Chapter 5
B y the time the architect arrived weeks later, Alfie had all but forgotten Dominick’s preposterous idea.
If pressed, he could concede that Gil might be right about the need to hire more servants, but fortunately Gil was still putting together his highly specific requirements as to who might be hired locally based not only on ability, but on with which families could be trusted to work together and weren’t locked in a bitter war because of a dispute between great-great-great-great grandfathers about the ownership of a pig during the reign of Charles II. So far, a single maid had been added to the household, which had only caused Mrs. Finley to assert that more were absolutely essential.
Fortunately, the two men who’d driven the coach up from London were settling in nicely. Martin, the younger of the two, wouldn’t have been hired by any noble home in London as a footman, falling far short of the ton’s aesthetic requirements for the role. He wasn’t anywhere near the standard six feet tall and his clothes probably looked neater hung on their hooks than from his skinny shoulders, but he was energetic and happy to go to and fro on whatever task Mr. Howe assigned.
The older man had stayed with the horses, keeping his role as driver and allowing Graham to focus fully on his role as stablemaster. The two had taken to each other like long-lost brothers. When it came to talking about horseflesh Frank had no trouble understanding Graham’s impenetrable brogue, nor Graham any trouble with Frank’s London vowels.
Alfie was still a little unsure about the wisdom of hiring the Londoners—they’d been a little too keen to leave the city when offered the chance—but he could at least be glad they were settling in. Indeed, the other day, he’d seen one of the barn cats contentedly curled up on Frank’s lap as he worked on a piece of tack. He’d taken that as a good sign, trusting that a cat’s assessment of a man was likely better than his own.
He also trusted Gil’s assessment of the number of servants eventually needed to run a home of this size, the country baron’s nephew having a far better idea of the needs of manor houses. He could even agree that the garden was an absolute jungle, and if it could be set to rights while also putting some wages into local pockets, then all the better.
But really, Dominick? A folly?
He looked over at the absurd man in question. Dominick had gone out either riding or walking every morning of the last few weeks and positively radiated happiness. Despite it still being a good idea to be seen spending time apart, Alfie joined him for many of his walks, although he was sometimes forced to turn back earlier than anticipated if his leg was bothering him. Sometimes Dominick returned with him, other times Alfie would wave him on. It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t be seeing plenty of him later.
Dominick was thumbing through a book containing prints of castles and other fortifications they’d found in the library.
“We should get one of those,” he said, pointing at the page.
Alfie rolled his eyes. “Nick, a folly is a piece of small, ornamental masonry meant to compliment a view. That is Stirling Castle.”
Dominick squinted at the picture again. “I think it’d fit.”
Before Alfie could get into the many ways that no, Stirling Castle wasn’t going to fit on their tiny crag, there was a knock at the drawing room door.
“Enter.”
The door opened to reveal young Martin, flanked by a man and woman of middle years.
“Your Lordship. Mr. Trent.” Martin said, executing a better bow than any Jarrett had attempted in his time as footman. “This is Captain Clyde McConnell, the architect, and his wife.”
Alfie rose from his chair. “A pleasure to meet you both. Please, do sit down. Martin, some refreshments for our guests.”
“That’s very kind. Thank you, my lord,” said Captain McConnell. He had a plain, straightforward Scottish accent, neither too city nor too country, which suited the rest of his features.
His dark hair was greying, but only at the temples, where a pencil tucked behind his ear marked him as one of his profession. He was a larger man, but not too large, with a body that looked neither to run too much to fat nor to muscle. His suit was well-cut, but not too well-cut, and of a brown wool that was neither in nor out of fashion. Neither too old nor too young, too prosperous nor too poor, too fit nor too fat, he was so impressive a specimen of mediocrity that Alfie suspected it had to be intentional.
The only thing noteworthy about him at all was the large case he carried, nearly two feet high and three long, that he placed beside the settee with obvious care.
“Thank you also for seeing me, sir. And you as well, sir,” McConnell said, shaking both Alfie and Dominick’s offered hands in turn. “It’s quite an honour that you would consider McConnell & Co. for such a prestigious undertaking. May I introduce you to my lovely wife, Mrs. Olive McConnell.”
Mrs. McConnell’s attempt at mediocrity was less successful than her husband’s. Her hair fit the part, neither too blonde nor too brown and tied back in a bun that was neither too severe nor too loose. Her poplin dress, neither too old nor too new, was equally unremarkable, and of a colour that Alfie forgot the moment he looked away.
But she was a striking woman, with brown eyes that glittered with a fierce intellect that was impossible to disguise. She was petite, barely reaching her husband’s shoulder in height, but Alfie would be the last to label her as fragile, as she carried a case the same size as her husband’s in one hand and a pair of long leather tubes tucked under her other arm, tightly sealed to protect the rolled papers within from the elements.
