*~~*~~*
Finn drifted off to sleep right in front of Hecate’s eyes, and she smiled as she saw his lids droop and his breathing slow to a regular rhythm. This was exactly what he needed—a relaxed period of rest. It would let his body recover and, with luck, clear his mind as well.
She walked quietly away, hearing a slight thud as Bub jumped from the bed and joined her. Together they left their guest to his nap, and Hecate smiled at the cat as they shut the bedroom door behind them. “He’ll do for now, Bub. I doubt we’ll need to be at his side every minute anymore. Dal will be pleased.”
Bub lifted his head and glanced at her, giving her his unspoken agreement.
It was astounding how quickly she and Bub had developed a strange and silent rapport, but for Hecate, it had been one of the most important features of her own recovery. Having this small but independent creature claim her as his own…well, it reminded her to think of him, and others, rather than drifting away and inward, as she had been prone to do.
A glance from one to the other, and opinions were exchanged in a pleasant non-verbal manner. Whether all cats behaved thus, Hecate wasn’t sure. But she and Bub certainly understood each other very well.
Now she had yet another person to think of, and she walked downstairs to the kitchens to see Mrs. Trimmer, since they would need to talk about a menu of nourishing foods.
Lured by the scent of fresh bread, Hecate found her cook frowning into the pantry.
“Don’t tell me Bub’s been at the cheese again?”
The cat shot an indignant look at his mistress, as if to say “you’re holding that one moment of weakness against me, aren’t you?”
“No, Miss Hecate. I’m jes’ worryin’, is all.”
“About what?” Hecate moved to her side and peered into the cool darkness.
“I think we’re runnin’ low on flour. An’ there’s none at market fer now…”
Hecate frowned. “Yes, that could be a problem. There will be hardly any harvest, I’m afraid.” She stepped inside the tiled pantry, moved some things around and peered into the darkest corner. “There are still several sacks tucked behind these baskets, though.”
“Ah,” Mrs. Trimmer sighed in relief. “I knows I should’ve gone in an’ rummaged, but me back’s a wee bit sore this mornin’.”
“Well for Heaven’s sake, why didn’t you tell me?” Hecate turned back to Mrs. Trimmer. “I’ll make you some tea. It’ll set you right up, and then you can rest a bit.”
“Oh no, Ma’am. I got ter finish up ‘ere. There’s scones ter be baked, an’ the meat pie’s got ter go into t’oven fer yer lunch…”
Hecate held up her hand. “I’ll hear none of that, if you please. Now sit.” She pointed firmly at a chair by the fire. “Come along. Sit now.”
Mumbling, the cook obeyed.
Hecate set the kettle back over the fire and busied herself with cups. “I’ll make us both a cup, I think.” She retreated back into the pantry, coming out with honey in her hand. “Thank goodness the bees were generous last season.”
“Aye,” nodded the other woman. “That clover honey’s t’best I’ve ‘ad in years.”
Hecate added some herbs to a bowl and stirred. “I think I’m going to make some soup today, Mrs. Trimmer. If you won’t go and take a nap, which I strongly advise you to do, then will you stay and direct me? It would do me good to experiment with a dish or two. One never knows when one will need to fend for oneself.”
Staring at her mistress with a certain amount of disbelief, the older woman nodded. “I’ll be ‘appy ter ‘elp, Miss Hecate. But honest, I don’t see yerself ever ‘avin’ ter work in a kitchen…”
“Who knows what our future holds?” She wrapped a cloth around the handle of the kettle and lifted it from the fire, pouring the boiling water carefully into the pot.
“Why, yerself, Ma’am,” answered Mrs. Trimmer with confidence.
Hecate blinked. “Er…not as accurately as I’d like.” She put out the cups and the honey. “But I can predict that by the end of today, there will be a delicious soup smell throughout the house.”
“Mayhap our lad upstairs might want some?” Mrs. Trimmer raised an eyebrow. “Comin’ round a bit, then, is he?”
Hecate nodded. “It looks as though he is well on the road to recovery, yes.”
“Ah,” said Mrs. Trimmer. “That’s a good thing. Get him back on ‘is feet and on ‘is way.”
Oddly, that thought did not bring Hecate any pleasure. But she kept her countenance. “We’ll see.”
