“How long have you been here at Donadea, Mr. Finnegan?” I asked cautiously, not quite sure what he was up to.

“Since I was a boy of twelve and my mother came here to be the cook for Lord Rothvale’s grandfather, number eleven. I have served at Donadea for over fifty years now. It’s really the only home I’ve ever known.”

“It must have changed a great deal in fifty years, but it’s still an amazing and beautiful house in the most gorgeous setting. I can’t imagine a better place to be if you are a lover of country living.”

“Very true, and it’s coming into a kind of Renaissance now that number thirteen has taken such a keen interest in the place. He is working hard to make it a comfortable home once more after some years of neglect.”

“You call him number thirteen?” I suppose it made sense to keep track of who was who among the staff.

“Not to his face, of course. Usually ‘sir’ works well for most situations. He doesn’t care for formalities much, but it’s not easy for an old dog like me to learn new tricks, either.”

I grinned conspiratorially. “He told me when you use the baronial address it’s because you’re annoyed with him.” It wasn’t quite the whole truth, but close enough to get the general meaning across. I would not be sharing with him what Ivan had really said. When he uses my lord on me, Finnegan is undoubtedly telling me to fuck off.

“Did he now? I’ll make a note. Might come in handy in future, you never know.” He smiled gently and looked me straight in the eyes. “If I may, I’d like to share something with you, Miss Hargreave, about… him. I’d also ask for your confidence in keeping this between us if you would. He would not be pleased with me for sharing the details about his past, but I’m going to go out on a limb here because I believe I can trust you. And I know you’ll now be a fixture here at Donadea as you work with the paintings.”

Okay, my ears were now tuned in a million percent to Mr. Finnegan and what he might tell me. “Of course, you can trust me. I’m only here to help him, Mr. Finnegan.”

“I’d venture it’s a bit more than that though, between the two of you, Miss Hargreave. And it is for that reason, I’m talking to you now. I’ve known him since the day he was born when his mother brought him home wrapped in a white lambswool blanket. He was born at the hospital in Belfast and lived here with her until she was lost to him at the age of six. He was shuttled between his grandmothers and his uncle mostly for the next few years until he was old enough to be sent off to the exclusive schools for young men of his status, as is the custom.”

“Where was his father?” I dared to ask.