Seeing the smashed bottles of wine at the bottom of the cellar, Harold's intense eyes conveyed hidden anger, as he sees the broken glass scattered over the ground, the wine puddling underneath, red, white, in one singular puddle, the labels drenched in wine, withered, reddened, ruined, and no longer legible.
"I'm so sorry, sir, I found it like this," the maid clenched her hands together as she tells Harold how she came down into the wine cellar to grab the wine as instructed, but found it like this.
She asked the other maids and butlers, but they didn't know anything, none of them gone down in the cellar.
Harold fixated on the mess, seemingly ignoring her, he stepped around the mess carefully, his suede shoes stepping over the glass, as he sees the broken glass, different shapes, and sizes.
Glimpsing over to the wine rack, Harold's blue eyes narrowed sees that individual bottles remained on the rack, he mentally counted them in his head, and sees something unusual as he counted.
"That'll be all, Grace," Harold waved at her, "return to your duties."
Unclenching her hands, Grace goes, "Do you want me to clean this up, Mr. Thornton?"
Shaking his head, his peppery head of hair stiffly moving, Harold declined, waving her off as he instructed her to head down into town and pick up replacements.
Through prodding, Harold sent her off on her errand, leaving him alone in the wine cellar, his blue eyes remaining fixated on the mess.
Handpicked bottles violently thrown on the ground, rather expensive ones, at that, with the insulated wine cellar, no one would hear the bottles shattering on the ground, and Harold knew nobody gone down into the wine cellar until today.
Stopping short of the wine rack, looking at the empty slots, Harold visibly scowled as he turned away, looking over his wine cellar.
"You test me, so," Harold said in a low voice, "inviting strangers into my home, scaring away two of my guests, and throwing your tantrums, I'll see to it you don't have supper for the week, again."
His blue eyes scanning the wine cellar, there's no movement, no sign of anyone else except him, shaking his head, Harold muttered, "Bugger. Gone back down there, again. Oh, what shall I ever do with you, that I haven't already done?"
Walking towards the back wall of the wine cellar, near the crates of unpacked wine, Harold sees a faint outline of a hole bored into the wall.
It's large, close to the ground, and seeing it, Harold blinked uncontrollably as he contained the anger he had at the sight of the hole.
Muttering under his breath, Harold exhaled sharply as he began retrieving things around the wine cellar, using them to cover the hole, pressing particle boards against the hole, using the weight of the kegs to keep the particle boards in place.
Once he finished, Harold studied his work, it wasn't permanent, but it had to work, at least until he's able to privately fix the hole once the guests gone to sleep.
Exhaling sharply, Harold turned around, looking at the mess, he uttered, "Perhaps I shall make you clean this mess."
Shaking his head, irritated, Harold took deep breaths, blinking, before leaving the wine cellar, locking it up tightly, he informed the staff that they're not allowed down in the wine cellar, and without question, they obeyed his command.
"What bottles were brought up?" Harold calmly asked the staff in the kitchen, they informed them the bottles.
At Harold's request, they brought up bottles for today's courses and when asked, he's told by the kitchen staff that four of his guests made requests of their own.
Bottles of aged whisky at the request of Professor May.
Bourbon for Douglas.
Had the Winchesters stayed, they would've had their selected bottles of wine brought to them in glasses, but they're unsure what to do with them, now that they're gone.
"What of the Doctor and his companion?" Harold asked them, but he heard that they hadn't heard any requests from them, yet.
Chewing on his inner lip, Harold then instructed his kitchen staff that if the Doctor and his companion make any requests regarding wine, have them try the Winchesters' selection.
Otherwise, make do with the selection made for today's courses.
"Of course, sir," he heard his kitchen staff unanimously respond.
Slowly nodding, Harold thanked them, letting them continue their duties, as he departed from the kitchen, returning to the main area, going up one side of the staircases, going down the hallway to the left.
He arrived at a locked room, opening it with his key, Harold entered, inside there's a faint smell that remained permanently in the walls of the room.
No matter how much renovating done to the room, the smell remained permitting the walls, strengthened in the summer when the room heated up from the large stained-glass window overlooking it shining the sunlight through.
Going over to the oak desk, been there for about a few decades, give or take, left behind by one of the previous owners due to the weight of the perfectly crafted desk, and the headache it'd be getting it down one of the staircase.
Quite a feat getting it up the staircase, Harold should say.
Sitting down at the oak desk, Harold opened one of the drawers, reaching inside, grabbing a pair of sunglasses he obtained not too long ago, looking at it, he sees his blue eyes reflecting off the sheen from the sunglasses.
