"Mrs. Hancock?" she asked finally. "How long have you been here?"
"I have been with the household 30 years, Miss." Something in her tone told Sara she should not ask any more questions, not yet. She was being polite, but it was clear that Sara had not yet passed muster.
Mrs. Hancock did not know what to make of this woman. She had heard the name mentioned in the house before, Sara Pezzini, now Detective Pezzini, but who she was, that was never mentioned, at least not within hearing of the staff. She had never understood the connection, none of them had. Just that she was important to both Mr. Irons and to Ian. But she had brought Ian back home, back to them, alive and happier than she thought she had seen him since he was a boy. He had actually smiled in the hall, something Mr. Irons would have found very distressing, and he had not been a man to distress. Ian had changed while he was away, was still changing and Miss Pezzini was part of that.
They stopped in front of a door, identical to the others on the hall and Mrs. Hancock opened it to reveal a large bedroom. "This will be your room, Miss," she told her.
Sara looked a little stunned. She had always accepted the fact that Irons had more money than god but what that meant in practical terms was occasionally a shock. The house, the staff and now this room, she had never really been anywhere in the house but the den so she really had not known what to expect.
"It's.It's beautiful," she said finally, at a loss for what to say. The room was large and airy, decorated in dark, heavy wooden antiques and white. The walls were half paneled with white wall paper above, white bed linen, white rugs on the wooden floor, even a white and blue Chinese vase on the table by the wall.
"Thank you, Miss. Mr. Nottingham will be pleased. He thought you would prefer a lighter room." And one which Mr. Irons did not use for guests often, she added to herself although that particular instruction had struck her as odd, she did not question it. She had been so pleased that he was coming back she would have done anything. "When you have freshened up, take the corridor right to the end of the hall and down the stairs, you will be outside the den." She gave her directions and started to leave, but turned back at the last moment. "Oh, Miss?"
"Yes?" Sara asked.
"Thank you,"
"For what?" she responded.
"For bringing him back, " she said, leaving hurriedly, afraid she had said too much. It had never been a good idea to say too much in this house.
Sara stared after her retreating figure, wishing she had a good way to question her. It was obvious that the staff had some of the same concerns she had about Ian's intentions. But what did they know about her and Irons? She filed the thought away for later and looked around. Oh, well, might as well get cleaned up and see what it was that Nottingham had planned for her. What kind of surprise could he possibly have planned anyway?
Ian headed into his office, Wilson trailing behind him. "I take it that everything is as I requested?"
"Of course, Sir," he said, crisply, a touch of mild rebuke in his voice. Ian hid a smile. Never let it be said that Henry Wilson did not do as much or more than was expected. "The room has been cleared and sealed, all the equipment removed and Ms. Elizabeth's body delivered to the Doctor to be placed with Mr. Irons. May I ask what will be done about the two of them?"
"I will attend to it soon. There are other things of greater importance to be dealt with first." Ian flipped quickly through the security reports on his desk and then turned his attention back to Wilson.
"Dr. Immo will be coming tomorrow, I need to speak with him concerning Mr. Irons.my father's death." It was still hard for him to say it but he was getting better at it. It would take time for it to come naturally he knew, but it was necessary.
"Sir, I have some concerns regarding the doctor's position.Do you think it is wise?" he questioned, a little tightness around his mouth the only overt sign of his unease. Ian looked up at him, registering the older man's qualms. A little warmth lit his eyes as he noted the apprehension in Wilson's expression. But while he respected the man's position, still his responsibility remained. He needed to handle the situation on his own, it was his place and nothing would change that. Ian gave him a reassuring smile.
"I understand your reservations, however I have already made my wishes clear. I need the doctor's help on a very important matter, and in this at least he can be relied upon." There was a finality in Ian's expression so like his father's that for a moment Wilson was almost overcome. The boy had grown up, grown confident during his absence. For the first time since Iron's death, Henry Wilson was certain that Ian would be all right. He wondered a little absently about the young lady's part in these changes, and how she fit in. "Also there will be a young man here to begin cataloging and research on the private collection, please see that he has everything he needs." Another change. Mr. Irons had been most protective of the collection, although he had been well aware of the need. Ian was moving fast, setting the house in order with a confidence and competence that Wilson had known him capable of. He had not expected it to happen this suddenly, however.
