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To my great relief, he's not at the table. It’s just Jonah sitting there eating. My place has been set across from him, and as I sit down, Jonah doesn’t even bother to look up at me.
“Father Bryn isn’t having dinner with us?” I ask Crichton.
“Not tonight. He has business in the village. He asked me to ensure that you and your brother eat well. One moment. I will retrieve your dinner.”
I sit down and Crichton puts a plate of seared fish with asparagus and perfectly perfumed and tender rice in front of me. I am amazed, as most of the food I’ve been presented with in my limited time in this country has been some shade of brown and covered in either batter or gravy.
“Oh wow, that looks amazing. My compliments to the chef.”
“Thank you, young lady.” He sounds very pleased at my excitement.
“You made this?”
“I attend to all the needs of the home,” Crichton says. “It is a small house and a larger staff would be an unnecessary excess.”
It’s not a small house. It’s a fucking huge house, but he seems to do a very good job of attending to all of it.
“Thank you very much. The food has been awesome. I can’t believe it’s just you running everything all day alone. I feel bad. You have to let me do some cooking.”
“Perhaps in due course,” Crichton says in a polite way that makes it clear there is no fucking way I will ever be allowed in his kitchen. “Enjoy.”
I do enjoy the meal. It is delicious. It not only assuages my hunger, it improves my mood considerably. I glance across the table at Jonah from time to time. I need to talk to him, but I’m pretty sure he’s going to be an asshole about it.
“Hey. Jonah,” I whisper when I hear Crichton go upstairs and can therefore be pretty certain we’re alone.
“What?” He looks at me, annoyed because I’ve interrupted his phone time.
“There's something off with this priest.”
“Probably,” Jonah says, shoving food into his face without looking at it. His eyes are already back glued to his phone, scrolling through endless images of people having more fun than we are.
“Jonah. I mean, there’s something really weird.”
“Yeah,” he agrees.
“I mean, I don’t know if we’re safe here.”
“You want to go back to being locked up?”
“No.”
“Then leave it alone. It's only for six months. We can survive anywhere for six months as long as they feed us, and it seems like he’s going to do that.”
I wish I was like Jonah. He takes absolutely everything back to basics and it makes things so much easier for him.
“You're not curious? At all? I found a picture of mom hanging in a room and he found me in there and he… was pissed.” I don’t tell Jonah that Father Bryn spanked me. It’s about the last thing I need to get teased about. I can still scarcely believe it happened at all.
Jonah puts his phone down. Finally. I’ve gotten through to him. The painting is super weird, and he’s going to have something to say about that.
“I don't care about pictures. I do care about getting something to drink. I bet a place like this has a massive wine cellar. They always do.”
He gets up, which is a positive thing, or seems like it is until his intentions filter through my brain and I realize he’s going to get us in deep fucking shit. Again.
“Jonah,” I hiss. “Let’s just ask the butler for something to drink.”
“Nah,” Jonah insists. “I want to explore. I already asked him for booze like three times and he said we weren’t allowed any. I’ll get my own.”
I should have let the sleeping dickhead lie. I end up following Jonah, as I always have, wishing that I wasn’t going with him, but all too intrigued by what might happen next.
He heads toward the kitchen with an unerring instinct for trouble. I have to give it to Jonah. He’s lazy and he hardly seems to pay attention to anything at all, but he has a nose for exploiting weaknesses that's impressive as hell.
The kitchen is old but very clean. Every surface sparkles, having been scrubbed to within an inch of its life. I can't even smell cooking, which is very strange considering Crichton was just cooking fish in here, and that’s not the easiest smell to get out. If I didn't know better, I’d say this kitchen hasn’t actually been used to cook for months.
I don't get much of a chance to actually explore that hunch, though, because Jonah has found what he was looking for.
Sure enough, at the back of the kitchen there’s a sort of nook and in that nook is a doorway. Jonah tries the handle. It doesn’t open.
“Locked,” I say. “Oh well.”
“Hold on a second. It's an old lock. Can probably be brute forced.”
