Chapter 8 #3
“If you ring the bell, someone will come up.”
“I don’t want to be a bother. I know you all have work to do.”
“And you think getting under everyone’s feet is less of a bother?”
Aoife was taken aback by the bluntness.
“I’m sorry, have I done something to offend you?”
“Of course not, miss,” he continued to twist the key in the clock, not deigning to look at her.
Aoife didn’t believe him, but it would do no good to press. “It’s just a few small items, no doubt they’re somewhere on the servants’ side of the house in any case. It would surely be a lot more convenient if I just popped down there.”
“If you need something returned,” he said, measured now, “you should speak to the housekeeper. Or to his lordship.”
Aoife sighed, holding back her frustration. “I presume Mrs Harrow is in the servants’ quarters right now.”
“I expect so.”
“In which case, why don’t you tell me the way so I can ask her for the items to be returned.” She felt she had got him there.
He did turn to look at her now. “Mr Lanyon would not approve of my disclosing that information.” He turned to the clock. “Like you said, we all have work to do, and part of our jobs is to respond when you call. You should ring the bell.”
Mr Lanyon appeared then, giving James a scolding look. “Is there anything I can help you with, miss?”
“I was just asking the way to the servants’ side of the house.”
“I see. Well, James is quite right. If you need anything, you should ring the bell.” He gave James a hard look. “Though he could have provided that information more politely.”
James glowered at him before turning to Aoife, a blank mask of politeness in place. “My apologies.”
It looked and sounded genuine, but Aoife was convinced he didn’t mean it.
“Do you by any chance know what happened to my things?”
The butler looked at her blankly.
“I brought a few items with me: a pestle and mortar, some herbs. The other footman took them and I need them.”
“I’m afraid,” the butler said, and her heart sank, “they have most likely already been disposed of.”
“Right, thanks for the help.” She waited a heartbeat longer, watching him, hoping he might cave and provide some actual assistance.
He only stared at her, expression bland as porridge.
Aoife let out a slow sigh and turned away. “Helpful,” she muttered under her breath.
She walked down the corridor with deliberate steps, back straight, pretending she had somewhere purposeful to go.
A part of her knew she should ring the bell. Someone would come, smiling and obliging, and she would thank them for it.
If she were to live in this house, she would not begin by summoning people. She would not be another master, another inconvenience. She would not become like Halverton, someone who barely even registered the servants’ existence. She would continue to see them as people worth her time and respect.
It was one thing for Halverton to manipulate her and deny her agency.
It was quite another for the footman to tell her where she could and could not go.
She would not spend her life trapped in a house where she did not know every passage, every room, and every person who lived there.
Besides, knowing how to move unseen could be useful.
The moment she rounded the corner out of sight, she stopped and pressed herself lightly against the wall, listening.
“For the last time, James, if you wind it too tight, you’ll break the spring.”
“I wasn’t—”
“And what were you thinking talking to Miss Aoife like that?” the butler snapped, low and full of fury.
“She’s an Morran peasant. I can talk to her however I like.”
“She will soon be lady of this house. I suggest you adapt to that reality quickly. If Lord Halverton were to hear of this, you’d be out on the streets before the dinner gong. Have I made myself clear?”
There was a beat of silence, then a defeated sigh. “Yes, Mr Lanyon, perfectly clear.”
“Good. I hope this is the last time we will speak on this matter,” the butler said crisply. “Now get back to work. And if any of the clocks are damaged, it’ll be coming out of your wages.”
Footsteps approached, brisk and confident.
Aoife’s pulse leapt. He was coming her way.
She slipped sideways into the nearest room, easing the door enough to leave a narrow gap. She held it with her fingertips, not letting the latch click.
The butler swept past, his shoes whispering over the carpet.
The moment he turned the next corner, Aoife slipped into the corridor and followed at a careful distance.
He stopped abruptly in front of an unremarkable stretch of wall. There was nothing distinctive about it at all, just the same wood panelling as the rest.
Aoife frowned.
The butler pressed his palm flat against a knot in the wood. A soft click sounded, and a narrow door swung outward.
Aoife’s breath caught.
He stepped through without hesitation.
As the hidden door drifted closed, Aoife darted forward and slid her hand between the frame and the panel. The wood pressed against her fingers, but she held it. Then, with one swift motion, she slipped inside after him.