“Ye should. It was a good plan.”
“It actually was. Much more well considered than most of Dav’s.”
“Thank ye.”
“We should discuss this further, but I find myself famished. And Godfrey’s probably prepared to turn in his notice again by now.”
“Cannae say I blame him,” she retorted, rising from the pallet and padding toward the kitchen, leaving me to retrieve Godfrey from the jaws of Fenella.
Lock arrived just after breakfast—amore successful endeavor on my behalf than supper had been—with a gentleman.
The ruddy cheeked man was a master builder. Burly, with hair the color of mahogany and dull grey eyes, he lifted one peppered brow at the sight of the place.
Silently, he stalked through the first floor of the house, making notations in a ledger here and there. I was left to trail after him, sharing befuddled looks with Godfrey as we struggled to read his countenance.
Eventually, he crept up the stairs, studying each one closely before placing weight on it and stepping over others entirely. I followed his path with careful consideration, praying they would hold my weight. When we reached the landing, I was left to follow him aimlessly from room to room. Six bedrooms, two with separate sitting areas for the lord and lady, lined the hall. Each oaken door was carved in a simple but elegant design of vines—those seemed to have held up well, though they were overtaken by cobwebs.
The furnishings had fared worse. At some point, the roof had clearly leaked in several places overtop beds and carpeting, leaving the scent of mildew caked into the very plaster. Sounds of skittering followed from room to room and I struggled not to give the sound consideration.
Paint and wallpaper peeled and chipped in equal measure in every room we ventured into. Most of the windowpanes, too, were cracked, some of them completely overcome by long-dead vines outside. Floorboards creaked ominously with every step, protesting the weight after so many years of disuse.
I followed the man as he carefully measured his steps down the servants’ staircase and into their quarters. Those rooms were slightly better, having no visible water damage, though much of the bedding was ravaged by insects and time.
When we finally circled back to the kitchen, Lock, Sorcha, and Godfrey all perked up with interest.
“Not good,” the builder muttered.
I bit back anobviouslyand instead asked, “But it can be fixed? Right?”
“I dinnae have the time.”
“But you know someone who does?” My hands danced as I filled in his sentence.
“No.”
“But you can make time for the right price?” I wasn’t delusional, I knew the house wouldn’t be fixed quickly or affordably, but not at all? It was unfathomable. If there was one thing in the world I knew, it was that everyone had a price. Everyone.
“No.”
“But—”
“No, lad.”
Panic began to rise in my chest, settling there, tightening, shoving out everything, until nothing was left but terror. I could feel my gestures tightening, shifting from smooth flowing motions to harsh jerking ones.
“What do you propose I do then?”
“Move.”
“Move?”
“Aye, move.”
“I cannot— That is not— I’m not moving.”
“Didnae say ye have to. Just said that ye should.”
“Why can you not help?”
