WHEN: The attic of Montmere House WHERE: 26 June 1923 WITH: @gilesryland
It was stiflingly clean in the attic, and just as quiet no less. The last people Freddie had stayed with—friends of his from before he became Lord Spencer—had an estate that treated the attic of the big house like a graveyard. Not so for the Ryland-Balfours, not the way they studied leisure like history.
Clean seemed to simply mean swept, not tidy, so Freddie looked curiously over Patrick’s shoulder at what seemed to be family debris by the gallon. Each ounce packed away in boxes and trunks and carpet rolls (by god, there were so many carpets).
“There’s a limerick in this somewhere,” said Freddie, less than an inch between him and Patrick until he could have bumped right into his host. He could have touched the nape of Patrick’s neck and felt the warm imprint of his own breath. “About a young lord who lived in a manor and was so full of valour… Ah, hell, the rest of it isn’t coming to me now but I’m sure you’d be wonderful for inspiration.”