by Sara Reinke
Chapter Eight
“Master William! You are home!” exclaimed the withered, wiry old man who greeted them at the door of Theydon Hall. His face was long and lined with wrinkles, his skin the fragile texture of aged parchment. He smiled broadly, the creases in his cheeks and about his eyes crimping more deeply.
“It is Kenley, Albert,” Kenley said with a gentle smile, letting the man embrace him, patting his spindly, crooked hands against Kenley’s shoulders. He turned his face toward the man’s and pressed his lips lightly against his cheek.
The man, Albert, blinked, seeming somewhat confused, and his gaze settled upon Charlotte and Una, standing upon the threshold behind Kenley. His expression grew stricken, nearly dismayed and he stared at Kenley, stammering helplessly. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, I… of course, that is right. You have told me. I remember it plainly, and here I… I thought…”
“It is all right,” Kenley said. “Do not fret for it, Albert. No harm.” He turned to Una and Charlotte and smiled. “This is my butler, Albert Standage. Albert, may I introduce Miss Charlotte Engle, and her companion, Mrs. Una Renfred?”
Albert’s eyes widened, and his smile restored at the mention of Charlotte’s name. “Yes, splendid!” he exclaimed, shuffling toward Charlotte, his hands outstretched. She smiled for him; it was impossible not to, and he clasped her hands between his. “My lord has spoken often of you these past days, and with such fondness! I tell him it is a welcome distraction for him. He is a good boy and he should not keep cooped up in this moldering house with a moldering old man like me. He needs a lovely young lass to seize such hold of his heart as you have.”
Charlotte laughed. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Albert,” she said. She glanced toward Kenley, and found him blinking at his shoes, seeming somewhat embarrassed by Albert’s admittance.
“Yes, well…” he said clumsily, making a show of peering across the threshold and into the foyer. She could have sworn he was blushing, and struggled not to laugh at him in his flustered state. “Good enough, then,” Kenley said. “Where is Lewis?”
“I am up on your roof, you bloody bastard, trying to level out your half-rotted rafters and lay in some new peg tiles,” called a voice from somewhere outside and above them. Kenley laughed, walking backward and rather heedlessly down the front steps of his house, craning his head back on his neck.
“Good! You are home again. Shuck that ninny- ish jacket and get your bloody ass up here to help me!” Charlotte heard Lewis shout. She followed Kenley back down the steps, curious and amused. “How was your visit? Did Lady Epping leave any hide and sinew attached to your bones or did she gnaw—oh, hullo, Charlotte.”
Lewis looked down at them from the roof, three stories above them. His eyes had grown rather round, his face decidedly flushed as he had caught sight of Charlotte, and she laughed at his mortification.
“My mother was as pleasant as she can muster on short notice, Lord Woodside,” she called up to him. “But I will be pleased to offer her your fondest regards.”
Lewis was in the process of patching one of the larger deteriorated sections of Theydon Hall’s roof. Charlotte had taken notice of the ladder propped against the side of the house from their approach by carriage.
Large quantities of peg tiles were stacked about the ladder on wide flaps of burlap. The two cousins had rigged a sort of pulley system to the roof, and were using lengths of heavy rope to draw the corners of the burlap closed, and haul the tiles up the significant height.
To her observance, poor Theydon Hall needed to be razed and built anew. It sat squarely in the center of a broad meadow southeast of Darton, just beyond the perimeter of Epping Forest. It faced the long, winding, rutted avenue leading toward it with a stern and solemn façade; dark gray stone walls with large, expansive windows and a roof marked by a half dozen chimneys and three steeply pitched peaks on each side. Three stories in height, it surely boasted twenty rooms or more within, to judge by the breadth of its exterior. It was surrounded by trees: tall, wayward firs, ivy-draped, crooked maples and stoic, piston-straight oaks.
The house’s magnificent windows were all barren of glass; the wink of muted sunlight through clouds against broken panes bore mute witness to what had surely befallen the others. The roof was littered with autumn’s fallen leaves—years’ worth from the looks of it— along with broken limbs and fallen branches. In places, Charlotte could see damage to the peg tiles; large sections had crumbled inward, leaving gaping holes, like places of distinguishable decay. The chimneys were likewise in sorry states, with mortar visibly yielding between the stones.
Lewis looked down at Kenley, seeming completely untroubled by the rather abrupt and dramatic drop only inches away from where he squatted. “You did not tell me we were expecting company,” he called.
“I did not know to expect it myself,” Kenley called back. “Are you going to come down, or shall we join you up there?”
