“It is.”
Octavia set off into the darkened room. No fire was lit, nor lights. Mr. Fuller now lit a few of the sconces. It was understandable if it wasn’t managed as the master wasn’t leaving his room. The room was dusted, generally, but she could see dust on top of the candles on the table, which meant Fortescue hadn’t used this room even before he’d been injured.
“We may have to fashion him a room on this floor,” she said. “At some point, he will leave his room.”
“God helping,” Mr. Fuller added.
“And likely he will wish to leave his room before his back is fully healed. Stairs will be difficult for him to manage. We cannot have the stable lads carry him up and down the stairs, can we?”
“I suppose there is the music room,” Mr. Fuller said.
“Let’s have a look at it.”
Mr. Fuller looked reticent. “I’m afraid it may need some attention before being viewable.”
As Octavia expected, a few rooms of the house weren’t being managed at all. “Is there a housekeeper?”
“Not currently residing here.”
“It’s an interesting state of affairs the housekeeper not residing in the house.”
“She is presently managing the house in London.”
What in the world was Fortescue thinking? Was he reticent to hire staff? There were some odd people who were so against staff they ran their houses to the ground. She hadn’t taken Fortescue as a man of such colorful disposition, but one never knew. “So who is performing the housekeeper’s duties?”
“The house’s requirements are managed between myself and the cook. The maids, of course. It is an effort by all.”
“A house is not a democracy,” Octavia started, but didn’t finish in the vein she intended. “I’m sure you have all managed admirably with your depleted resources. But we must prepare to move his lordship down into the music room. His recovery will ultimately not be managed from upstairs.”
“Of course, Miss Hennington,” he said with a quick bow. He may not like being directed, because she suspected the staff here hadn’t received direction perhaps for years, but it was necessary in times like these.
Chapter 20
MISS OCTAVIA DIDN’T RETURN for her sherry, which sat on his bedside table glinting like a jewel in the fine glassware. Mr. Fuller sought to impress by utilizing the best glassware in the house—the Austrian crystal.
“You’re not drinking?” Melville said.
It hurt Finn to admit this, but it was true. “The glass is too heavy for me to manage, I’m afraid.”
“Ah,” Melville said and took the glass from his hand where it rested on his upper thigh and tipped most of it into his own glass. “There,” he said, putting it back in his hand, with a fraction of the liquid left. “We can top up as needed.”
“Thank you,” Finn said and managed to lift the glass to his mouth. The liquid was earthy and smooth, and the burn tickled his throat. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had anything other than water, and the awful sticky taste of laudanum that never really went away. This was the most refreshing thing he’d had lately, and he savored the taste of it. It felt like a tiny but important step to normalcy.
“You were at the wedding celebration, I believe,” Finn said, vaguely recalling the man. They hadn’t been introduced.
“Yes, I was there. Can’t say I remember much of it.” By the way Melville got through his ale, Finn suspected he was a bit of a drinker. “Enjoyable few days. So how exactly do you know the family?”
“I am Lady Warwick’s landlord.”
“Ah, the warehouse in Lambeth.”
“Yes.”
“I’m surprised my cousin hasn’t bought it from you. He has the funds to.”
“It hasn’t been discussed.”
“But then I think his take on it is that she will soon become too busy for such endeavors. I believe she is with child.”
“So I understand.”
“There is some business partner or other,” Melville stated.
“Mrs. Broadman,” Finn filled in. He also knew that over time, he would be dealing more and more with Mrs. Broadman. She was a direct woman without much charm. His understanding was that she didn’t particularly like him, but he got the feeling it wasn’t personal. Miss Octavia, however, was a different kettle of fish entirely.
Speaking of this devil and she returned. “Our rooms are being prepared. I’m not sure when supper will be ready. You cannot come down, of course.”
“No,” Finn said, recalling all the meals where he’d had to be spoon-fed. At least he wasn’t still so unable, but truthfully, it was still a messy affair, even as he managed some of it by his own hand. “You will have to dine without me.” An audience was still something he insisted on doing without. “And after, I will rest.”
Having visitors had taken it out of him, even as he’d reticently liked having them here. It was better than staring at the ceiling of this entirely silently house—even if it was Octavia Hennington. The truth was that he hadn’t been bored since she’d arrived, but the company was taking a toll. As soon as he ate, he would fall asleep, and he probably needed to.
“We’ll leave you,” she said. “Come, Melville. Let's find those rooms. Rest well.”
A moment later, he was there alone in still silence once more. He slumbered until he was woken by Mr. Fuller with the arrival of the evening stew. It was the simplest food, the vegetables all cooked until they barely held their consistency. It was invalid food, and he hadn’t minded until now when he had guests to feed. This food was not to the standard
