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 matterwhich 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 daredtouch 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.
