St. Simon's Sin: A Risqué Regency Romance (The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington Book 2)

by Sahara Kelly

  There were several horses and a wagon or two pulled up in front of the ancient farmhouse; a sprawling building with a thatched roof. It had obviously been added to over the years to house Old Sal and the large Brewster clan she’d founded so long ago.

  As soon as Simon tapped on the door, it opened to reveal a large hall and parlor, both full of people. Some sat, some stood, but all were somber and speaking in hushed tones.

  Tabby noted the respect with which Simon was greeted, and returned a few nods that came her way. Their coats were taken and they were led through the throng to the back of the parlor, where a door led to Old Sal’s bedroom. There was a solid flight of old stairs leading upward and worn by age and use, but Sal had clearly elected to remain downstairs. Probably as the years caught up with her and those steps became more difficult.

  She followed Simon into the room, where two women sat next to a large bed. Beneath the covers, barely making a small rise in the quilt, was Old Sal herself.

  “There y’are, then, Vicar. Now I can get goin’ on me way. Jes’ need yer blessin’, lad.” Her voice was rough but clear, even though Tabby could hear her struggling for each breath.

  “Sal, my dear.” Simon eased himself down on the bed as one of the women moved to one side and made room. “Your girls are here. Your family’s here.” He took her hand. “I think the Lord has blessed you already, many times over.”

  “He has, that.” The frail head nodded. “But I wants me prayer jes’ the same.”

  “Then you shall have it. Although I know the hopes of everyone here are for you to recover from this illness as you have done from others,” he answered quietly.

  She sighed. “Not this time, lad. Me body’s done wi’ it all. Not a drop o’life left. But I done me best.”

  “You did, Ma. You know you did, and so does the Lord.” One of the women choked up as she took Old Sal’s hand in hers. “Two daughters, five grandchildren, and twelve great-grandchildren. That’s doin’ yer best, and don’t say it ain’t.”

  Tabby listened from the end of the bed, astounded at the numbers, and touched by the devotion of these two women, Sal’s daughters, who were both on the wrong side of seventy, but not showing it in their words and actions.

  “’Tis as I said, Sal. Your life has been one of love and family and the Lord cherishes those who follow His wisdom in these matters.” Simon’s voice was gentle. “Love one another, He said. And you have raised your family to do just that.”

  “Aye.” She turned her head briefly and shot a look at one daughter. “Mebbe a bit too much at times.”

  “Ma…” The woman turned away on a groan.

  “Ah well. Water under the bridge, Pol.” Sal took pity on her. “You jes’ do right by that man o’ yourn. You hear me?”

  “Yes, Ma.”

  “Right then.” Sal shifted and looked up at Simon. “You bring ‘er?”

  “Tabby?” he asked. “Yes, I did. She’s here.”

  Upon hearing her name, Tabby walked up next to Simon. “I’m here, Sal. Sad to see you in this state, but I’m here.”

  “Plucky gal. Always were.” Sal managed a smile, revealing three front teeth, and a lot of gums. “Sit ‘ere, and shoo t’others out.” She nodded at the bed.

  “Ma…”

  “Do as I say now.”

  That was an order, realized Tabby. “May the Vicar stay?” She didn’t want to be left on her own with a dying woman. Not that the passing bothered her, but her lack of words suitable for such an occasion troubled her.

  “Oh all right. But over there.” She looked toward the fireplace. “Got summat fer yer ears only, see.”

  Simon rose and walked to the fireplace with a quick, curious glance at Tabby. She returned it with a slight shrug, and the bent close to Sal. Not too close, since the old lady’s breath was far from fresh, but near enough to hear her as she whispered.

  “Yer gonna need summat,” muttered Sal. “Summat precious.”

  Tabby frowned. “I am?”

  “Bit o’ help like, for when times are hard.” The breathing was erratic but the words were still clear.

  “Well, that is always a good idea…” Tabby was completely at sea.

  Sal took a harsh breath. “It’s where the light o’ the Lord hits the cross.” She coughed, her small frame shaking with the force, and making Tabby exclaim in worry.