"It will be taken care of, Sir." It was odd, hearing Wilson calling him 'Sir', for years it had been Mr. Ian, ever since he had come back from the military. Stepping into his father's shoes was going to take a lot of getting used to. The whole idea was more frightening than he really cared to think about at the moment. He needed to focus on finishing this and getting back to Sara. Just the thought of her here in the house was more than a little distracting. He reordered his thoughts, and focused on the next task.
"Very well, we will also be expecting a visit from Sara's partner. She and I are attempting to handle a situation regarding the two gentlemen that were." he paused, searching for a good way to explain.
"The two gentleman who were killed here, Sir. I am aware of the situation, very little happens in this house without my knowledge." There was an edge to his voice and Ian looked up, confused. "I was the one who had the bodies moved."
"You what?" Ian asked in shock.
"The house is my responsibility. Mr. Irons had two members of staff remove them, with specific instructions."
"Do not mention this to anyone, do you understand?" There was a sharpness about Ian's voice that surprised them both.
"Sir, I have been managing things in this household since before you were born. I think I know where my duty lies." He stood straight, bearing himself with military precision. Things might have changed in the house but he was still accountable.
"That may be, but Sara and I will handle this situation. Those are my orders. You never questioned my father's when he was alive, will you question mine now that I have taken charge?" Ian hoped that there would not be a problem. It was going to be a challenge to step out of the shadows, and without the support of the staff he did not know how he would manage. He looked Wilson in the eyes, pleading with him silently to understand.
Wilson smiled, just a bit and nodded his assent. Ian was indeed taking control, finally. It looked like he was accepting his place at last. How much of that was the young lady and how much was just time finally beginning to heal old wounds still remained to be seen. Considering Ian's new found confidence, he thought, I may have to give her the benefit of the doubt.
Ian leaned back in his chair a little, reassured that there would be no problems now with the staff. One more difficulty dealt with. He organized his remaining thoughts and began laying out the details of the situation and the solution.
After Sara cleaned up she followed Mrs. Hancock's directions and found herself outside a familiar set of doors. She paused, trying to get up the strength to face her guilt and her nightmares. Through the doors, the room where Irons died, the room where Ian had caught his father's body and declared them enemies, the room in which he waited now for her, to heal, to start over, together. It was more than a little daunting, but if he could handle it then she guessed that she could as well. Resolved, she pushed open the doors quietly and entered.
The room had changed substantially from the last time she was here. Gone where the gothic statues, the bare floors and walls, replaced with a long table down the center of the room. A large, throne-like chair was drawn up to the fire, with a leather couch opposite. A large fire burned in the fireplace and a rug was placed before it. Candles were lit as before but there was also some kind of recessed lighting, and a large suit of armor stood guard in a niche high on the wall, above the stairs leading up to the library level, just visible from where she stood. She tried to take in the whole room but it was just too much at this moment. Then she saw Ian coming down the stairs. Somewhere he had ditched his jacket and tie, and he was no longer wearing those annoying gloves. He smiled at her as he walked over and drew her further into the room. With all the changes, she could not even have made out the spot on which Irons died, or at least not without thinking about it and she was determined not to do that. If she tried she could almost even pretend that it was a different room altogether. Ian was looking a little more relaxed at the sight of her, somehow he seemed right here, a part of this place in some way she could not define.
"Sara, how did you find your room?" he said, trying to play the genial host as his father always had been. He was still trying to find exactly the right way to treat her here, she was so much more than a mere guest but he was concerned that he if he were to intimate it would make her uncomfortable. This was new, and he wanted everything to go perfectly. He wanted to put his arms around her, to reassure her as her presence did for him, but he settled for his little surprise. He was not sure she was ready yet to be that relaxed here, but soon.
"It is beautiful, but I believe you promised me a surprise?" she said, trying to keep everything light and not think too much. Ian broke into a grin, just like a little boy. He has a wonderful grin, she thought. He led her over to the rug and sat down, pulling her down beside him. For a moment Sara really started to wonder what he was up to, but he pulled his phone out of his pocket and spoke into it quietly, correcting her original thought.
