip up and down the dance floor to the strains of a sprightly country dance, nor would she be able to ride again. Her hip had healed and it worked. But only up to a point. She discovered her limits not long after the bones had knitted, and reminded herself that she could walk, manage stairs—although she felt better with a cane in her hand—and care for herself. She still had both limbs, and she was alive.

  She knew how much she had to be grateful for, so spent as little time as possible regretting what she had lost.

  After all, it had been her own damn fault.

  She’d made the mistake of thinking she’d fallen in love—and for the first time in her life, she had ignored her senses.

  She would never do that again.

  Chapter Six

  He was hungry.

  Not the usual it’s-breakfast-time type of hunger, but a ravenous, gnawing, empty feeling that told him not even a twelve-course dinner would be enough. His stomach gurgled loudly for emphasis.

  As if in response, Dal tapped on the door and poked his head in as Finn called out a greeting.

  “And good morning to you too, Mr. Finn.” Dal entered. “How do you find yourself today?”

  “Um…” He had to take a moment to straighten out the phrase. “I find myself hungry.”

  “That is an excellent sign you are recovering. Here, allow me assist you.” Dal let him lean on one strong arm, and Finn slid from the bed and onto his own two feet.

  He let go, stood for a moment without swaying, and then nodded. “I shall do.”

  “Yes, you will. Unfortunately, you will have to remain in this robe for a little time, until Miss Hecate can make arrangements for more suitable clothing.”

  Finn looked askance at the multihued garment. “There’s nothing else?”

  “No, sir. Not at present.”

  “I’m just Finn, Dal. No sir involved. I may not remember anything, but I’m damned sure I’m not a sir, or any other fancy title.”

  Dal helped him wrap himself in the robe. “Your memory is still absent today?”

  “Yes.” Finn’s answer was rough. “It’s…frustrating.”

  “That I can well believe.”

  Dal busied himself tidying the chamber while Finn took care of his most pressing needs. “I think it’s time for me to move around more, Dal. If I might go downstairs…even though I am improperly dressed…”

  Dal folded a blanket and nodded. “I am in agreement. We shall go down and see if Miss Hecate will allow you to join her for breakfast. She is the best judge of your condition, and I doubt she will refuse your request.”

  “You have known her long?”

  It was a polite and casual question, asked quietly as the two men left the bedchamber. But it was the one thing Finn had decided upon awakening this morning. He would discover more about his hostess and saviour. She might be the key to more of his memories, and now he felt strong enough to at least pretend to be a human being, he set himself on a course to find out.

  “I have had the honour of her friendship for over a year. I have known her spirit for centuries.”

  “Ah.” Finn wondered if trying to work that out would be worth the effort. “She is certainly a unique lady.”

  Dal glanced at him as they walked slowly down the stairs, Finn gripping the bannister for support. “She has mentioned some of her skills to you?”

  “Yes,” he nodded, pausing for breath. “She has indeed.”

  Dal took his other arm. “You would not be here, but for those skills, Mr. Finn.”

  “Agreed. Her talents for medicine are unequalled.” He had personal evidence that Dal spoke nothing but the truth.

  “Not just medicine.”

  They stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and Finn took a moment to lean against the newel post. He shot a curious glance at Dal. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  Dal took a breath. “You were dying. Even though Miss Hecate had treated you as best she could, your mind was shutting down. Getting ready to leave us.” His voice was quiet but firm. “Miss Hecate went into your thoughts, found you, and brought you back, determined that you would not die.”

  Finn stared. “She did that? That’s possible?”

  “Are you alive?” Dal’s eyebrow rose.

  “I’m…” Truth to tell, he didn’t know what he was for a few moments. This revelation had shaken him to his core. “Yes, I’m alive. But this is very difficult to accept.”

  Dal’s features softened. “Open your heart, Mr. Finn. Don’t think with the logic of a mathematician, believe with the music of your soul.”

  With that profound observation, Dal led him into the small parlour, where Hecate sat behind a cup of tea, and the scent of bacon filled his nostrils.

  Before he could speak, his stomach growled again. Loudly.

  “Mr. Finn requests your permission to join you for breakfast, Miss Hecate,” said Dal. “I would suggest you agree, since his body is requesting something more tangible than Mrs. Trimmer’s excellent broth.”

  Hecate chuckled, a sound that made Finn smile as well. “Of course. Come and join me, Mr. Finn. I am pleased you have found your appetite.”

  He moved to the table and sat, groaning a little as his muscles still needed work to recover their full abilities. “I am grateful. I may have found my appetite and that of two other people as well.”

  “In that case, Dal…I suggest eggs, bacon and some of Mrs. Trimmer’s wonderful buns.” She gestured at the table. “We also have her blackberry jam, which I highly recommend. There’s honey too, clover honey. Excellent for one’s health.”