  Simon hurried back. “I think it’s time for our prayer, Sal…”

  The old woman forced air back into her lungs with a rattling gasp, then nodded. “Now…” she whispered, holding out her hand.

  Simon took it, and Tabby moved away, unable to stay for the final moments. She hurried to the door and beckoned the two daughters back in to their mother’s bedside. They should be there, not her.

  As she departed, she caught Simon’s voice, full of emotion, as he began the simple prayer for those about to enter Heaven. “Almighty God, look upon this your servant…”

  Silence had fallen in the parlor, as if everyone there sensed that Old Sal’s time on earth was drawing to a close. Hands reached for hands and arms linked in comforting hugs as soft sobs swept out of Sal’s room, informing everyone that the old lady had gone to her reward.

  Simon appeared, sober and with eyes shining from unshed tears. “She’s passed into the hands of the Lord.”

  There was a gust of air as everyone took a breath at once, some to cry, others to offer condolences with arms wide. It truly was a family united at that moment by their personal sorrow.

  Tabby knew she had no part in it, so she quietly moved to the front door, hoping that Simon would follow soon after. It was not yet full dark, just that odd limpid twilight that lit the sky after sunset and allowed a few stars to herald the oncoming night. She walked to the gig and stood at the horse’s head, stroking it absently as she pondered the meaning of what she’d just experienced.

  Death was no stranger. She’d attended deathbeds, and seen violence a-plenty in her travels. Some had been friends, others had affected her deeply, but none had been more poignant than this gentle passage of an old and simple country woman from this life to the next.

  Why, then, were there tears on her cheeks? She had no idea.

  *~~*~~*

  It was a full twenty minutes at least before Simon could leave. He had honored a request to pray with all of them without hesitation, and had spoken briefly about Old Sal and her amazing life to those who knew it but needed to hear it all the same. He’d been touched on the shoulder by one of Sal’s sons-in-law, and had a short conversation about a service prior to her interment at St. Simon’s. It was what she wanted, he said. And she was going to have what she wanted.

  Simon had readily agreed, promising to meet with the family within a day or so to finalize the details. After refusing the offer of some elderberry wine and a rather tasty looking apple tart, he courteously bade farewell to the mourning family and took his leave.

  Finding Tabby with her head resting against the horse’s neck…well, it was a bit unexpected.

  “Are you all right?” He went to her, surprised by the evidence of tears on her face.

  She nodded. “Yes, of course. Old Sal was a wonderful lady, and she had well over ninety years here in Ridlington Vale. Her passing is not unexpected.”

  “And yet you cry.” He touched the softness of her cheek, curious to see if she would pull away.

  For a brief second, she stilled, then as his fingertip moved on her skin, she stepped to one side. “We should go.”

  “Yes.” He let the moment pass. If she felt like sharing her emotions with him, she would. If not…well, that was Tabby. Private to the last.

  He helped her into the gig and took his seat next to her, clicking up the horse as she pulled her shawl close around her shoulders.

  “A warm and supportive family,” he said by way of conversation. “They will feel Sal’s loss, but go on about their lives anyway.”

  Tabby nodded. “That’s as it should be.”

  The horse plodded
back toward the Chase, its occupants silent for several minutes. Finally, Simon could stand it no more.

  “What did she want, Tabby? What did Old Sal need to tell you before she died?”

  Tabby turned to look at him. “I wish I knew. I wish I understood what she said.” There was a note of vexation in her voice.

  “I don’t understand,” frowned Simon.

  “Neither do…”

  Before she could finish, a noisy rattling in the bushes distracted her. It erupted into a rabbit barreling across the lane at full speed, squealing its outrage, followed by the flash of a fox in hot pursuit.

  The horse took exception to this violent intrusion into his quiet stroll, and showed it by rearing, unbalancing the gig and throwing Tabby to the ground.

  She landed with a muted cry—which was followed by silence.

  That silence, thought Simon as he fought to calm the horse and hold his seat while he did so, was the most terrible thing of all, and chilled him to the marrow. As soon as he could, he jumped from his seat.

