Orla rested her head on top of One Ear’s and let him lick her hand as her mind spun. Something in her was changing. Perhaps it was having Luke staying in the castle. He was the only guest, other than her mother, who’d ever stayed there, and it had taught her that she genuinely missed conversation – exchanging everyday pleasantries and thoughts and ideas. Luke was a link to the outside world. He’d come into her life because of something so sad and awful, but he’d brought such joy and positivity and Orla found herself drawn to that, even if it went against everything she’d been building for the last few years. But to leave the castle – to venture into the outside world, even if that was just her own village – seemed truly terrifying. She couldn’t do it, could she?
One thing was for sure, if she didn’t do it now, with Luke’s help and encouragement, she knew she never would.
Luke had been working on a large section of wall in the great chamber. He’d taken out the old lime mortar and had applied a scratch coat. It was satisfying work, but he would now have to leave it for up to ten days before applying a second coat. That gave him time to start another job and, although he had an idea of what he’d like to tackle next, he found himself drifting around the castle. There was so much he could do with the place, but he quickly reminded himself that Orla had set a tight budget and that his time with her wasn’t unlimited either. He couldn’t stay for ever. Indeed, he’d been wondering just how long her hospitality would hold out for. Probably not long if he kept badgering her about leaving the castle. He’d noticed that she’d kept her distance from him since the morning and he couldn’t blame her for that, but her response had been a little less explosive than the last time he’d dared to broach the subject and there was a part of him that believed he just needed to chip away at the tough wall she’d built around herself a little bit more and she would relent. Yes, indeed – he believed that the wall Orla had built around her heart was as deep and strong as those of the castle she’d chosen to live in.
Luke sighed, acknowledging the fact that, perhaps, he was using the castle in exactly the same way – as a wall around his own grief. What would Helen make of him staying here, he wondered? It was one thing to deliver Helen’s gift to Orla, but quite another to live under her roof. Would she understand that he’d needed to get away from home for a while? To escape the onslaught of phone calls and sympathy cards and to find a little space of his own? He hoped she would.
Luke made his way down the spiral staircase, marvelling at the stone construction as he reached the upper first floor and saw the room that would have once been a highly decorated chapel. Orla hadn’t done much in this part of the castle yet. Her living quarters were centred on the second and upper second floors. Now, Luke continued his journey down, venturing into the lower hall and, from there, towards the basement. It was certainly a lot colder in this part of the castle. It seemed to Luke as if the temperature dropped a degree with each step down he took and that the decades and centuries melted away to reveal the bare bones of the past. Well, not literally. At least, he hoped not. But what a privilege it was to see the little alcoves, the arrow-slit windows and ancient graffiti carved deep into the stone walls, although his eye caught plenty of things that weren’t so wonderful, like the great ugly blobs of cement that had been splattered onto the walls and would do more harm than good. Yes, there was certainly a lifetime’s work here for any builder who wanted to take the task on.
Luke descended further, passing the lower hall and reaching the very bowels of the castle: the basement. He’d only been down to this part of the castle once before and he hadn’t really taken it all in. It had reputedly been the dungeon. He grinned at the thought. Imagine living in a place with its own dungeon. Its own well, too. Luke got his pocket torch out and shone it through the scratched Perspex cover over the well’s opening, marvelling at its depth. He was glad to see that an iron grid had been placed over it to prevent accidents.
Swinging his torch, he looked around the rest of the basement. There was a section of wall down here that was boarded up and he approached it now. It was modern plasterboard that had definitely seen better days and was probably masking a ton of trouble. It would have to be removed, he decided. No doubt it was harbouring damp; the wall needed to be allowed to breathe. He gave it an experimental tap, wondering what was behind it, and shone his torch at the place where it joined the wall, but couldn’t make anything out.
‘Luke?’ Orla’s voice broke into his thoughts, echoing down the spiral staircase. ‘Where are you?’
‘I’m in the dungeon!’ he yelled back, and he heard her footsteps hastening towards him.
‘What are you doing down here?’ she asked a moment later, looking around as if he might have been up to something without her permission.
‘Just scouting for jobs to do while I’m waiting for some plaster to dry in the great chamber, and I came across this. Did you put this up?’
‘No, it was here when I bought the castle.’
‘I thought it might have been. Do you know what’s behind it?’
‘No. Is it something
