Prologue
March 1816, the Devon coastline
“I don’t know, Hecate, it looks a bit neglected,” said Mrs. Cressida Ridlington, as she followed her sister-in-law into the building.
“Yes, it does, doesn’t it?” grinned Hecate Ridlington. “Think of all the wonderful things I can do to it.”
Cressida exchanged a look with her husband, Richard.
Who shrugged. “She’s not been through any kind of repair experiences,” he said. “Give her a month or two of hammering and sawing, and she’ll understand your concerns.”
Hecate smiled, walking from room to room. “You must admit that for a small country house it is remarkably well set up. Plenty of bedrooms upstairs and a large attic chamber. The quarters for the servants are in excellent condition. And not only is there a very fair sized hall, but a dining room that could probably seat at least a dozen at a pinch, a large parlour, a small parlour and a room that might have been a study.” She led them into the latter. “There are even books left.
Cressida wrinkled her nose. “Oh, that smell is so familiar.”
“Mice?” Richard quirked an eyebrow. “We had plenty of those.”
“Mrreeeooow.” An indignant sound arose from the ink black creature who had followed them into the room.
Hecate nodded. “I agree, Bub darling. No mouse would dare to show his whiskers in your residence.” She leaned over and petted the large head. The cat gave her a contented murmur, as if to acknowledge her comment.
“You’re determined, then?” Richard gazed at his sister with affection. “I know, of old, that once you set your mind to something…there’s little use arguing.”
“Dear brother,” she grinned back. “Yes, you know me well. There is something about this house, some attraction I feel inside. It’s as if it awaited my arrival to come back to life. As soon as I saw it, I felt…well, I should sayitfelt like home.”
Cressida gave her an impulsive hug. “Then we are with you, my dear sister. If there’s anything we can do to help, you need only send a message.”
“And wait for a day or so, I should think,” added Richard with his newfound practicality. “The roads between here and Branscombe Magna are rough, to say the least. And these incessant rains and bad weather aren’t helping matters.”
Hecate nodded. “I do understand that. Neither of us will be able to walk over to the other’s house for tea. And although that sounds lovely, I know we all value our privacy. I’m near enough to be able to reach you somehow if there is trouble, Richard.”
“Yes, but will you?” He regarded her soberly. “Promise me, Hecate. If you run into anything of a dangerous or risky nature…you will ask for help? Just because you’ve attained your majority, doesn’t make you an instant expert in all things.”
“I shall make sure she remembers your words, Mr. Richard.”
A deep voice sounded behind them and they turned to see Dal, Hecate’s friend, companion and guardian standing by the door. He wore a dark robe, and the turban twined around his head was fastened with a simple amber pin. His features were carved planes in the amber hues of his face, and he’d been at Hecate’s side since her accident over a year ago.
Richard nodded. “Very good. If Dal says it will be so, I am content.”
Hecate rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Richard. What on earth can happen out here in this lovely quiet spot? I’m barely a mile from Little Beechwood, so I will be able to buy supplies and receive messages there. The Bell Inn is on the Royal Mail route, so I might even get the London papers, if I wish.”
“Er…probably a couple of weeks late,” offered Cressida.
Hecate turned her unusual teal blue gaze toward the other woman. “Does it really matter?”
“No, I suppose not,” sighed Cressida. “I have never been an ardent follower of London news, but it seems as if we’re disconnected to the important things if we don’t read about what’s happening now and again.”
“Don’t worry,” soothed Hecate, walking to the grubby window of the soon-to-be-her-study. “I’m sure village gossip will supply more than enough news for my tender ears.”
Richard joined her. “This is an amazing view, love,” he said, hugging her. “Edmund would wholeheartedly approve.”
Knowing her eldest brother’s affinity for the ocean, she nodded, and they both watched the stately passage of a large three-masted schooner as she scudded over the distant waves, sails billowing and wake gleaming white against the grey waves.
Then Richard shivered. “God, it’s cold. Not just here, but everywhere. The rain never lets up more than an hour or two. I hope spring is better, because I don’t envy you trying to organize any outside repairs in this weather.”
“I’m not worried, because I know I’ll be happy here,” said Hecate, her voice level. “I realise it will not all be smooth sailing. There will be challenges. Changes. I will have to adapt and adjust. But I will be happy, when all is said and done. This much I do know.”
Richard and Cressida glanced at each other. They recognised that tone of voice—it was the one they heard when Hecate was speaking of things that had yet to pass. She had gifts, some might say talents, which included seeing through the veils of time and stealing glimpses of the future.