  “Tabby,” he fell to his knees beside her. “Tabby. Are you all right?” He touched her neck, feeling her pulse throbbing. And he took his first breath since she’d fallen. “Thank God. You’re alive.”

  “Of course I’m alive,” she groaned, moving a little. “Just stunned.”

  “You scared the daylights out of me…” he began.

  “Oh God.” She gasped out the words. “Simon.”

  “What?”

  “I’m really angry with myself. I think I may have broken my arm.”

  “Don’t move.” He leaned over her. “I’m going to support your back from this side. It’s the other one, is it?” He saw her hand cradling her left forearm.

  “Yes,” she bit out the word. “Damn. It hurts like the devil.”

  Gently Simon eased her up into a seating position. “All right so far?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. I’m going to pick you up and get you into the gig. Don’t argue with me, just let me do it. It will be easier for us both that way.”

  He knew she’d already opened her mouth to protest, but was glad to see she shut it again at his words. For once, she was being sensible. She must really be in pain.

  That wry thought crossed his mind as he hoisted her into his arms, finding her weight no burden and her body warm against his.

  If she hadn’t been quite pale, he might have held her there, just for the pleasure of it, but she was in pain and this was the time for action, not delay. “Dr. Parker’s house is on the way back. We’ll go straight there.” He settled her into the seat.

  “Oh but…”

  “Don’t even bother to finish that sentence. If your arm is broken it needs to be set immediately. A doctor can do that. It is not too late at night to knock at his door, and with luck we’ll catch him at home. You know I’m right.” He clicked the horse into a trot.

  “Devil take it, Simon,” she groaned. “Very well.”

  She must really be in pain.

  Chapter Six

  “Is it a bad break?”

  Tabby knew her voice was a little shaky as she asked the question of the kind man gently cutting her sleeve away from her injured arm. She wasn’t in as much pain as she thought she should have been, but she certainly felt his moves, careful though they were.

  “I have yet to determine that, my dear.” He bent to his work.

  “You’re brave.” Simon was at her side, his arm around her shoulders, and his hand clasping her uninjured one.

  “Not really.” She gave a weak laugh. “It’s all a façade.”

  “Ah.” The fabric fell away to reveal an arm that looked swollen but not otherwise damaged. “I think we’re lucky, young lady.” Dr. Parker smiled briefly. “Just one bone I think…hold on, this may hurt a little…”

  His hands ran over her forearm, pressing, touching, and her breath caught as a bolt of pain tore up her arm to her shoulders.

  Simon held her closer, obviously sensing the shudder.

  “Yes, you are lucky. I think we can easily set this. A clean snap, as near as I can tell.” Dr. Parker placed cool fingers around her wrist and his other hand held her elbow. “One more moment…”

  “Aaaarghh…” she screamed, a cry of exquisite and total agony, followed by a sobbing gasp as the pain receded.

  “All done.”

  “She’ll be all right?” Simon was white as a sheet.

  “She’ll be fine. I’m going to put a small splint on this now, and ask that you, Tabitha, make sure to keep this well wrapped and in a sling for at least a week or so. You’re young and healthy, and your bones should knit quite quickly if you are sensible about caring for this injury.” He took a small smooth piece of wood from his table and placed it over the break, wrapping it with a soft bandage. “It will loosen as the swelling goes down, and it will need re-wrapping. So…” he glanced at Simon, “I’m giving you, Vicar, these instructions to pass along to whoever will tend her.” With an experienced hand, he fashioned a triangular piece of linen into a sling, placing the wrapped arm carefully within it and tucking the corner around her elbow.

  “I understand.” Simon nodded.

  “Now make sure she has one of these before sleeping.” He put several twists of paper into a small pouch and handed it to Simon. “It’s to help with the pain. Keep her arm as still as possible, perhaps on a cushion, and let her rest. The first couple of days will be difficult, but after that, I think she’ll be fine as a fiddle.”

  “I appreciate this, Doctor, thank you.” Simon pocketed the powders and looked at Tabby. “How are you feeling? Can you make it to the gig or should I carry you?”

  “Don’t be silly.” She stood—and staggered.