“I appreciate you coming out to meet us,” said Alfie as they all took their seats. “This is my cousin, Mr. Dominick Trent. This project is his idea, but I back it wholeheartedly. I take it my man of business sent you a rough idea of what we were looking for?”
“Wholeheartedly” might have been a bit strong, but it was worth it for the smile Dominick flashed him.
Captain McConnell nodded. “Yes, I have Mr. Charleton’s letter here. Olive, dear, would you—” but Mrs. McConnell had already retrieved the letter from her case and was passing it over.
“I’ve actually met Mr. Charleton briefly,” said Mrs. McConnell, her accent marking her as an Englishwoman.
“Baron Charleton hired my husband’s firm to redesign their rose gardens at his wife’s insistence some years back. It was very kind of Mr. Charleton to think so highly of Clyde’s work as to recommend us to you after all this time.”
“As you see, my wife likes to accompany me on longer projects,” said the captain fondly. “And she makes a most excellent secretary.”
Mrs. McConnell shook her head. “Clyde exaggerates my abilities.”
Alfie doubted that very much.
The fact she remembered Gil after all these years was hardly surprising as he was a very handsome man. But it was also slightly worrying—as he was a very handsome man. Surely, Gil wouldn’t have used all this as an excuse to bring back his married paramour? Alfie hated to think it, but he did know the man’s reputation with women.
Especially since Gil would likely remember an English woman. There were few enough of them in Scotland and those mostly either in the cities or ensconced at various house parties. Alfie couldn’t quite place where in England her accent set her from, but he’d only seen a fraction of the country, which was itself a bare sliver of the world. She could have been from just a few miles outside London for all he knew.
“ Captain , I believe?” asked Alfie. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dominick doing his best not to huff. Yes, he’d rather get down to business as well, but there was an etiquette to these things. “You’re a military man?”
“Formerly, yes. Of the Corps of Royal Engineers. That’s where I had my training. Mostly surveying work, although I can claim the Georges Head Battery as one of mine. My wife has illustrations of some of the bridges I designed from that time as well. I’m afraid they’re rather far away to inspect in person. I was attached to the New South Wales Corps for many years, so much of my work is in Australia.
“When we were recalled in 1810 following that unpleasantness with the rebellion, I decided to make a clean break of it and began my own firm focused purely on the ornamental. I hadn’t seen a proper garden in all my time away. Now, it seems that’s all I want to do. So, if you’re expecting to be able to repel invaders with the folly, I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
Australia. Alfie vaguely remembered hearing his father talk about some rebellion there a decade or so back. The place was so remote he might as well have been discussing a war on the moon. So remote, in fact, that even his adoptive parents, known for their travels, had never set foot there and Alfie wasn’t sure he’d even met anyone who had.
Dominick might though. Those poor wretched souls who made their way back from penal transportation for their crimes were more likely to end up in Spitalfields than Mayfair, after all.
Not that either of the McConnells seemed like wretched souls. Instead, they seemed quite genial and positively devoted to one another. When Janie came in with tea, Captain McConnell poured his wife’s cup before his own. Alfie usually did that for Dominick too, but only when they were alone. Now they each had to fend for themselves.
“Shall we discuss the gardens first, or the folly?” asked Captain McConnell.
“Let’s work from the ground up,” replied Alfie.
The captain nodded. “An excellent place to start.”
They waited while Mrs. McConnell opened one of the tubes and removed a thick roll of papers. Dominick lifted the serving tray and set it on the floor, clearing the low table between the McConnells’ settee and his and Alfie’s chairs.
“Mr. Charleton sent along a most detailed description of what I might be facing,” said the captain. “But I’ll need to get a look myself before making any final plans for the garden. I hear it’s been neglected for quite some time. Are you more inclined towards the picturesque or gardenesque style?”
Alfie was inclined to let the bloody plants do whatever they wanted and leave him out of it, but apparently that wasn’t an option. “I’m afraid that's not an area in which I have enough expertise to judge. You’ll have to decide for yourselves.”
He waved a hand towards the gardens in question. They were sat in the drawing room, and with the curtains open wide to let in the light, the gardens were only footsteps away. Several large windows ran along the wall, ending in a set of French windows that opened out onto the overgrown mess. If the McConnells wished, they could be in the thicket in moments and see what kind of “esque” it struck them as.
“Very wise indeed, sir. Since your home does have such lovely views of the sea, my inclination is towards picturesque.”
As the drawing room was attached to an odd angle of the manor that faced more of the woods that ran up to the chapel than it did the sea, it was clear the McConnells had done their research before meeting. Alfie wasn’t sure which idea was more amusing: them skulking around before the appointed meeting hour, taking measurements and hoping they weren’t spotted, or Gil sending them detailed sketches, no doubt accurate down to the inch.
“Although many chose to combine the styles,” added Mrs. McConnell.
“True, true,” her husband replied. “Now that I think of it, a small gardenesque pleasure garden with terracing directly behind the home, then picturesque beyond. Something like this.”
