Chapter Eight
D anni wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand and straightened up, surveying the fence post that she and Tommy had been struggling with for the past hour. It still leaned slightly to the left, but frankly, that was going to have to be a part of its charm.
“Some best mate you are,” Tommy was still grumbling, hammer dangling from his hand. “I didn’t even get a slice of cake.”
“What cake?” Danni asked, wiggling the post to make sure it was stable enough to leave.
“Um, wedding cake?” said Tommy.
“What wedding cake?”
“Exactly,” said Tommy, jabbing his hammer accusingly in her direction. “You went and got yourself married and I didn’t even get a slice of cake.”
Danni groaned and grabbed a bottle of water from a nearby wall. “I didn’t have a wedding cake, Tom. No cake, no dresses, no guests, no embarrassing speeches from drunken relatives. Just a few signatures on a piece of paper in an office that smelled a lot like an old primary school. Job done.”
Tommy shook his head in disbelief. “Not even a buffet?”
“Nope.”
“That’s the best bit of a wedding,” he said. “Well, that or the open bar, depending on your tastes. ”
“Didn’t have either,” said Danni.
“Bloody hell. That’s the most depressing thing I’ve heard all day.” He sighed dramatically before squinting at her against the sunlight. “And I don’t suppose you’ve even seen this house, have you?”
Danni hesitated before shrugging. “No.”
Tommy shook his head again. “You married a woman for a house and you didn’t even go and look at it first? Danni, mate, that’s just bad business. How do you even know if the place exists? It might all be a scam for all you know.”
“It’s not a scam,” she said. But now that she was thinking about it, he did have a point. She’d signed an entire marriage contract for this damn house, she should probably at least have a look at the thing.
“Might not exist,” Tommy said again.
“Fine,” she said, tossing her work gloves aside. “I’ll go and have a look when we’re finished here. Happy?”
Tommy sniffed. “Be happier if I had cake, but yeah, I suppose so. Careful you don’t get lost, though. I’ve heard these posh places have entire wings.” He thought for a second, then clarified, “I don’t mean the flying kind either.”
IT OCCURRED TO Danni, as she drove up the endless driveway, that she might not entirely have understood just what her marriage was buying. She’d known that the house was going to be posh, known that it was going to be big. She hadn’t imagined that it would give Downton Abbey a run for its money.
Brewster Manor was a beast of a house.
It had wings on wings, and columns and ivy and grounds, and probably, Danni thought, an entire army of staff.
She pulled up in the forecourt and gaped at the place.
Tommy was right, she’d have to be careful.
If she got lost in there, it might be weeks before anyone found her.
There were probably mummified bodies of servant girls who’d turned left inside of right inside cupboards.
“Bloody hell,” she muttered, as she got out of the car. “What have I gotten myself into?”
At any other house, Danni would have gone around to the kitchen door.
But given that here, that would include a hefty hike around some rather overgrown looking grounds, she satisfied herself with marching up to the big front doors and then looking around for anything that might be construed as a bell.
Scaffolding towered over her, shading the door enough that she couldn’t identify a bell. She was was just steeling herself to knock when there was a loud crack from above.
She jumped back just in time as a large brick tumbled from the scaffolding, almost braining her.
“What the hell?” she yelped.
“Bugger,” said a man in a hard hat, peering down at her from the scaffolding. “You alright?”
“Just about,” she said, as he climbed down to meet her.
“House is a bit temperamental,” he said, wiping his hands on his trousers. “You looking for Her Majesty?”
“You mean Eleanor?” Danni asked in amusement.
“Yeah, that’s the one.” He extended a hand. “I’m Samson. Head builder. Don’t suppose you’re the new wife, are you?”
Danni shook his hand. “Heard about that, have you?”
“Might have done,” Samson grinned. “Seems like a sensible idea to me. Can’t be doing with all this old-fashioned business about needing a husband to run a house. Think things’d probably all go a lot smoother with two wives, to be honest. A husband’d probably just get in the way.”
“Probably,” agreed Danni.
Samson sniffed. “Come on then, I’ll show you around, if you like.”
She’d been expecting Downton Abbey glamor to match the outside of the house, and was sorely disappointed when Samson pushed open the front door. Alright, the tiles on the floor were nice, but everything else was covered in dust cloths and plastic.
In fact, the inside of Brewster Manor was an absolute disaster.