  “Well that answers that question.” He scooped her up in his arms, ignoring her muttered protests. “Will you stop by and check on her, Doctor?”

  “Definitely. And if you’re at all concerned, Vicar, feel free to let me know and I’ll be there as soon as possible.” There was a quiet smile on the older man’s face.

  Tabby shifted, aware that she was in Simon’s arms and the Doctor seemed to view that as quite natural rather than shocking. It had been many years since Dr. Parker had tended to her, but apparently he and Simon were well known to each other. “I will let you know what arrangements are made, Doctor Parker. Thank you.” She attempted a smile, embarrassed at her current position high against Simon’s chest.

  “You’re a good girl, Tabitha. Always had a stiff upper lip, as I recall. Don’t be afraid to take those powders, now, you hear me? No need to be uncomfortable if you don’t have to.”

  “I will.”

  “Excellent.” He opened the door for Simon, making sure they got through with no further injuries. “And please be gentle with that arm for a few days at least. No going without the sling.”

  Simon agreed. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  Dr. Parker bit his lip, then grinned, “I’m sure you will, lad. I’m sure you will.”

  With that, he closed the door and Simon easily carried Tabby to the gig where he lifted her into the seat as if she was made of fine bone china.

  “Oh for heaven’s sake…” she fidgeted as he tried to set her down. “Just put me down, Simon. I’m quite well as long as I don’t bump this silly arm.” She glimpsed the frown that snapped his eyebrows together in the dim light. “And don’t look at me like that. Just get us back to the Rectory and everything will be all right.”

  He rounded the gig, untied the reins and vaulted into the driver’s seat without a word. Clicking up the horse and setting them onto the lane that led to St. Simon’s, he finally glanced at her. “You’re going to be quite all right then, are you? On your own in the cottage with only one arm.”

  She stared ahead. “Of course.”

  “I see.”

  “What does that mean?” She turned to look at him, just waiting for him to try and persuade her to go to the Chase instead so that they could look after her. To her surpri
se, he didn’t.

  “Nothing.”

  “If it meant nothing, you wouldn’t have said it.”

  “Yes, I would.” He paused. “I mean no, of course I wouldn’t. Wait.”

  She managed to bite back a gurgle of amusement. Her arm was hurting badly, but watching Simon tangle himself up in his words was a very good, if temporary, pain reliever.

  “You know, I’m not even going to continue this ridiculous conversation. And it’s probably a good thing, since I can see the church steeple. We’ll be home in five minutes or so.”

  He kept his word, remaining silent for the short journey to their respective lodgings. It was probably more like fifteen minutes, but to Tabby, who was starting to feel aches over more than just her arm, it seemed an hour.

  Pulling up at the door to the Rectory, Simon brought the gig to a halt. “I’ll tie the horse here, see you settled and then take care of it. Does that meet with your approval, Lady Ellsmere?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Simon. Must you?”

  “Yes.”

  He came around to her seat and she slipped easily into his arms. Too easily.

  Then she frowned as he walked up the path to the door of the Rectory. “Er, Simon…”

  “Be quiet.”

  “Wait…”

  “No.” His voice was firm, his grip like steel, and he maneuvered the door open with surprising ease.

  “What…”

  “I said be quiet.” He carried her to the kitchen and put her down on a chair next to the table. “You need a cup of tea and something to eat before taking those powders. You can’t possibly boil a kettle of water with only one arm. You will sit there, quietly, while I take care of the horse. I will return and make us both something to eat and that cup of tea.”

  She opened her mouth to respond.

  “Don’t bother arguing. My mind is made up. So be a good girl and do as you’re told for once.” He spun on his heel and stalked out, leaving her with her mouth agape, staring after him in surprise.

  Well, I’ll be damned.

  *~~*~~*

  Simon clamped his jaw shut, fighting the anger that welled within him. He knew it was a result of the terror he’d experienced at the sound of Tabby hitting the ground. That was a moment that would haunt him for the rest of his days. So he was in no mood to play the gentle attendant role. She was going to do as she was told for once, because he’d be damned if he risked any further injuries to her.