“I said—” he began, sharper now, “that is enough.”
Still nothing.
Something in his expression shifted.
“You owe me better than this,” he said. “You would be dead without me.”
His gaze hardened.
“Don’t make a fool of yourself now.”
Alton held his ground. “And you would be dead without me. We’re even.”
One of the kitchen maids stepped forward. Only a single pace. She hesitated. Looked at Halverton. Then at Clíona. And took another step. Another maid followed, slower. Then a hall boy.
They didn’t all move at once. Not a clean, orderly file. Each member of staff made a choice. Each choice a risk.
Half the household staff stood behind Aoife now.
The butler lingered longer than the others, his face pale, hands tight at his sides, before crossing the floor with quiet, deliberate steps to join them.
The balance of the room shifted.
Halverton’s confidence faltered.
“I do not care,” he said too quickly, too loudly. “I am the master here.” His gaze moved over them, challenging them each in turn.
“If you don’t want to serve me, fine. I will have new servants before the week is out. Have you not noticed that the country isstarving? There will be queues to the sea of people begging for your jobs.”
His voice sharpened. “You are all fools.”
There was movement behind him.
Aoife’s attention flicked past his shoulder.
Mrs Harrow stepped forward from the shadows, moving to stand beside Halverton.
“Please,” she said softly.
Too soft for the size of the room.
“Think about what you’re doing.”
Her gaze moved across the staff, one by one.
“There’s no work to be had out there. You’ll starve.”
She turned to Aoife, eyes wide, brows drawn together. “You know what he’s been through—”
“Mrs Harrow.”
Halverton’s voice cut across hers, sharp and final.
“That is enough.”
She faltered. Only for a moment.
She tried again, gentler now, the way she must have spoken to him as a child.
