Forming the Company Part 1

Morning arrived at Oriel Estate with all the mercy of a cold hammer on an anvil.

When Ernest finally opened his eyes, the high, pale light of dawn was just beginning to scrape across the bedroom ceiling. His back was stiff, his eyes burned from hours under the arc-lamps, and his brain felt as though it were swimming in hot pitch.

Sleep had lasted four hours. Three, if he was honest about the time spent staring at the canopy, mentally calculating the heat loss per square foot of refractory brickwork.

He didn't linger in bed. He washed his face in ice-cold water, dressed in a sharp wool suit, and went downstairs.

The manor was dead quiet, save for the muffled scrape of a servant's broom somewhere in the west wing and the rich, buttery scent of black coffee drifting up from the kitchens.

When Ernest pulled back the heavy oak doors to the small breakfast parlor, he found Arthur already there.