He took a clean sheet of paper from his wife’s already-outstretched hand and drew the pencil from behind his ear. After a few minutes of furious scribbling, he handed the paper over to Alfie for examination. Seeing Dominick leaning over on the arm of his chair, Alfie tilted the drawing so he could have a better view. He couldn’t make much of it himself, lots of circles and intersecting straight lines, but he hummed approvingly.
“Naturally, we’d be able to provide you with a more accurate plan after measuring the existing gardens ourselves,” added Mrs. McConnell, which answered that question.
“Naturally,” said Alfie.
The next few minutes were filled by an interrogation of botanical preferences neither Alfie nor Dominick had any idea how to answer. That didn’t seem to frustrate the McConnells, however. While outwardly, Captain McConnell didn’t act overly eager to have free reign over such a prestigious project as the complete redesign of a peer’s acreage, Mrs. McConnell was perched on the edge of her seat, furiously scribbling down what few answers they had and adding quite a bit more besides.
“Of course, we will be submitting the final plans for all of this for your authorization and correction before we begin,” said Captain McConnell when his wife stopped to get a new pencil, having worn hers dull. “Shall we move on to the star of the piece?”
With that, he unlatched his case. A single rectangular object wrapped in muslin filled the interior from corner to corner. Pulling the cloth back with a flourish, Captain McConnell revealed a painting of a tower on a hill.
But not just any tower, a ruined one. A folly.
All that stood was a single turret, crenelated at the top as if it had once been the corner of a mighty castle dating back to the age of legend, still capable of defending archers in battle or, more likely, saving drunken visitors from falling off the top while admiring the view. There were slits for more archers or sightseers along the tower itself, one large vertical slit near the base for those afraid of heights, followed by a higher one with an additional horizontal slit for whatever crossbow work might need to be done against rampaging sheep, and a final star-shaped opening than had no clear purpose other than decoration.
Jutting out from the tower’s base like wings were two ruined sections of walls, one with an arched gap for a window, the other with an equally arched doorway that beckoned the viewer to walk through and perhaps find himself in another realm altogether. The artist had drawn the hillock the folly stood on in bloom, little blue and white flowers making it all look like a place from one of the fairy stories Dominick had told him as children. All in all, it was as fantastical as it was ridiculous and far too much of both for what they were looking for.
Alfie was nearly about to say as much, but then he glanced over at Dominick. He was staring at the painting with a look of wonder. Suddenly, Alfie felt dizzy and for a brief moment it wasn’t his strong, brave lover he saw in the chair next to him, but the boy he’d been once. The boy whose blonde hair was perpetually dirty and whose gap-toothed grin was always a little more pinched with worry than a child’s should ever have to be.
Then the vision faded, leaving only the grown man once more. For the first time, Alfie wondered if those fairy stories had been for him alone or if those tales of escaping to magical lands had meant just as much to Dominick—perhaps even more.
He looked back at the tower. Bloody hell. They had to have it.
Captain McConnell pointed to some of the finer details in the painting. “This is only a depiction of what the folly should look like upon construction, as it is an entirely original idea of my own and not yet in existence. I have blueprints as well if you’re interested in the more technical specifics. Normally, I wouldn’t have this much to show you so early in the process, but we’d already been commissioned by a gentleman of note, who shall remain nameless, to build this on his property in Yorkshire. Alas, he did not have the means he initially claimed, although we did not find this out until a great deal of draughtsmanship had already been done.”
Mrs. McConnell opened the other leather tube, laying out a stack of neat, mathematical drawings depicting the construction of the tower.
“We have figures on the material and labour costs from the original design as well,” she said, removing a lower sheet of paper from the stack. The amount was eye-watering, but not as much as he’d feared. “It will need to be adjusted for County Fife expenses as opposed to those in Yorkshire. And this is all pending my husband’s thorough inspection of the site, but I’ve never met a problem he couldn’t solve. Without bias, I can say that this design is Clyde’s finest work. I believe it is fate that such a triumph should end up here instead of its originally intended, yet far less scenic, location.”
Alfie didn’t even need to look at Dominick again to know what his expression would be. He did anyway, because he enjoyed looking at him.
Dominick’s eyes were wide, like those of a child who was being offered some marvellous treat, but wasn’t entirely certain he’d be allowed to take it. His eyes kept flickering over different details of the painting and his fingers twitched as if to touch. It was a side to him Alfie didn’t get to see very often, the part that hadn't been calloused over by harsher and harsher years to the point where he ignored the things he wanted because he’d never be allowed to have them. He’d almost driven Alfie away before they’d even begun because of this and he still fought tooth and nail every time he was introduced to some new luxury. He’d learned to hide his wants, so at least the wanting itself could never be taken away.
But now, Alfie could see he wanted .
And apparently what he wanted was a castle. His lover certainly didn’t do things by half-measures.
Alfie turned back to the McConnells. “When can you begin?”