The Secret of Bell Cottage

Chapter Four - Gideon

Someone was breathing softly nearby. He kept his eyes closed, his body completely relaxed. After ten years as a soldier he knew better than to move until he had assessed the situation. He probed his other senses and learned he was warm and comfortable. He seemed to be laying on his back under clean sheets. The softness beneath him could only be a mattress.
Definitely not the hard, cold ground he'd been accustomed to in the war.

Other than the soft breaths, he could discern very little noise. No breeze. Only the distant, muted twitter of birds. So it appeared he was inside. But where, exactly, he struggled to recall. Momentarily confused, he sifted through his memories, trying to remember how he'd gotten here. His last memory was of stumbling into his grandfather's cottage and discovering an angel. A fearless angel with a wry wit which almost brought a smile to his lips. A board creaked and footsteps sounded somewhere in the distance, bringing him out of his short revelry.

The soft breathing drew closer and Gideon cracked his eyes open. The moment he did he had cause to regret it. The soft daylight pierced his skull like a knife. He instantly snapped his lids shut again and bit back a groan as he fought against the pain. He drew in a deep breath, inhaling the pleasant aroma of fresh air and clean sheets. He focused on that delightful scent. It was a trick he'd learned to cope with the pain of his injuries. The pounding in his skull thankfully dulled to a more manageable level after a few moments.

When he felt sufficient to face the light once more, he braced himself and cautiously slitted his eyelids open. This time the pain was negligible. After a few moments of acclimatizing himself to the light, he cautiously peered around.
It was daylight but he couldn't be certain of the time of day. He was lying in a soft bed, surrounded by warm sheets. The bed itself was big enough that his feet weren't dangling over the end. The wooden frame, from what he could discern without turning his head, was a dark, solid wood, sturdy and plain. The quilt he lay under was a uniform cream colour with no discernable pattern. Nothing seemed familiar.

His gaze slid to the side of the bed and he discovered a small child standing there. A girl. He was no expert on children but he would guess her to be about eight or nine. A dark-blond mop of hair partially hid her round face. The pinafore she wore was dirt smeared and the soft pink dress strained over her slight figure. Obviously it was old and too small for her growing frame. She stood so still, if it wasn't for her breathing he might have mistaken her for a statue. Her tiny fingers rested on the sheets near his hip and he noticed how clean her hands were, in contrast to her clothing.

She was studying his hand where it rested on the edge of the bed. He wondered what she could be focused on so intently until he remembered the Chesterton signet ring he always wore. He wondered if she intended to steal it or was merely fascinated by the shiny gold. She was so intently focused on the trinket, she didn't seem to realize she herself was being observed.

Gideon allowed his eyes to open fully as he studied the child. That little turned-up nose and those deep sky blue eyes seemed so familiar. He had the oddest feeling he should know her. Impossible, since he had left for the Continent before she could have been born. Perhaps he knew someone in her family, a parent or grandparent. That would be a reasonable explanation. Then a picture of his angel from last night floated into his mind's eye. Perhaps this was her daughter. The idea of his angel being married with a brood of young hanging off her skirts made his heart stutter.

Disappointment flooded his senses. At her age, marriage was a distinct possibility. He swallowed back his dismay at the idea. It really was none of his affair. He was merely a passer-by who infringed upon her hospitality for a while. She should mean nothing to him. Except as a trespasser on Chesterton property, he reminded himself. He needed to find out who she was and why she was here. Was she in league with Coombs and his schemes? There were so many questions he needed answers for, and the one uppermost in his mind at this moment, surprisingly, had nothing to do with her presence here. He desperately wanted to know if the woman was married.
He shook off his fascination with the woman and returned his attention to the child.