“Just getting started,” Samson said. “Gonna get worse before it gets better, to be honest. We’ve got the roof to do, the masonry, and most of the electrics were put in in the last century, so we’ll be doing those as well.”
“Bloody hell,” Danni said, looking around.
“Plumbing’s alright though,” he said, as though that made up for everything else. “Still, we’re going to be knocking a lot of things down so we can put a lot more things back together again, if you know what I mean?”
They stepped over piles of broken tiles, trying not to inhale too much dust, as Samson rattled off long lists of what needed to be done in each room.
Danni whistled low. “And Eleanor’s living in this?”
Samson shrugged. “Surviving might be a better word. I told her that she should go to a hotel, but she won’t.
Don’t think it’s that she doesn’t trust us.
She seems alright with my men being here.
Think it’s more that she doesn’t want to.
Not that I blame her. It might be a while and no one wants to live in an anonymous hotel for long, do they? ”
Danni nodded in agreement. “But no one should be living in a death trap either,” she said.
“You’re preaching to the choir,” said Samson. He pointed down a long corridor. “If you go down there you’ll come to the kitchens. You should find Her Highness around there somewhere. Just give a shout if you can’t and someone’ll hear you.”
“You sure?” Danni asked. “I don’t want to get lost in here.”
Samson laughed. “I count everyone in and out and we send a search party for the stragglers once a week on a Wednesday, so don’t worry.”
She found Eleanor in a tiny room off the kitchen, perched on a camp bed. The newly official Lady of Brewster Manor was impeccably dressed to be sure. But she was also sitting on a bloody camp bed trying to take notes in an agenda by the light of a very small lamp.
Danni leaned against the doorframe, folding her arms. “So, this is where you’re sleeping? ”
Eleanor looked up, startled. “What are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d take a look at what my marriage bought you,” Danni said. “It’s quite a place, I’ll give you that. I think I understand just a bit more why you might want to keep a hold of it.” She scratched her nose. “Not sure about this bit of it, though.”
“It’s perfectly fine,” Eleanor said. “And it’s only temporary.”
“Mmm,” said Danni. “I’m sure there’s a hundred four-poster beds upstairs with your name on them. Unfortunately, for now you can’t sleep in them. And this… place is…” She sighed. “I’ve seen more hospitable chicken coops.”
Eleanor sniffed, having the grace to look embarrassed. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“Why don’t you stay in a hotel?”
“Anonymous and horrible breakfasts,” Eleanor said. “And I like to keep an eye on the house.”
Danni shook her head. “You can’t live like this. You can come and stay at the farm with me.”
“Absolutely not,” said Eleanor, looking horrified.
Danni rolled her eyes. “There’s a spare room,” she said.
“There’ll be nothing untoward. And more importantly, the farm might not be much, but it’s got four walls, a solid roof and, best of all, there’s no risk of bricks killing you in your sleep.
” She tilted her head. “Well, not unless you annoy me so much that I’m the one wielding them. ”
“It’s entirely inappropriate,” said Eleanor, standing up and putting her hands on her hips.
“So’s living on a construction site,” Danni pointed out. “And we’re technically married, so I’m not sure inappropriate is the word that you’re looking for. It’s very appropriate, isn’t it? Even your dead Victorian ancestors have to approve of married couples living in the same house.”
“You’d be surprised,” Eleanor said sourly. “I’m not sure two women were what they had in mind when they defined marriage.”
“Just as well that definitions can change then, isn’t it?” said Danni, cheerful now. “Come on, this is ridiculous. You can’t live like this. There’s a spare room at the farm and it’s only a fifteen minute drive away. Your man Samson will take care of everything and you can come up here every day.”
“No,” Eleanor said again.
But just as she said the word, a loud crash echoed from upstairs. A fresh cloud of dust billowed into the tiny scullery room, covering both of them in a fine layer of debris. Eleanor coughed and rubbed at her eyes before starting to pick the larger pieces of plaster off her blazer.
Finally, she sighed and looked at Danni, her eyes large and luminous green in the plaster-white of her face. “Fine. But only until the house is safe again.”
Danni smirked. “Then I’d better get the guest room ready, Princess.”
Eleanor groaned. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
“Probably,” grinned Danni. “But at least you won’t die under a pile of bricks and plaster, and there’s a lot to be said for that.”
Eleanor looked like she might not necessarily agree with that sentiment, but a fresh cloud of brick dust descended and then she was too busy coughing to argue the point.