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“Yeah, sure is,” he agreed, following the direction of her gaze. “Been in the Moore family for centuries.”
Her curiosity was more than piqued. “I wonder if there’s any books on it.”
“Oh, sure there is. In the library. I’ll grab some for you if you’re interested.”
“Yeah,” she nodded. “That’d be great.”
The gravel crunched underfoot. He stopped by a bright green door with Ivy trailing over either side. “This is the servants’ entrance.” He pushed the door inwards, and an inviting little service corridor appeared. Boots and coats hung happily on either side, and there was a table with mail and papers. Beyond it, there was a narrow, highly-sheened staircase. “It’s one of the features of the old home that old Gower decided to stick with. Didn’t see any reason to break with tradition and let the servants go.”
“How many … servants … work here?” She wondered curiously.
Dougal frowned and rubbed his chin in thought. “Well, there’s three housekeepers who work around the clock. Then about …” He paused to count properly, “I’d say about nineteen or twenty domestics, and three gardeners, then me.”
“That’s … a lot of staff,” she said with lifted brows.
“Well, did you see the size of the place?” He teased, placing her bag down so that he could take her coat and hang it over a vacant hook. “It’s a palace. There’s thirty seven bedrooms, forty nine bathrooms, a ball room, a banquet hall, dozens of casual living spaces, three kitchens, and the biggest library you’ve likely ever seen.”
Her mind was numbed by the numbers he was quoting.
“Gower insisted that the whole house be kept maintained at all times. Unlike most of these grand old estates, where big portions remain covered over and closed off around the year, or get leased out to National Trust, Gower saw it as a matter of family pride that the house be operational.
“So there are cleaners and cooks who run around preparing bedrooms that never get slept in, dusting surfaces just so that they’re empty to accumulate more dust over the next few days.” His smile made his whole face glow. “Not that I’m complaining. He also kept a fleet of seventeen gorgeous old cars, and my job’s to tinker with ‘me until they purr like new.”
“That sounds like heaven to me,” Finn agreed, her words tinged with jealousy.
“You like to tinker?” He asked, his interest genuine.
“Oh, I love it.” She ran a hand over the front of her pants, easing out the crinkles that had formed in the long drive west. “My dad’s a mechanic. Well, he used to be. Now it’s a bit beyond him. But I grew up under cars. I know them as well as I know people.”
“Then you’ll have to come check out the old Daimler I’m working on now.”
“I’d love that,” she promised genuinely.
“Tomorrow.” He grinned. “I can see you’d happily bring a torch down now if I suggested it.”
“Yeah.” Anything to keep Caradoc from her mind.
“Come on. You’re up this way.” He took the stairs two at a time, his shoes making slight scuffing noises as he moved upstairs.
“You’re going to have to polish that, lad,” A frail voice called, but it was thick with amusement.
He paused and rolled his eyes, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “That’s Mavis Owen. The main housekeeper, she’s been here since she was fourteen, and her mother before her. You’d swear she was deaf as a doornail but when it comes to this place. She hears every squeak and groan, any broken plate or dish. Heaven forbid a window gets let up when the heating’s on.”
He began to move again, but this time more slowly and with greater care. For her part, Finn stepped gently so that her heels didn’t divot the timber.
At the landing he swept a hand down a carpeted corridor. “Fourteen rooms along here. These are where most of the domestics live. You’re this way.” He pushed through another door, into a different corridor, and led her along it.
There were paintings on the walls, mostly still-life works that reminded her of the impressionists. He paused outside a timber door and then pushed it inwards, stepping back to allow her entry ahead of him.
“This is one of the family’s guest rooms,” he explained. At her look of consternation, he shook his head. “We use it whenever we’ve got extra help in the house. The usual rooms are full, and this is still far enough away to feel like you’re not in anyone’s way.” He crinkled his eyes together. “In fact, apart from my apartment, this is probably the most private room in the place. You’ve got only a store cupboard on one side and a never-used study on the other. Plus, you’ve got your own bathroom, and a nice view over the lake and Italian garden,” he said, following her into the room and placing her bag at the foot of the bed. “See?” He nodded toward the grounds.
It was too dark to make much out besides the pointed shapes of what would turn out to be lavender and rosemary bushes.
“It’s great. But I like to be near my car,” she said weakly.
“Ah, I know how you feel,” he agreed in his lilting way. “Here,” he led her to a small black phone. “This links right to my apartment. I fitted in meself yesterday. You can pick it up anytime you need the car, and I’ll get it running.”
“What about if Cara – Mr Moore – needs me?”