"Yes, we are ready, go ahead." He slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned to Sara. "Close your eyes," he told her softly, excitement dancing in his eyes. She did as he asked, trying hard to resist the urge to peek, after all it would not be fair, to spoil his delight.
She heard a door open and what sounded like.claws? Suddenly she was buried under an avalanche of warm fur. She opened her eyes as she was knocked over into Ian. A herd of small, grey furred bodies wiggled over them both, pushing them back onto the hearthrug. They were followed by two larger dogs who immediately got busy, pushing Ian back next to her and pinning him down for a wrestle. Sara laughed as one of the little ones stuck a wet nose under the edge of her shirt, as she tried to grab another one, to keep it from licking her face, but they were all moving, licking and sniffing at her. She gave up and just lay on the rug while the puppies swarmed them. Finally, they calmed down, having accepted her and collapsed into a mass of arms, paws, legs and fur. Ian smiled at her, at her obvious enjoyment in the little ones and their play. One little female had burrowed between them into her arms and was busily licking her ear as she tried negligently to bat at it.
"What are they?" she asked as she tried to find her place in the slowly shifting pile.
"Irish wolfhounds, my father always kept them. They are smart and elegant, and not inclined to do to much damage."
"Yeah I can see the advantages." she started before the squirming began again, distracting them both from other thoughts.
They lay together on the rug, the two people and the dogs, comfortable together in their own way. Sara tried to sit up but the dogs would not allow it, so she lay back down, allowing the two adults to bracket her and Ian. No better way to shatter fear than to change the room and fill it with puppies, how could you be frightened with them crawling all over you? She looked at Ian, his elegant attire covered with grey fur, hair coming loose from its ponytail, while one of the little monsters tried to get its nose into his pocket, searching for something. He looked more relaxed than she had seen him awake before, and why not. Even during those brief moments of intimacy there was a hint of watchfulness in the back of his eyes, although whether it was for her or himself she did not know.
He saw her watching him and smiled. The watched watching her watcher, it struck him as amusing in its own way. The puppies had done the trick, made her relax in this room, look at it differently. It was essentially the center of the house, the living room, he supposed, the room in which he had spent so much of his life. He realized how much he missed this place, the place where he had grown up. In spite of the pain, his memories were here, both the good and the bad, and nothing would change that. He did not think that he really wanted to. What he wanted was for her to be as comfortable here in his place as he had become in her's. Maybe someday. He reached over to her, slipping a treat into her hand for the puppy that had obviously chosen her for its' own.
"I think she has decided that you are her's," he told her of the grey lump that had settled under her arm, head resting on her shoulder. Sara gave her the treat and she munched away happily, not moving from her chosen spot.
"Yeah, right. She just decided I'm comfortable. What's her name?" she asked.
"She does not have a name yet, other than a formal one," he explained. "Pure bred dogs, show dogs, usually have two names, one on their papers and one that they are called." He gave her the little one's formal name, something long and Gaelic, which Sara gave up trying to pronounce after the second try and the amused look that Ian tried manfully to hide.
"So what do you call her?"
"I have not had a chance to name them yet, I am afraid that I was a bit distracted and neglected my duty. But you may give her a name if you like. Her parents are Caillian and Finn." The two adults looked up at their names but with no command forthcoming they both put their heads back down. Sara picked up the squirming little bundle of fur. "Maria, I think she should be Maria," she told him after a moment. "I used to have a friend named Maria. She always had more energy than was good for her too." Ian remembered a dark haired girl on a park bench, talking and laughing, a girl now long gone, killed in body and spirit by a life she could not control. He reached out for Sara, needing to feel her touch. There was a subtle sadness in the way she said it, something that seemed for a moment to try to pull her away from him.
She shook her head a little, clearing the thoughts and her smile returned, although perhaps a little dimmer. She moved close, handing him little Maria, who seemed pleased with her name, or at least the attention. Ian put the puppy down on his other side and shifted closer, propping his head on his hand.
Above them on the balcony, three silent figures watched. Slowly, they slipped back into the shadows, smiling. Everything would be all right now. They left the room and returned to their duties.