Lewis laughed. He reached out, hooking his hand against the pulley line to the ground. Charlotte drew in a startled breath, her eyes flying wide as he stepped off the roof and into the open air. He swung away from the wall and dropped gracefully to the lawn. As he lowered himself, a heavy bundle of peg tiles rose skyward, counterbalancing his descent. He let his heels drop in the grass and he carefully eased the rope between his gloved hands, lowering the tiles to the yard again.
“Like swinging from the top yard,” he told Charlotte, dropping a wink.
“Do not dare tell me you and Reilly cavorted about the ship heights like that,” she said, laughing.
“The heights, shrouds, ratlines, and rigging,” Lewis declared proudly. “We are Royal Navy, not simpering ninnies. A little distance between your ass and the ground is no more than some wind and a change in perspective, I have always liked to think.”
“Lewis, I will draw the carriage around and help with the horses,” Kenley said. “Would you mind to show Charlotte and Mrs. Renfred to the parlor? Maybe put some tea on?”
“Not at all,” Lewis said, walking toward the front steps, waving his hand in beckon. “Come on, ladies.”
Charlotte and Una followed Lewis up toward the threshold again. Charlotte glanced over her shoulder, watching as Kenley and the old man, Albert, each took one of the lead coach team by the bridle and led them in tow for the side of the house.
“Is that man truly Kenley’s butler?” she asked, puzzled. Albert looked seventy-five, if a day; far too old and frail to be tending to any sort of household duties.
“Who? Albert?” Lewis laughed, stepping aside and allowing Una and Charlotte polite first entry into the foyer. “No, no. Albert is practically family. He was coachman to Kenley’s father before Kenley was even born. Albert came to work for my father’s stables when Lord Theydon passed. He has been at Woodside ever since, though in no real capacity. I am simply fond of him.”
He closed the door behind them. “As is Kenley,” he remarked. “More so, even, I should say. He invited Albert to come and live with him here at Theydon, but Albert is far too proud to undertake anything like charity. Kenley made him his butler, at least in name.”
Charlotte looked around the expansive foyer.
The floors were of dark granite, matching the exterior of the house. She could see piles of windswept, forgotten leaves in the corners, and cobwebs shrouding the far edges of the ceiling. The dust was apparent enough against the floor that footpaths were visible, marking commonly treaded places leading toward a parlor, back corridor and sweeping staircase.
“Has he no other staff?” she asked, craning her head back and studying a chandelier above them, its candles long since removed or fallen from cradles, its broad, gracefully extended arms draped in cobwebs and dust.
“Not at the moment,” Lewis replied, his footsteps echoing as he walked toward the parlor.
Charlotte and Una blinked at one another in surprise. A house the size of Theydon typically commanded a full staff of no less than twenty, including the stable hands. Charlott
e could not fathom two men— one of them frail and elderly at that—keeping up with all that was surely required.
“But Kenley makes do,” Lewis said. “I have been staying with him and we have managed to work a few rooms into livable condition, I think. The other twenty- four or so we keep behind closed doors for now.” He glanced over his shoulder and winked. “That least observed is that least often called to mind, I say.”
Charlotte and Una followed him into the parlor. A fire had been built in the broad fireplace, and a pair of dining chairs arranged before it. A small table rested between them. Judging by the half-filled decanter of brandy, a pair of empty snifters, and a littered pile of books surrounding the chairs, Charlotte judged this a place Kenley spent a good portion of his time.
“Why did Albert call Kenley ‘William’?” she asked.
Lewis had crossed the room toward the fireplace to add some wood to the blaze. He paused, glancing over his shoulder.
“When he opened the door, he said, ‘Master William, you are home’,” Charlotte said.
“Albert is old and slightly addled sometimes,” Lewis said. “He gets confused. It happens quite a bit. William Sutton was a stable boy when he worked here at Theydon. Albert was fond of him and mistakes Kenley sometimes.” He nodded toward the chairs. “Please,” he said in invitation. “I will go hunt down some more seats, and put tea on.”
“Is William the stable boy who used to come with you and Kenley to Darton?” Charlotte asked, giving him pause again. “I remember one your father used to let you play with. My mother disapproved of it.”
“You have a keen memory,” Lewis said with a nod. “Yes, that was Will. He and Kenley were close in age, and nearly as inseparable as kin.”
“Where is he now?” Charlotte asked.
Lewis blinked, the smile fading from his face. “He died,” he said quietly, and Charlotte was immediately abashed that she had asked. “Shortly after my father. It broke Kenley’s heart.”
Charlotte stared at Lewis, wide-eyed and stricken, saying nothing. She did not know what to say.
“Please, make yourselves at ease,” Lewis said, struggling to smile again. “I will not be but a moment.”
