Mrs Harrow didn’t look at him.
“You saw the good in him,” Alton went on, “because you are good.”
She finally looked up a little at that, meeting Alton’s eyes. Alton gave her a reassuring smile before turning to face Halverton.
“He thinks everyone’s heartless because he is.”
Halverton scowled.
“I couldn’t see it either,” Alton continued. “I excused his behaviour. Told myself it was enough that he was principled. Dignified. Clever.”
He shook his head once.
“But he was never kind.”
Halverton scoffed
“Never good,” Alton emphasised each word. In the silence that followed, Mrs Harrow drew herself up. She looked Halverton in the face, then crossed the space to stand beside Aoife and Clíona.
Alton followed.
Aoife turned to those who remained on Halverton’s side of the hall.
Their attention weighed on her, their uncertainty, the fragile edge they all stood on.
Her voice, when it came, was steady.
“You need to know something.”
A beat.
“Cormac found a warehouse at the docks.”
She let her gaze move across them.
“Full of food.”
A flicker of confusion.
“Lord Halverton hid it from the Empire,” she said, each word was deliberate, “to trade for profit.”
She gave the words a moment to settle.
“You can see for yourselves,” she went on. “There are two ledgers in his office. One for the crown. One for himself.”
Silence broke.
Gasps rippled through the hall, quiet at first, before spreading, gathering.
“He’s not just following orders,” Aoife said, raising her voice a little to be heard above the murmurs.
“He’s getting rich from our hunger.”
More servants stepped away from Halverton.
“You ungrateful filth,” Halverton spat.
Only a handful of servants remained at his side now.