"I have been with the household 30 years, Miss." Something in her tone told Sara she should not ask any more questions, not yet. She was being polite, but it was clear that Sara had not yet passed muster.
Mrs. Hancock did not know what to make of this woman. She had heard the name mentioned in the house before, Sara Pezzini, now Detective Pezzini, but who she was, that was never mentioned, at least not within hearing of the staff. She had never understood the connection, none of them had. Just that she was important to both Mr. Irons and to Ian. But she had brought Ian back home, back to them, alive and happier than she thought she had seen him since he was a boy. He had actually smiled in the hall, something Mr. Irons would have found very distressing, and he had not been a man to distress. Ian had changed while he was away, was still changing and Miss Pezzini was part of that.
They stopped in front of a door, identical to the others on the hall and Mrs. Hancock opened it to reveal a large bedroom. "This will be your room, Miss," she told her.
Sara looked a little stunned. She had always accepted the fact that Irons had more money than god but what that meant in practical terms was occasionally a shock. The house, the staff and now this room, she had never really been anywhere in the house but the den so she really had not known what to expect.
"It's.It's beautiful," she said finally, at a loss for what to say. The room was large and airy, decorated in dark, heavy wooden antiques and white. The walls were half paneled with white wall paper above, white bed linen, white rugs on the wooden floor, even a white and blue Chinese vase on the table by the wall.
"Thank you, Miss. Mr. Nottingham will be pleased. He thought you would prefer a lighter room." And one which Mr. Irons did not use for guests often, she added to herself although that particular instruction had struck her as odd, she did not question it. She had been so pleased that he was coming back she would have done anything. "When you have freshened up, take the corridor right to the end of the hall and down the stairs, you will be outside the den." She gave her directions and started to leave, but turned back at the last moment. "Oh, Miss?"
"Yes?" Sara asked.
"Thank you,"
"For what?" she responded.
"For bringing him back, " she said, leaving hurriedly, afraid she had said too much. It had never been a good idea to say too much in this house.
Sara stared after her retreating figure, wishing she had a good way to question her. It was obvious that the staff had some of the same concerns she had about Ian's intentions. But what did they know about her and Irons? She filed the thought away for later and looked around. Oh, well, might as well get cleaned up and see what it was that Nottingham had planned for her. What kind of surprise could he possibly have planned anyway?
Ian headed into his office, Wilson trailing behind him. "I take it that everything is as I requested?"
"Of course, Sir," he said, crisply, a touch of mild rebuke in his voice. Ian hid a smile. Never let it be said that Henry Wilson did not do as much or more than was expected. "The room has been cleared and sealed, all the equipment removed and Ms. Elizabeth's body delivered to the Doctor to be placed with Mr. Irons. May I ask what will be done about the two of them?"
"I will attend to it soon. There are other things of greater importance to be dealt with first." Ian flipped quickly through the security reports on his desk and then turned his attention back to Wilson.
"Dr. Immo will be coming tomorrow, I need to speak with him concerning Mr. Irons.my father's death." It was still hard for him to say it but he was getting better at it. It would take time for it to come naturally he knew, but it was necessary.
"Sir, I have some concerns regarding the doctor's position.Do you think it is wise?" he questioned, a little tightness around his mouth the only overt sign of his unease. Ian looked up at him, registering the older man's qualms. A little warmth lit his eyes as he noted the apprehension in Wilson's expression. But while he respected the man's position, still his responsibility remained. He needed to handle the situation on his own, it was his place and nothing would change that. Ian gave him a reassuring smile.
"I understand your reservations, however I have already made my wishes clear. I need the doctor's help on a very important matter, and in this at least he can be relied upon." There was a finality in Ian's expression so like his father's that for a moment Wilson was almost overcome. The boy had grown up, grown confident during his absence. For the first time since Iron's death, Henry Wilson was certain that Ian would be all right. He wondered a little absently about the young lady's part in these changes, and how she fit in. "Also there will be a young man here to begin cataloging and research on the private collection, please see that he has everything he needs." Another change. Mr. Irons had been most protective of the collection, although he had been well aware of the need. Ian was moving fast, setting the house in order with a confidence and competence that Wilson had known him capable of. He had not expected it to happen this suddenly, however.