Exhaling sharply, Harold shoved them in his coat's inner pocket, as he sat at his desk, quietly, deep in thought.
"What do you expect from his help?" Harold let out a soft voice, "trying your tricks, again, are we?"
There's silence in the room before Harold then said, "He won't help you, if that's what you're hoping for, still bitter as always."
Hearing nothing, Harold briefly closed his eyes, when he opened them, he stared at his reflection from a photo on his desk, looking at his eyes closely, before he rubbed them.
Getting up from his desk, Harold left the room, locking it behind him, going down the staircase, heading back out to the garden, where he sees his guests in different corners.
Professor May's studying the flowers, some of them have been carefully maintained from parents spanning decades, that it intrigued him as a man of science, seeing their resilience, their careful breeding.
Douglas's taken to the corner of the garden, writing in his journal, having gotten inspired from seeing the angel statue, not wanting him to lose the fleeting thoughts in his mind.
Glimpsing around, Harold didn't see the Doctor and his companion, most peculiar, and he set out to look for them, in the large garden, filled with enough floral to amass countless butterflies of different species, fluttering in the breeze as they greedily suckle the nectar with their proboscis.
Every spring, they flocked to the gardens, not just them, hummingbirds, and bees, as well, happily mingling as they fed on the nectar and pollen, spreading it out into the country.
The vastness of the garden allowed them to mingle without running afoul with the guests.
Flying in the gentle breeze, Harold sees a bumble bee, its legs swole with pollen, as it buzzed away, greedily taking chunks of pollen back to the hive, somewhere nearby.
He heard a beekeeper say that every spring, the honey produced by the bees that've come through the garden tasted better than anywhere else, the mixture of lavender, the like, made the honey floral in taste, but subtle enough that it doesn't detract from the sweetness.
Made some of the best ale, too, judging from the prominent buyers of the honey, selling them at the pubs in town, made a nice bit of money since it was ale that could only be found in the town, nowhere else.
Greedily, the makers won't expand their reaches, wanting to bring people into the town for a taste of the best ale they'll find in North England, hoping that tourists happen to get the bite to look through the town for other unique tastes, endow themselves in the lore that propped the town up for years to come.
The ardent of tourists bought kegs worth of ale to bring home with them, quite an expensive feat, one reportedly bought up nearly 4.6 thousand British Pounds worth, for the ale alone, just to have it in their native country, Sweden.
For sure, the town prospered, but as Harold knew, quiet in his thoughts, the town buried much of its history to get this far, so deeply, that no one remembers, never written down, never seen, or heard from again.
Everyone who'd known anything about the true history's dead, their descendants preferring the fairytales than reality, saw money and nothing more.
Walking through the garden, Harold scoured for the Doctor and his companion, knowing they haven't gone back inside the mansion, there's no way out of the garden except through the mansion, and he made sure the access to the old cellar remained undisturbed, hidden away, no one capable of finding it, even by accident.
Nowhere near the koi pond, there's a few lawn chairs near the trimmed hedges, he'll see if they're there.
On his mind, Harold wondered quietly about this Doctor, didn't know anything about someone like that, more, there wasn't a name attached.
Quite curious.
Couldn't simply deny the Doctor from his celebration, he had an invitation, though its origins remained dubious, but Harold had thoughts.
An unplanned variable, quite unusual, indeed.
Perhaps, there's a way to maneuver through this, some way that's satisfactory for Harold.
As he's about to turn the corner, Harold stops as he sees two people occupying one of the lawn chairs.
The Doctor and his companion.
Quite close, them, seeing the companion with her head on his chest.
Sleeping amid the ambiance of the garden, the water from the elegant fountain flowed nearby.
Watching them from afar, Harold tilts his head at the sight, studying them.
Behind him, Harold hears something moving around, when he turned his head, he didn't see anything.
Turning back, Harold noticed the Doctor gone from the lawn chair, his companion still there, sleeping.
Confused, Harold turned away from the sight, before he's abruptly stopped by the appearance of Theodore.
Stiffly stopping in his place, Harold sees Theodore, a quizzical look in his blue eyes, as Harold tilted his head.
Exhaling sharply, Theodore relaxed, apologizing for scaring him, before Harold asks, "What seems to be the problem, Doctor?"
Exhaling, Theodore tells him, "Just my nerves, I guess."
Harold apologized for disturbing them, but Theodore waved his hand, saying that they couldn't help themselves, the garden's soothing.
Made him smile hearing Theodore's compliment, Harold says, "We spared no expense."
Money and time went into the garden, the bricked fencing required repairs over the years, before finally it was decided to tear them down, expand the garden outward, rebuilding the bricked fence with newer material.
