No better place to start than a tour...
Once she had got a sense of the old house, seen what she had to work with, then she would set her own domain to rights, find out what precisely her predecessors had done with their time and make a plan.
Anything can be righted with a proper plan.
‘Apologies for my tardiness,’ Rebecca said hours later, returning to the servants’ hall.
She was greeted by a mass of disgruntled hungry faces.Drat.Starving them was probably not the best way to curry favour, but her tour of the house had been, in short, a trial. Making a plan had not been so easy after all.
‘Time ran away with me, I fear. Apologies, Mrs Murray,’ she added, noting the cook’s less than discreet tutting. ‘I hope whatever delectable meal you have concocted hasn’t suffered with my delay.’
‘’Tis mutton stew tonight,’ she grumbled, signalling Betsy to fetch the pot. ‘So I think it will have survived well enough.’
‘Well, it smells delicious. Please, everyone, sit,’ she instructed, taking her own place at the head of the table opposite Mr Brown. ‘I, for one, am famished.’
The others complied as Mrs Murray and Betsy served and then sat themselves. Rebecca smiled, appreciating the fact that they all joined together at mealtimes. Considering their diminished numbers, and the irregularity of their situation, it was entirely justified.
‘An instructive tour, Mrs Hardwicke?’ Mr Brown asked as everyone tucked into their meal.
‘Instructiveis certainly one word for it, Mr Brown.’
Rebecca could think of many others. Disheartening, distressing, angering...a call to arms. She’d sat for an hour on a window seat in the first floor’s long gallery, the family portrait gallery, digesting the sorry sights she’d witnessed whilst staring out at Thornhallow’s stunning park. In turn, the proud ancestors on the walls had gazed down at her, seemingly sneering at this new arrival who was only just beginning to realise what sort of place Thornhallow truly was.
The four rooms which had been kept open were impeccable, and felt lived-in. The rooms were, as instructed, ready for the master’s seemingly impossible yet forever imminent arrival. Fires roared, crystal and silver sparkled, and there was not a speck of dust to be found—even the inkwell on the Earl’s desk was full and fresh.
It had only been when Rebecca had begun to explore the rest of the house that she’d seen the full extent of its abandonment. In all the rooms, the only life she’d found had been in the conservatory, Mrs Murray having taken the liberty of installing her winter garden there.
The house was, simply put, unfit for habitation. Held in a general state of decrepit splendour. Lost in time. Forlorn and falling into ruin. And there was nothing she was to do about it. It wasn’t right. That was what she’d sensed wasn’t right with the house. Keeping only some rooms ready and closing the rest was not unheard of. But this...
If she ever met the Disappeared Earl she would certainly have some choice words for him.
The staff all knew it; that much was clear. Being forced to live in a place half-alive, dragging itself onwards, and pretending all was well with the world...no wonder they were all so disaffected. Between the oppressive atmosphere that permeated everything and the ghost stories, it was hardly surprising there had been such a succession of housekeepers.
Not that Rebecca had met any ghosts today, not even near that one place...
Rebecca shook her head and focused on her renewed sense of purpose. ‘I have come to a decision. This house has been left to its own devices long enough. Should it be left so further, it will cease to exist entirely.’
Cutlery clattered against the plates and the table, and audible gasps were heard as all faces again turned towards her, aghast. Rebecca sat there, unaffected, quietly tucking into Mrs Murray’s delectable stew with a slice of warm brown bread.
‘Do you mean to say you intend to...to...?’
‘To restore every single room in Thornhallow? Yes, Tim,’ she said, before the groom could injure himself in seeking his words.
‘Mrs Hardwicke,’ Mr Brown said sharply, with a look that had undoubtedly sent many a man running in terror. ‘Perhaps the instructions you received from Mr Leonards were unclear or have led to confusion. The house is to be kept as it is.’
‘The instructions were clear. But I am choosing not to follow them.’
‘Disobey the master?’ Mrs Murray gasped. ‘Well, I never...’
‘If His Lordship ever decides to grace Thornhallow with his presence, then I shall be happy to discuss this with him, Mrs Murray. Until that day, however, I refuse to sit idly by and watch this house crumble.’
‘Mrs Hardwicke, you have been in this house for less than a day,’ Mr Brown said, in an attempt at a conciliatory tone. ‘I am not sure you quite understand—’
‘It has been ten years, Mr Brown,’ she retorted, feeling her ire rising. She set down her cutlery and faced them. ‘If we do not do something now, there will be nothing for the master to find, should he ever deign to return. I am a housekeeper, and that is what I intend to do. You have all served with loyalty. I will not ask you to disobey. I shall see to the task myself, though I will require assistance when it comes to changing mattresses and such. There is also a leak above the second-floor gallery, and I imagine further repairs with which I will require help. Other than that, I will ask nothing of you. I, alone, will suffer any consequences.’
They all stared at her, mouths gaping, half in admiration, half in dismay. It seemed to Rebecca that even though they were appalled at the idea of disobeying, in some measure they also knew she was right. Most of them, at least. Mr Brown appeared only murderous as he fixed her with his cold grey stare.
‘You are set upon this course of action, Mrs Hardwicke,’ he declared more than asked. ‘So be it. But tread carefully. There are some things that should not be disturbed.’