"It will be taken care of, Sir." It was odd, hearing Wilson calling him 'Sir', for years it had been Mr. Ian, ever since he had come back from the military. Stepping into his father's shoes was going to take a lot of getting used to. The whole idea was more frightening than he really cared to think about at the moment. He needed to focus on finishing this and getting back to Sara. Just the thought of her here in the house was more than a little distracting. He reordered his thoughts, and focused on the next task.
"Very well, we will also be expecting a visit from Sara's partner. She and I are attempting to handle a situation regarding the two gentlemen that were." he paused, searching for a good way to explain.
"The two gentleman who were killed here, Sir. I am aware of the situation, very little happens in this house without my knowledge." There was an edge to his voice and Ian looked up, confused. "I was the one who had the bodies moved."
"You what?" Ian asked in shock.
"The house is my responsibility. Mr. Irons had two members of staff remove them, with specific instructions."
"Do not mention this to anyone, do you understand?" There was a sharpness about Ian's voice that surprised them both.
"Sir, I have been managing things in this household since before you were born. I think I know where my duty lies." He stood straight, bearing himself with military precision. Things might have changed in the house but he was still accountable.
"That may be, but Sara and I will handle this situation. Those are my orders. You never questioned my father's when he was alive, will you question mine now that I have taken charge?" Ian hoped that there would not be a problem. It was going to be a challenge to step out of the shadows, and without the support of the staff he did not know how he would manage. He looked Wilson in the eyes, pleading with him silently to understand.
Wilson smiled, just a bit and nodded his assent. Ian was indeed taking control, finally. It looked like he was accepting his place at last. How much of that was the young lady and how much was just time finally beginning to heal old wounds still remained to be seen. Considering Ian's new found confidence, he thought, I may have to give her the benefit of the doubt.
Ian leaned back in his chair a little, reassured that there would be no problems now with the staff. One more difficulty dealt with. He organized his remaining thoughts and began laying out the details of the situation and the solution.
After Sara cleaned up she followed Mrs. Hancock's directions and found herself outside a familiar set of doors. She paused, trying to get up the strength to face her guilt and her nightmares. Through the doors, the room where Irons died, the room where Ian had caught his father's body and declared them enemies, the room in which he waited now for her, to heal, to start over, together. It was more than a little daunting, but if he could handle it then she guessed that she could as well. Resolved, she pushed open the doors quietly and entered.
The room had changed substantially from the last time she was here. Gone where the gothic statues, the bare floors and walls, replaced with a long table down the center of the room. A large, throne-like chair was drawn up to the fire, with a leather couch opposite. A large fire burned in the fireplace and a rug was placed before it. Candles were lit as before but there was also some kind of recessed lighting, and a large suit of armor stood guard in a niche high on the wall, above the stairs leading up to the library level, just visible from where she stood. She tried to take in the whole room but it was just too much at this moment. Then she saw Ian coming down the stairs. Somewhere he had ditched his jacket and tie, and he was no longer wearing those annoying gloves. He smiled at her as he walked over and drew her further into the room. With all the changes, she could not even have made out the spot on which Irons died, or at least not without thinking about it and she was determined not to do that. If she tried she could almost even pretend that it was a different room altogether. Ian was looking a little more relaxed at the sight of her, somehow he seemed right here, a part of this place in some way she could not define.
"Sara, how did you find your room?" he said, trying to play the genial host as his father always had been. He was still trying to find exactly the right way to treat her here, she was so much more than a mere guest but he was concerned that he if he were to intimate it would make her uncomfortable. This was new, and he wanted everything to go perfectly. He wanted to put his arms around her, to reassure her as her presence did for him, but he settled for his little surprise. He was not sure she was ready yet to be that relaxed here, but soon.
"It is beautiful, but I believe you promised me a surprise?" she said, trying to keep everything light and not think too much. Ian broke into a grin, just like a little boy. He has a wonderful grin, she thought. He led her over to the rug and sat down, pulling her down beside him. For a moment Sara really started to wonder what he was up to, but he pulled his phone out of his pocket and spoke into it quietly, correcting her original thought.
