Chapter Three #2
‘Welcome to Gadmin Hall, my lady,’ Ian said, as a light, welcoming summer breeze drifted through the courtyard, shuffling the leaves of the surrounding oaks, and the ivy holding the place together with verve and determination.
‘Thank you, Ian,’ she smiled, her eyes darting across the edifice, cataloguing the state of it a bit clearer—roof in disrepair, chimneys unmentionable, windows…
unmentionable—just as a ruckus sounded beyond the portico-sheltered great oak and iron door before her.
‘It is charming,’ she said, frowning slightly at the continued banging and bickering.
Ian didn’t move, so neither did she, merely waiting; for what, now that was the question.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity of anticipation, the great door burst open—and when she said burst, she meant it.
With a cacophony of sounds—including a mighty ‘I said pull, damn you lad!’, and a boom that resounded through the gravel to her feet, sending quite a few previously chirping birds flying—half the door split open and back, Hypatia spying bodies tumbling into darkness with it.
She made a move to go assist, but Ian gently held her back, mindful of her position even when she wasn’t, though his eyes were as big as hers as he stared at the half-open door.
‘I may be a lady now, Ian, however I shall not be the sort to sit by without lending a hand merely because it may be uncomely.’
He hesitated, but finally nodded, and they rushed over together to the door—or rather what remained of it.
Beyond the splintered half, hanging from impossibly rusted tight hinges, two bickering bodies were twisting and slipping as they cast off the half they’d taken with them.
‘Told you we should’ve gotten Lawrence to come sort it, but noooo, a bit of oil and twill be right as rain you swore!’ said the lighter of the two voices, the first to manage a return to upstanding from what Hypatia could tell in the barely illuminated and dusty gloom within.
‘And who was to pay for the expense?’ boomed the second, huffing and puffing on the floor, as it tried to heave off the half door upon itself.
‘D’ye think the master’d be happy comin’ home to discover we couldn’t even get the door open without payin’?
We shoulda been workin’ on it since dawn, that’s the problem—’
‘He might’ve preferred that to discovering this!’
‘Just help me up you fool b’fore he—’
‘Are you both unhurt?’ Hypatia asked, gently as she could, her amusement growing by the second though she didn’t dare smile or laugh until she knew they were both safe.
Stillness and silence immediately followed her words, and had Hypatia been able to see clearer into the dimness, she might’ve spied, she was sure, two persons attempting to work out how best to next proceed, having been caught out thus.
‘Answer her ladyship, or are ye both swine that should be sent down to the farm?’ Ian prompted them harshly, but not meanly.
‘Aye, I mean yes, my lady,’ called the lighter voice. ‘We are both unharmed, merely some scratches and soreness for the morrow.’
‘Have you need of assistance?’
‘No, no!’ cried the other, and with a great heave and bang, they disposed of the door keeping them in place.
‘Very well,’ Hypatia said, taking a step back and pretending to examine the inside of the portico as she waited.
In surprisingly good condition, though the ivy here too seems to keep it together.
Before long, two figures—still brushing themselves off and attempting to put some order into their appearance—climbed and slipped through the now passage, out into the somewhat crowded portico.
‘My lady,’ they said, bowing in unison as much as they could, their eyes darting around, no doubt searching for Thorne.
‘Henry Brookwood,’ Ian introduced, as solemnly as he could, indicating the younger of the two, presumably the footman given the tired and frayed old livery.
He had a pleasant face, with a small pointedness that spoke more of a fae’s delicacy than sharp handsomeness, with a litheness and meaningfulness of movement that was rather endearing.
Only his hair had a wildness, a bit longer, with a dashing clutch of it mischievously falling over his right eye.
‘And Joseph Langton,’ Ian said, of the second man.
Somewhere between Ian and Henry’s age, this was the cook presumably, one of those men seemingly caught in middle age—though he might’ve been eighty—barrel-chested, peppered with lines and silver hair, roughened by time and the land, yet with soft kind eyes, and surprisingly elegant hands that spoke of trade mastery.
He wore the attire of a simple worker—homespun coat, old-fashioned breeches, with a remarkably old yet strong linen shirt and cravat, and buckled shoes that would’ve been more at home on the feet of a country squire some twenty years ago—but then, what really did Hypatia have to comment on his choice considering she’d no idea of his life, or days, or indeed, what working at Gadmin Hall required.
And what really did she have to comment, when she doubted she looked any bit the part of the countess they expected.
‘It is a pleasure to meet you both,’ Hypatia smiled gently, and both surveyed her, likely trying to determine whether her pleasantness was affliction or affectation.
‘My husband was very disappointed not to be here today, however, business detained him, and he will be joining us in a few days.’ They both seemed to breathe easier at that, and Hypatia smiled wider.
‘Plenty of time for us all to get acquainted, find a solution for this door, and for me to acquaint myself with Gadmin Hall. I look forward to your assistance.’
‘Yes, my lady,’ they said again in unison.
‘Well now, shall we?’
‘Of course, my lady,’ Henry said, somewhat literally jumping to the occasion, by shooing Joseph out of the way, and bowing again as ceremoniously as he could, before leading her inside.
Strange though this welcome has been, I think I shall indeed like my new home.
It, like its inhabitants, has…character.