  Since Finn’s mouth watered at the mere mention of all these divine dishes, he merely nodded at everything and when Dal placed a brimming platter in front of him, he damned near kissed the man in gratitude.

  “I will be off, Miss Hecate. It is presently dry, so I must make haste before the rain decides to return.” Dal gave her a slight bow.

  “Very well. Please take care?”

  “Of course.” And he was gone.

  Leaving an alert Finn to devour the first solid food he’d enjoyed in what seemed like eons, and sitting across the table from the woman who had saved his life. By getting inside his head.

  *~~*~~*

  Hecate watched Finn as he began to slowly work his way through the food loaded on his plate. As she’d suspected, within a very short time, he slowed, chewing his food with relish but toying with what was left, rather than devouring it.

  “Take your time,” she said. “You have not eaten proper food for far too long, thus your body will need to become accustomed to it.”

  He sighed. “I was hungry enough to eat all this and more, but I find I cannot finish a scant half of it.” He looked up. “I am sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” She shook her head. “Every piece of food you can eat will go toward restoring your energy.
You were in a bad state when we found you, Mr. Finn. It was touch and go for a few days until you passed the crisis.”

  He touched his lips with his napkin, an automatic gesture that told her of his upbringing. His breeding. This man was obviously from a reasonably well-to-do family.

  “I have questions, Miss Ridlington.”

  “And I will do my best to answer them, Mr. Finn.” She folded her own napkin and set it by her teacup, wondering what was to come. “But first, would you please call me Hecate? Or if that seems too personal, then Miss Hecate? When I hear Miss Ridlington, I see my sisters, not myself.”

  A brief smile crossed his face and he nodded in agreement. “Very well, Miss Hecate.” He took a breath. “You saved me from the brink of death, I understand.”

  She watched his face, remaining silent until he asked the question he wanted answered.

  “You found me unconscious, suffering from typhus and an extremely high fever, along with other physically detrimental things. How did you save me, Miss Hecate? How did you bring me back from death’s door?”

  There it was. Now all she had to do was explain that she had no idea at all.

  She rose. “Let’s go into my study. The fire is going, it’s warm and the chairs are comfortable. To my knowledge there are no intruders to disturb our conversation.”

  He nodded and pushed himself away from the table, holding on to the back of the chair while he got his balance. “I hate being such a weakling.” He smiled apologetically. “What you must think of me.”

  She sighed and led the way, walking slowly beside him, using her cane. “I am also restricted by the limitations of my body, Mr. Finn. It is frustrating, but we must remember that we are, in fact, walking.” She glanced up at him, finding his bright blue eyes fixed on her face. “Sadly, there are too many of our brave soldiers who cannot say the same.”

  She led him to her study, and closed the door behind them. The room was snug, even though the curtains had been drawn back to reveal grey skies. Today the clouds had lifted enough so that the ocean could just be made out, and Finn’s gaze turned to the sight as he settled himself in a chair by the fireplace. “A lovely room, Miss Hecate. Now I can fully appreciate it.”

  “Thank you. I think so as well.” She sat opposite Finn, settled her skirts and folded her hands in her lap. “Now. There are things we must discuss, you and I.”

  His gaze drifted to the fire. “You are going to tell me how you saved me.”

  “You may not believe what I tell you.”

  His eyebrow rose as he shot her a quick look of amusement. “How can I not? I am sitting here, warming my toes, with a full belly and a lovely woman. I’d like to think heaven is something like this, only with brandy, but for the moment I’m prepared to accept that I’m alive.” He stroked his chin. “And I need a shave. I doubt I’d worry about such things up there.” He pointed toward the ceiling.

  She smiled. “Valid points, Mr. Finn. Which lead me to assume you are well-educated, and if not a member of Society, then certainly someone who has a solid and suitable background.”

  He blinked.

  “You are no farmer, sir. We know you are, or were, a soldier. But your speech and manners are appropriate to those of a commanding officer. So until you regain your memory, rest assured that you are a gentleman. And I’ll ask Dal to shave you.”

  He nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Now.” She took a breath. “As far as saving your life…there came a point when your body prepared to surrender. I was unwilling to let that happen.”

  Finn lifted his hand, stopping her. “How did you know? What made you think I was dying?”

  It was a fair question. “Physically, your breathing had become laboured and shallow, barely moving your chest. Your pulse was weak and your face the colour of parchment.”

  He gulped. “All right, yes. That would be a good sign. So what did you do then?”

  “I mixed a draught of herbs, some familiar, some you would not recognise. I have done so before, once or twice, but I will confess this was the first time I had used them at full strength.” She straightened in her chair. “I made enough for two. You could still swallow, so I made sure you had as much as I could force down your throat. Then I drank mine.”

  “And?”

  “And then, I held your hand.” Her voice softened. “The herbs helped relax both of us and let our minds climb above the mundane business of living, onto what I can best describe as an alternate level of consciousness.”

