Chapter 7
After a moment, she opened the book again. She needed to know what exactly he thought she could be.
It was half an hour later when Mrs Harrow returned to fetch her and show her to her room. Her back was straight as iron; her grey hair pulled into a strict bun. When she spoke, her voice was calm and unhurried, carrying the authority of a woman used to command.
As they walked through the corridor, Aoife fell into step beside her.
“How many people work here?” Aoife asked, glancing at the polished banisters, the hushed sweep of carpets.
“Thirty, give or take,” Mrs Harrow replied without breaking stride. “More during the summer months, when the estate requires tending. Most in the house, but there are the gardeners and stable boys as well. ”
“And Lord Halverton… does he keep to a routine?”
“Very much so.” Mrs Harrow’s hands folded neatly at her waist as they turned a corner. “Breakfast at eight. Correspondence till midday. He walks the grounds in the afternoon when the weather permits.”
“How long has he been here?” she asked. She knew Halverton would expect her to know, but who the prefect was had never been of much concern to the villagers. It didn’t matter which lord was in charge. They all worked for the empire, all followed the same rules, all required the same taxes.
Mrs Harrow gave her a side-eye. “He took over as Prefect of Briartha five years ago.” She said in the exact tone Aoife had expected, one that implied she should have already known.
“He doesn’t seem to think much of the previous prefect.”
“No, he does not,” Mrs Harrow agreed, but she did not elaborate.
They passed a tall window overlooking the sweeping gardens. Mrs Harrow adjusted her pace, allowing Aoife a better view.
“He’s had misfortunes,” she went on. “Losses that marked him.” Her gaze traced the far wall rather than Aoife’s face. “I know he can seem hard, but he’s not without reason.”
Aoife nodded, storing each word.
They walked on in silence for a few paces. Aoife watched the house unfold around them, grand and orderly, every detail in its place and not a speck of dust.
Mrs Harrow added quietly, almost as if she feared she’d said too much, “He might not show it, but he is pleased you’ve come to live here, Miss Aoife. I hope you’ll give him a chance.”
Aoife stopped in her tracks. “I want to understand him.”
Mrs Harrow came to a halt beside Aoife. She gave her a searching look, approval mixed with caution. “Then you’ll do well here.”
Mrs Harrow strode off, and Aoife had to run a few steps to catch up. “Can you help me?”
Mrs Harrow studied her. “Within reason.”
Mrs Harrow stopped again and opened a door to her left, stepping aside to let Aoife pass.
The space beyond was absurd in its extravagance. The room was larger than her family’s entire cottage. A four-poster bed sat in the centre, dressed in silks and lace so fine she hardly dared touch them. The furniture was heavy and dark and she didn’t know the purpose of half of it.
Her footsteps sank into a rug soft beneath her feet, warm compared to the bare earth floors she was used to. A fireplace was set into the wall, though the weather didn’t yet call for it. There was only a small basket of firewood and no kindling.
“Where do I fetch more wood?” Aoife asked.
Clara, already there laying things out, looked up. “You don’t. The scullery maid will tend the fire. You needn’t worry about that.”
Despite its grandeur, the room was hollow. Beautiful, but lifeless. A doll’s house for display, not a home.
Behind her, the door closed with a soft thud.
Clara was sorting through the clothes Lord Halverton had mentioned. “You’ll need to try these on, miss,” she said, holding one up.
Aoife hesitated. She had never been seen in her underclothes by a stranger. She undressed slowly. Clara moved to help her.
“I can manage.”
She was unsure where to place her hands once she had finished. Clara turned, eyes widening at Aoife’s skeletal frame.
Clara recovered quickly. “I won’t fit them exactly, miss. I’ll leave space for you to fill them out.”
“You don’t have to call me miss; it’s just Aoife.” She held up her arms for Clara to slip the dress over her head.
“I’m afraid I do, miss. His lordship wouldn’t like it if I didn’t.”
“He never has to know what we girls do in private.”
“I suppose not, miss.” Clara said, fastening the dress.
“You did it again.”
“It’s a hard habit to break.”
“All right, you can call me miss, but only if you promise not to treat me like one of them.”
Clara pulled at the fabric of the bodice.
“I’d like it if we could be friends.” Aoife went on.
Clara looked her in the eyes, checking to see whether she was sincere. Eventually she nodded. “I’d like that.”
They fell into a relaxed silence as Clara worked, pinning and adjusting Aoife like a doll.
She tried to be helpful, turning when needed, lifting her hair out of the way. Finally, when she reached for a piece of fabric, Clara sighed.
“Please hold still,” she mumbled around the pins she was holding between her lips.
“At least let me hold the pins,” Aoife said.
