I asked him questions about the house, and he asked me about my studies in London as he stirred away at something spicy in a pot. It was comfortable and easy talking to him, and I would be spending a lot of time in his company in the next year, so it made sense now to get to know each other better.
When paired with the Irish butter and the raspberry jam, Mr. Finnegan's scones bordered on something of a sacred experience. I told him so as I finished the last decadent bite from my plate. Mr. Finnegan thanked me kindly for the compliment and then took a seat on the stool next to me. It was a surprise, because I'd never seen him sit before. He was always busy doing something where you never quite witnessed the process, only the end result.
"How long have you been here at Donadea, Mr. Finnegan?" I asked cautiously, not quite sure what he was up to.
"Since I was a boy of twelve and my mother came here to be the cook for Lord Rothvale's grandfather, number eleven. I have served at Donadea for over fifty years now. It's really the only home I've ever known."
"It must have changed a great deal in fifty years, but it's still an amazing and beautiful house in the most gorgeous setting. I can't imagine a better place to be if you are a lover of country living."
"Very true and it's coming into a kind of Renaissance now that number thirteen has taken such a keen interest in the place. He is working hard to make it a comfortable home once more after some years of neglect."
"You call him number thirteen?" I suppose it made sense to keep track of who was who among the staff.
"Not to his face of course. Usually 'sir' works well for most situations. He doesn't care for formalities much, but it's not easy for an old dog like me to learn new tricks, either."
I grinned conspiratorially. "He told me when you use the baronial address it's because you're annoyed with him." It wasn't quite the whole truth, but close enough to get the general meaning across. I would not be sharing with him what Ivan had really said. When he uses my lord on me, Finnegan is undoubtedly telling me to fuck off.
"Did he now? I'll make a note. Might come in handy in future, you never know." He smiled gently and looked me straight in the eyes. "If I may, I'd like to share something with you, Miss Hargreave, about…him. I'd also ask for your confidence in keeping this between us if you would. He would not be pleased with me for sharing the details about his past, but I'm going to go out on a limb here because I believe I can trust you. And I know you'll now be a fixture here at Donadea as you work with the paintings."
Okay, my ears were now tuned in a million percent to Mr. Finnegan and what he might tell me. "Of course, you can trust me. I'm only here to help him, Mr. Finnegan."
"I'd venture it's a bit more than that though, between the two of you, Miss Hargreave. And it is for that reason, I'm talking to you now. I've known him since the day he was born when his mother brought him home wrapped in a white lambswool blanket. He was born at the hospital in Belfast and lived here with her until she was lost to him at the age of six. He was shuttled between his grandmothers and his uncle mostly for the next few years until he was old enough to be sent off to the exclusive schools for young men of his status, as is the custom."
"Where was his father?" I dared to ask.
"Absent is the best answer I can give you. His father grew disinterested in family life shortly after Ivan was born and divorced himself from his wife and son well before Ivan's first birthday. His uncle Matthew, Lord Rothvale number twelve, invited Rebecca, Ivan's mother, to live here at Donadea for as long as she wished, and she did. She made Donadea their home while Ivan's father lived in various places in Europe and in London. Ivan did not meet his father in person for the first time until well after his mother had died. Matthew never married or had any children, so Ivan was his heir. For all intents and purposes, Matthew Everley was the only father that boy ever knew. Matthew did the best he could with him. And that is how Ivan came to be number thirteen when Matthew died four years ago after a short bout with cancer."
"This is a very sad story you've just told me, Mr. Finnegan. I—I can't imagine him growing up without parents to love him." The thought of little Ivan basically an orphan at six-years-old just wrecked me to the point of wanting to crawl into a corner and sob.
He smiled at me again and reached out to clasp my hand. "This is why I wanted you to understand the road he's traveled throughout his life has been a lonely one. He's had a very privileged upbringing, but one rather lacking in love and affection from people who were either not present in his life or left this world far too soon. He's had to be on his own at a young age when there was nobody to guide him or give support. I know he's not easy all the time. He can be exacting, and demanding, and at times, temperamental. I do realize he has his flaws just as we all do, but if I may say, you seem able to manage him quite effortlessly, but more importantly, you are making him happy. I have never known him to be so lighthearted in all the years before you arrived on scene, Miss Hargreave. It's you. You've made this sudden change in him, and if I might be so bold in saying this next part, it's because he cares a great deal for you. I do know that to be true."
"I care about him, too. So much. He makes me happy, and he's a very special person to me even without his amazing collection of art. I think I understand him better now, so thank you for sharing the context of his early life with me. I won't say anything to him. This conversation never happened, but I am going to need a hug now, Mr. Finnegan, because that's just how I roll when I'm feeling like I might cry."
As Mr. Finnegan held me and patted me on the back, the warmth of his embrace made me feel better, and also very grateful Ivan at least had someone who cared looking out for him over the years. He might not have said the actual words, but Mr. Finnegan loved Ivan like a son. He did love him. He never would've told me about Ivan's heartbreaking childhood if he didn't.
I needed a little quiet reflection in a church after the emotional conversation with Mr. Finnegan over tea and scones in the kitchen. The chapel felt like the best place to stop next on my whirlwind tour. I wasn't left completely on my own though. Zeke and Zuly were determined to be attached to me whether I desired company or not. I think they sensed my melancholy after hearing about Ivan's childhood and wanted to comfort me. Pets were intuitive when their humans felt sad. It was rough just listening to Mr. Finnegan tell it. Imagining Ivan having to live it was far worse. How he'd come through such a heartbreaking early life to become the charming and generous guy with the easy-going personality was quite the mystery. Add to that the disaster of his first marriage and his wife's death—Ivan's life read a lot like a Shakespearean tragedy.
I opened the heavy wooden door shaped in a Gothic arch and stepped inside with the dogs right behind me.
And fell instantly in love with the space.
So much light poured in through the many Gothic windows of clear glass above and stained glass mosaics at the lowest levels. I could see what he meant about the altar and not wanting to remove it. It was a gorgeous carved wooden masterpiece with animals and scenes from nature carved into all four panels. There was no way for it to be moved without destroying it, so stay it must.