"Yes, we are ready, go ahead." He slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned to Sara. "Close your eyes," he told her softly, excitement dancing in his eyes. She did as he asked, trying hard to resist the urge to peek, after all it would not be fair, to spoil his delight.
She heard a door open and what sounded like.claws? Suddenly she was buried under an avalanche of warm fur. She opened her eyes as she was knocked over into Ian. A herd of small, grey furred bodies wiggled over them both, pushing them back onto the hearthrug. They were followed by two larger dogs who immediately got busy, pushing Ian back next to her and pinning him down for a wrestle. Sara laughed as one of the little ones stuck a wet nose under the edge of her shirt, as she tried to grab another one, to keep it from licking her face, but they were all moving, licking and sniffing at her. She gave up and just lay on the rug while the puppies swarmed them. Finally, they calmed down, having accepted her and collapsed into a mass of arms, paws, legs and fur. Ian smiled at her, at her obvious enjoyment in the little ones and their play. One little female had burrowed between them into her arms and was busily licking her ear as she tried negligently to bat at it.
"What are they?" she asked as she tried to find her place in the slowly shifting pile.
"Irish wolfhounds, my father always kept them. They are smart and elegant, and not inclined to do to much damage."
"Yeah I can see the advantages." she started before the squirming began again, distracting them both from other thoughts.
They lay together on the rug, the two people and the dogs, comfortable together in their own way. Sara tried to sit up but the dogs would not allow it, so she lay back down, allowing the two adults to bracket her and Ian. No better way to shatter fear than to change the room and fill it with puppies, how could you be frightened with them crawling all over you? She looked at Ian, his elegant attire covered with grey fur, hair coming loose from its ponytail, while one of the little monsters tried to get its nose into his pocket, searching for something. He looked more relaxed than she had seen him awake before, and why not. Even during those brief moments of intimacy there was a hint of watchfulness in the back of his eyes, although whether it was for her or himself she did not know.
He saw her watching him and smiled. The watched watching her watcher, it struck him as amusing in its own way. The puppies had done the trick, made her relax in this room, look at it differently. It was essentially the center of the house, the living room, he supposed, the room in which he had spent so much of his life. He realized how much he missed this place, the place where he had grown up. In spite of the pain, his memories were here, both the good and the bad, and nothing would change that. He did not think that he really wanted to. What he wanted was for her to be as comfortable here in his place as he had become in her's. Maybe someday. He reached over to her, slipping a treat into her hand for the puppy that had obviously chosen her for its' own.
"I think she has decided that you are her's," he told her of the grey lump that had settled under her arm, head resting on her shoulder. Sara gave her the treat and she munched away happily, not moving from her chosen spot.
"Yeah, right. She just decided I'm comfortable. What's her name?" she asked.
"She does not have a name yet, other than a formal one," he explained. "Pure bred dogs, show dogs, usually have two names, one on their papers and one that they are called." He gave her the little one's formal name, something long and Gaelic, which Sara gave up trying to pronounce after the second try and the amused look that Ian tried manfully to hide.
"So what do you call her?"
"I have not had a chance to name them yet, I am afraid that I was a bit distracted and neglected my duty. But you may give her a name if you like. Her parents are Caillian and Finn." The two adults looked up at their names but with no command forthcoming they both put their heads back down. Sara picked up the squirming little bundle of fur. "Maria, I think she should be Maria," she told him after a moment. "I used to have a friend named Maria. She always had more energy than was good for her too." Ian remembered a dark haired girl on a park bench, talking and laughing, a girl now long gone, killed in body and spirit by a life she could not control. He reached out for Sara, needing to feel her touch. There was a subtle sadness in the way she said it, something that seemed for a moment to try to pull her away from him.
She shook her head a little, clearing the thoughts and her smile returned, although perhaps a little dimmer. She moved close, handing him little Maria, who seemed pleased with her name, or at least the attention. Ian put the puppy down on his other side and shifted closer, propping his head on his hand.
Above them on the balcony, three silent figures watched. Slowly, they slipped back into the shadows, smiling. Everything would be all right now. They left the room and returned to their duties.