“We will leave you to rest,” she said from her seat. “Come, Melville, we should leave him to sleep.”
They rose to leave.
“It’s not necessary,” Fortescue said as they reached the door. “I have done nothing but rest.”
Octavia paused and then she looked at Melville. Fortescue was bored to tears, which was understandable. They returned to their seats.
“Why don’t you tell us who you’re showering with interest these days,” Fortescue said and Octavia was about to rise again.
“Please do,” Melville added. “It was James Fervoy last time I checked.”
“Don’t you start,” Octavia said accusingly.
“Fervoy is pretty,” Melville added.
“I think he disappointed,” Fortescue said with a shrug, but he seemed to suffer for the movement.
“What injuries do you have?” Octavia asked, a little concerned that a small shrug should cause him so much pain. “And isn’t that doctor giving you anything to quell the pain?”
“He was, but we’ve reduced the amount. Pain can be very informative.”
“Also painful,” she replied. “Can you not move at all?”
“It’s encouraged that I do not move until sufficient healing has been done.”
“Healing to what?”
“My back.”
Melville winced. “That is bad.”
“It’s a setback, but not irrecoverable.”
“So you will heal?” she said.
“Provided I don’t do anything to impede the process.”
A broken back. That was bad. Many never walked again, and it sounded as if that could be his fate. It also sounded as though all hope was not lost on that account. “The doctor said so.”
“Yes, apparently pain is a good sign.”
“It must be the only time when it is.”
Another silence settled, as they, in reality, had very little to talk about.
“A lovely house,” Melville said.
“Yes, I think we covered that already,” Octavia said. This felt very awkward now. “What are you planning to plant next year?” Which was possibly the most inane question to ask, but what else could she ask?
“Barley, mostly.”
“Oh.” They had nothing in common to talk about.
“What did Eliza want assistance with when she wrote?” he asked. Eliza again. Time to give up.
“Rats, apparently. I cannot mention how glad I was to be involved with that situation.”
“Then you will be equally pleased to be involved with this situation.”
“Well, someone had to check on you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re clearly not.”
“Anyone for a bit of tipple?” Melville asked brightly.
“He’s practically on his death bed.”
“I am not.”
“What better time?” Melville suggested. “What will you have?”
“Whiskey.”
“Absolutely not. The doctor would be shocked,” Octavia cut in.
“An ale then. It’s fortifying.”
When Mr. Fuller arrived, Melville turned to him. “I think we will fortify Lord Fortescue with two ales, and Miss Octavia will have a sherry.”
“Should I also have rooms prepared for the night?”
Octavia hadn’t actually thought so far as to where she’d stay while she was here. “We can take ourselves to an inn if need be. Is there one nearby?”
“I’m perfectly capable of housing guests, unannounced as they are,” Fortescue said. He didn’t stretch as far as saying unwelcome, which would have put him on league with her father in terms of rudeness. “Have two rooms prepared for the night,” he said, addressing Mr. Fuller. “And to answer your question, there isn’t an inn nearby, but if you insist, the village reverend does put up lost travelers if he must.”
“Then we will depend on your generosity,” Octavia said tartly. “In fact, I might go see that our effects are directed.”
“My staff are perfectly capable.”
“Yes, I’m sure you’re managing the household needs superbly from your bed.”
Like most men, he probably wasn’t lifting a finger to make the necessary decisions for the house, and as she went downstairs, she saw ample evidence of it. Some places looked like they’d gone a bit too long without dusting. The brass was barely polished and the crystals of the chandelier were so dusty they looked like drops of snow rather than ice.
“What plans have been made for supper?” she asked as she reached Mr. Fuller, who was directing that looked like stable boys to carry their trunks up the stairs. Wafts of horse and hay passed her as they did.
“I believe the cook is preparing something light for his lordship,” Fuller said. “Soup and bread. And I must apologize as we weren’t anticipating visitors.”
Good staff knew how to accommodate on short notice, but it seemed the house was functioning on the barest of staff, of which all seemed to be of more advanced years.
“I will go see to the kitchen,” Octavia said. For a moment, Mr. Fuller seemed pressed to argue, but held his tongue. “How many maids are there?”
“Two,” Mr. Fuller said.
“That is not sufficient for a house like this.”
“There are more in London.”
“Well, the master is currently residing here, so they aren’t much good there. And from the looks of it, he may be here for quite some time. Is the house equipped to deal with an ailing master?”
“We make do.”
“I’m sure you do,” Octavia said, not blaming him for the state of affairs. A bachelor simply wasn’t equipped to properly manage a house, and it had probably been like that for a while. No doubt their rooms would be very hastily prepared. “You might have to hire some staff to do a bit of dusting and polishing. The furniture will be damaged if it’s left too long.”
“I will discuss it with his lordship.”
“Very good,” Octavia said. Running the house had been second nature to her for a while. It was a role no one else was going to perform in her house, and she liked having exacting standards and expecting them to be met. It meant she got to