  “And what then? We sat down, had a nice chat and you told me to stop dying?”

  She heard the edge in his words. “Mr. Finn, I did say you’d find this difficult to believe. I can stop now if you’d prefer, and we’ll just say my medicines cured you of your ailments.” She blinked and cleared all expression from her face, unwilling to display anger to someone in his circumstances.

  “I’m sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re correct. This is difficult to believe, but as I said before. I’m here. So whatever happened, it worked.” He looked at her again. “What did happen?”

  Hecate hesitated, then decided that she could only be honest with him. There was nothing to be gained by hiding the truth. “I saw you, fighting. Surrounded by the most terrible sights, in the midst of a fierce and fatal fight, bodies, blood…you leaped onto a horse and you carried a flag, desperate to hold it high above the horrors around you…” She paused for breath.

  “A battle.” He frowned. “Yes, a battle. A monstrous battle. They died…they were all dying around me…” His eyes filled with tears. “So much death, oh God. I remember. So much death.” His hands clenched together until the knuckles turned white. “I was a Colour Sergeant. I had to make sure our lads could see the flag once the fighting started.”

  “Take your time, Mr. Finn,” she counselled him gently. “Breathe.”

  He struggled. “It was the dust, the cannon fire, the chaos…I couldn’t get above it. So Will Turndale grabbed a horse’s reins and threw them to me. I jumped up on him, and the flag flew again…” He swallowed. “So much death.”

  His eyes turned to her, but she knew he wasn’t seeing her—he saw his memories as they flooded back. The damn had opened and the words would not stop now.

  “None of us could have guessed how bad it would be. It started slow, orders coming through channels, the brigades and squares forming. I had the colours at the back of the field. But it wasn’t long before it was every man for the fight.” His lungs heaved. “Oh God, the death. The killing…”

  Hecate’s heart ached and she rose, going to his side and sitting on the arm of his chair. Resting her hand on his shoulder, she squeezed it a little, offering what comfort she could. “Tell me. Tell me all, Finn.”

  “I saw my friends die. A terrible death, shot to pieces, hacked to pieces…victims of others whose friends suffered the same fate. It was…inhuman. There was no acknowledgement of life or humanity. People became things to be slaughtered. The cannon fire was deafening, and after a time you couldn’t hear the screams anymore…”

  His hand came up to cover hers and he squeezed it hard.

  “Go on…”

  “It wasn’t long after the battle commenced that I saw…” His voice tapered away.

  “What, Mr. Finn? What did you see?”

  He turned to her, his face pale. “Oh God. I saw a man shot to death.” His throat moved as he gulped down air. “By his own commanding officer.”

  Chapter Seven

  Finn wanted to curse the return of his memories, and yet he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten that terrible moment.

  “Johnny Marchville. Wonderful friend, excellent soldier. Foot Guard in a flank company. Don’t know which one. They were beside our horse artillery when some idiot with the Prussian artillery made a horrendous mistake, and opened fire on them.”

  “Oh no,” exclaimed a shocked Hecate. “Why would they do that?”

  He shrugged. “We had no idea. But our lads and the Prussian
s continued to exchange fire until someone finally made them all stop shooting at each other and go back to trying to stop Napoleon’s forces.”

  “I suppose, given the chaos of battle, these things can and do happen.”

  “Yes, but Johnny wasn’t in the artillery.” He closed his eyes. “I can see it, clear as day. The attack from the Prussians made everyone think it was Napoleon’s troops, so they went into formation and advanced, even though many dropped as they did so. That’s when I saw…I saw…oh God, I saw the Lieutenant Colonel raise his weapon, take aim and shoot Johnny in the back.”

  Hecate kept silent.

  “There were bullets flying everywhere, the cannons trying to move and aim at the source; our lads shot back but they weren’t sure at what…it was such a terrible and confusing few minutes, that I doubt anyone was watching either Johnny or the Lieutenant.”

  “Except you.” She covered his hand, and he felt the comforting warmth of her palm.

  “Except me.” His shoulders shook. “I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t do anything…not a thing. I saw my friend murdered, Hecate, because that’s what it was. Plain and simple murder. And then—so much more death and slaughter…” His voice broke as the visions overwhelmed him.

  Hecate slid down beside him and enfolded him in her arms, pulling his head to her shoulder and letting him sob.

  Great, ugly gasps of pain echoed through the room as he mourned his fellows and shed tears of agony at their loss. He ached, physically, as the events of that June on a field so far away from England poured back into his mind. Some might think it was unmanly of him to cry, but he had no choice. The emotions were too agonizing to hold inside him, so he wept, broken sounds of grief and horror, releasing the gut-wrenching and shattering feelings he’d temporarily forgotten.

  At last, the deluge of sadness and loss eased, and Finn caught his breath, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

  “Here.” She passed him a handkerchief.