Clara looked uncertain, then removed the pins from her mouth and held them out to Aoife. Aoife smiled, and Clara returned it readily.
Clara stepped back to check the line of the pinned dress. “There now. That’s sitting better already.”
Aoife looked down at the unfamiliar silhouette. “Clara… can I ask you something? A few things, actually.”
Clara blinked, then smiled. “Of course, miss. Ask away.”
Aoife turned slightly so Clara could reach the back seam. “I don’t understand how any of this works. The house, the staff… there are so many people. What do they all do?”
Clara’s hands moved deftly, the pins clicking softly as she worked.
“Well, there’s Mrs Harrow, the housekeeper.
You’ve met her. Keeps everything running.
Then Cook, naturally. Two kitchen maids under her.
The footmen handle serving and errands. Alton oversees the men.
Then there’s the scullery maid, Pansy, poor thing, up before dawn to light the fires and last to sleep. ”
Aoife tried to repeat the titles under her breath, committing them to memory. The longer the list grew, the more difficult it became.
“Are you all friendly?” she asked.
Clara laughed lightly. “Friendly? Oh, some of us. Some not. Same as anywhere. Long days make tempers short.” She glanced up with a conspiratorial tilt of her head. “I guess we’re a bit like a family; we have our difficulties, but we look out for each other. Mostly.”
“And your real family?” Aoife ventured.
Clara paused a heartbeat too long. “A long way from here,” she said, her voice gentling. “But I’m treated well enough.”
There was a lilt at the edge of her sentences, rounder vowels and a softer rhythm that didn’t fit the Eldrossian accent.
“I’m sorry,” Aoife said quickly. “I’m being nosy. I… I’ve never been anywhere like this. I don’t know the rules.”
“You’ll learn.” Clara pinned the last seam and stepped back. “Everyone does.”
Aoife let out a slow breath. “This is my first night not sleeping at home.”
Clara’s expression softened. “Truly?”
Aoife nodded. “Unless you count the night Cormac and I fell asleep in the field when we were twelve. We weren’t meant to. My father was furious the next day.”
“An innocent mistake. Why was he so angry?” Clara asked. From the tone, she was asking simply to make conversation, but Aoife found herself wishing she hadn’t mentioned it.
“My sister was sick, my brother already gone…” She swallowed, surprised the words were coming so easily. “He was worried.”
Clara’s hands stilled. “I’m sorry, miss.”
For a little while, lying under the stars with Cormac, none of it had been real. They’d been that for each other, a place to escape when life seemed unbearable. And now he was beyond her reach.
Aoife shook her head to clear it and managed a thin smile. “I can’t imagine sleeping in a bed that large. On my own, I mean. It’s big enough to swallow me. How do you do it?”
Clara laughed. “The servant beds are normal-sized, miss. Besides, I don’t sleep alone,” Clara said cheerfully. “I share with one of the other maids.”
“Do you?”
“Aye,” she lowered her voice. “She snores like a sawmill.”
Aoife let out a sudden laugh, sharp and unexpected. It startled her as much as it did Clara.
Clara grinned. “If you’d rather have company, miss, I’ll swap. Truly. I’d give anything for one quiet night.”
Aoife shook her head, still smiling faintly. “No. But thank you.”
“It seems strange now, but you’ll get used to it.”
Aoife studied the giant bed again. She supposed she would. She looked around the room as Clara continued tucking and pinning the dress to the correct length.
“What is all this… stuff?” She asked, gesturing to the furniture.
Clara smiled. “That’s a wardrobe where we’ll hang your dresses, and that’s a chaise longue.” She gestured to the furniture as she spoke, and Aoife tried to store the names away for future reference. “Over next to the window is the vanity. That’s where we’ll do your hair and makeup.”
“What are all the tiny drawers for?”
“Pins and ribbons, powders, that sort of thing.” Clara stood up, weighing something. She crossed to the vanity.
“This one,” she said, opening the largest drawer, “is special.”
Aoife looked. It was tidy with a brush, a hand-held mirror and a comb, all neatly lined up. “That’s… nice.”
Clara grinned, then reached inside the drawer, and a second drawer appeared seemingly out of nowhere.
“How did you do that?”
“There’s a small latch on the right-hand side that clicks into place when you close it. I found it by accident when I was cleaning.”
“Clever,” Aoife wasn’t sure what she had that she needed to hide. All she had in the world were the book and wooden figure Halverton had allowed her to keep, and he already knew about those.
Clara slid the drawers shut again.
“Any other surprises waiting for me?” Aoife asked as she returned to their previous positions so Clara could finish pinning her hem.
“Not that I know of, but they say old houses like this contain many secrets.”