She had a walnut desk moved in and a pretty, fuchsia-and-white striped sofa that she found in one of the bedchambers. She spent her evenings there embroidering chair covers. As she stitched, she tried not to think of Owltree Cottage in its ramshackle state, empty and sad. Once Crowthorne was gone, she would have to return there and somehow find the money to restore it.
Quinn came in with a bucket full of logs. He lit the fire every morning, and she always took her morning tea there while she made her plans for the day.
“We need more servants, Quinn,” she said, as he poked at the fire. “Shall we need to go to Dublin?”
Quinn stood as the flames caught. His eyes brightened. “There are some in need of gainful employment in the village. I can think of two who might suit.”
She smiled. “We’ll need more workers for the estate, and Cook requires scullery and kitchen maids. I would prefer to employ more experienced housemaids and a housekeeper with excellent references. A footman, too, to run errands for you and serve the meals.”
“Then it’s Dublin you’ll be wanting. There’s an employment agency in the town.”
“Gaffney can drive Sarah and me in the landau.”
“As you wish, milady.”
“What I really wish for today is a trip to the attic.”
He raised his brow. “I am thinking that’s not a good idea, milady.”
She frowned in disappointment. “Why? It’s not safe?”
“The timbers are sound enough, but ’twill be cloaked in a good layer of dirt and dust, and mice, to be sure.”
She laughed. “Is that all? Please tell Brigit to bring me one of her aprons.”
Quinn gawped.
Althea put her hands on her hips. “I am a farmer’s daughter. I am not afraid of dirt, hard work, or mice.”
A smile split Quinn’s face. “Then I’ll be showing you the way, milady.”
Althea followed the little man up four flights of stairs and through a tiny, double-locked door to an enormous area under the roof, where centuries of dirt and dust tickled her nose.
“Careful where you walk, milady,” Quinn said. “The floor might be weak in some places.”
The huge space was crammed with furniture, discarded bric-a-brac, broken crockery, and chests of old clothes. Quinn’s lantern illuminated several items Althea considered valuable. “It’s like a treasure trove,” she said, stepping cautiously over the floor. She opened a box, to find a beautiful fringed shawl in excellent condition. Perfect to throw over a chair to hide a stain.
Quinn rubbed his hand over his chin with a disbelieving look. “A treasure trove, milady?”
“Once the dust is removed and they’re polished, some of these pieces will be beautiful, Quinn.” Althea crouched down to examine a carpet of exquisite quality in soft blue and green hues. She thought it to be French. “We’ll need to unroll this, but most of it looks to be in surprisingly good condition.” She moved on to a card table with delicate legs from the previous century, the green baize top unsullied by moths. Rolls of beautiful fabric filled a box, perfect to swathe at the drawing room windows.
“To begin with, have O’Mainnin bring those downstairs.” She pointed to several pieces of furniture while wiping away a cobweb clinging to her hair.
Althea dusted her hands and followed Quinn down filled with a sense of energy she doubted she’d ever before experienced.