The result, more plots used by flowers, trees, statues, you name it.
"Was there anything you wanted to talk about, sir?" Theodore asked him.
Blinking, Harold pondered, before saying, "Oh, no, I only wanted to be sure you and the others were tended by my staff. Oh! I have some bottles on reserve, do you perhaps fancy wine, Doctor?"
Hearing this, Theodore responded with, "I'm not fond of dry wine, if that's what you're asking. Red wine's fine, for me."
Recently bottled red wine tasted like grape pop rocks to Theodore due to the nuclear experiments, that he found enjoyment drinking them. The sweeter the red wine, the more it tasted like candy.
Bitter red wine tasted like sour pop rocks.
Dry wine, red or white, even when paired correctly with dishes, Theodore found that it took away from the experience.
"Excellent, I have some that should satisfy you. What of your companion, er..." Harold had issues remembering until Theodore told him Lila's name, and he corrected himself, "What of Miss Lila, does she have any preferences?"
Since she's asleep, it would be rude awakening her for an inquiry, and Theodore happily told him that Lila's fond of whisky, but has been getting into wine, red wine, not as sweet, but not bitter.
"Of course, we have the selection for her, as well," Harold nodded as he informed Theodore of how there's plenty fitting Lila's tastes.
Nodding back, Theodore then asked if there's anything else Harold wanted to discuss and though Harold wanted to pick Theodore's brain to understand him, but noticing the time, Harold's forced to decline, saying, "No, no, please, enjoy yourself, Doctor, I must oversee lunch."
Bidding him farewell, Harold went through the itinerary of the day, ensuring everything went smoothly, despite the issues earlier.
Time came when he retrieved the guests from the garden, bringing them back to the dining room, where sandwiches, tea, everything needed to complete a lunch.
As everyone's talking over lunch, in the distance, they heard a familiar sound.
Thunder.
Another storm's brewing.
"Spring showers," Professor May summed the shared sentiment as they hear the thunder rumbling.
With another storm coming in, it meant they're unable to leave the mansion for another night, and thus, Harold decided that they ought to have time in the parlor before dinner, it would be a good time to discuss the celebration in depth.
Agreeing to this, the guests continued their lunch, once it concluded, they're free to wander the mansion, to some degree, while Harold tended to some work, but he implored his guests that if they needed anything, his staff will help them, within reason, of course.
Disappearing through the doors, he left his guests own their own once more, and they mingled until spreading, going through the mansion as they're taking in the sights.
Studying the various art pieces situated around the mansion, Lila sees how Harold wanted to collect them, they're well-done, and maybe because she isn't an expert artist her opinions doesn't count, but seeing the thought that went into the art, there's love and dedication.
More when Lila found paintings with a singular woman in frame, she knew it was the same one, because in every painting with the woman, she's depicted wearing a blue dress and a blue veil.
Theodore found an even older painting with the woman further down the hall, this one looked like it'd been restored, though there's difficulties since there's still damage in the canvas from what he deduced as fire damage.
"Lady in blue?" Lila wondered if there's another ghost story about a phantom woman in a blue dress and veil, leading Theodore to shrug as he says, "Every place has a woman in some colour, Lee."
That he is right, as in most haunted places, there's always stories about a woman wearing a dress in some colour, always a tragic story involved as to why they haunt places.
Betrayed, murdered, died of a broken heart, name it, there's some variant to the story that has been passed around more than once.
After passing through the hall, seeing the paintings hung on the walls, the two decided to spend their free time in the one place they're familiar with, the library within the mansion.
The library's impressive, there's a spiral staircase leading up to an open first floor overlooking the ground floor below.
"And no creepy spider guy," Lila noted as she glanced around, "or insects hiding in shadows."
Despite Basil seemingly harmless, Lila wasn't forgiving of the one that came after him that made dolls out of living people, and the thought clouds of insects easily separating her flesh from bone cleanly wasn't enticing, either.
Arms interlocked, they went through the library, their footsteps echoing as they gazed at the bookcases that towered them, the bookcases bolted into the walls, preventing any accidents from occurring, it's impressive seeing the thought that went into putting the library together.
The fact the mansion had its own library, most only seem to have a study, that's about it, but this one had a decently sized library.
Perusing the books, Theodore says, "Interesting taste in books, I'll say."
Harold had an interest in alchemy, biology, chemistry, minerals, name it, it's somewhere in the library.
Shrugging, Lila says, "Everybody's gotta have a hobby, right?"
Thinking it over, Theodore then says, "Indeed, my dear Watson."