“I do indeed. Good decision on your part, Blackie. And I do like these rooms … tall windows, each room with a fireplace, and I notice you’ve sketched in sofas and chairs. Excellent. Easy for me to visualize. You’ve done truly great work. And I notice the builders are doing a good job. The house is going up very quickly.”

“Yes, and my uncle is doing very well as the foreman.” Blackie cleared his throat, then said, “I just want to remind ye that I won’t be here next week, Yer Lordship. At the beginning of this project, I did explain I had ter be at Fairley Hall in early November. I’m the best one to do the stonework they need.”

“Ah, yes, I do recall that, O’Neill. Very honorable of you to inform me, and, of course, to keep your commitment to Squire Fairley. I believe you said your uncle would be here in your place again. That is fine with me. He’s excellent, good with the men. So, we will continue, and I will await your return. And thank you again for your dedication, O’Neill.”

“It is my pleasure, Yer Lordship.”

Lord Robert went into his library and strode over to his desk. He had many papers to deal with but ignored them, sat back in his chair, lost in his thoughts. He was impressed by Blackie O’Neill, admiring the young lad’s talents. Mostly self-taught, he was growing into a clever draftsman and builder. A good lad to have working for him. No, not a lad, not anymore. He was seventeen now, a man.

Robert sighed. Eighteen and our young men are old enough to be sent to the front to fight in a war when necessary. That’s what they always did—send their young to die in foreign fields. “Cannon fodder,” he muttered to himself. But it was the young who were fit, energetic and enthusiastic; they wanted to go and vanquish the enemy, joyful in their mission.

“Well, thank God there are no wars at the moment,” Robert said out loud to the empty library.

There had been none since the Boer War, and the whole world was at peace for once. But for how long? he asked himself.