Meg stood up, carefully tracking the line of the roof. “I could do it.”
Agrimony blinked. Charlie blinked. There was a lot of blinking.
It was not particularly encouraging.
“I might not be able to fix a window casement, but I can plug a thatched roof. I’ve done it before.” She knew something about roofs, having a disaster of one for herself.
More blinking.
“Honestly. I just a need a ladder.” She turned to Charlie as Agrimony hollered for a ladder. “And your hat pin.”
“My… hat pin?”
“Yes, please.” She removed hers and twisted her skirts, pinning them together between her knees. The second pin helped secure it into something resembling a loose trouser of a sort. Certainly good enough to pop up a ladder. She adjusted Charlie’s pin. “These are good for stabbing too.”
“That’s surprising.”
“You didn’t know?”
“Of course, I knew that. I have two brothers and a George. But it’s surprising to find that you knew that.” She tilted her head. “You are surprising, Miss Swift.”
“Realistic,” Meg corrected with a small shrug. “After all, some people are vexing.”
“Enough to be stabbed?”
“Most definitely.”
“I admit I didn’t realize ladies were allowed to be realistic.”
“We are not encouraged to be which is all the more reason why we must be so. The world would eat us whole.”
Agrimony’s sister’s husband’s cousin arrived with a ladder and a plug of straw. Meg scampered up the rungs and onto the roof in question. She stayed along the timbers, knowing full well that thatched roofs did not always consent to hold the weight of a full-grown adult. This was not her first rooftop adventure.
The thatch was thickly laid, many families having added to it over several decades. There was some moss but not enough for concern. There didn’t appear to be any serious damage, just the usual wear and tear. But it would only get worse. Meg wriggled into position, stretching out on the steep angle, the straw poking through her dress. “Where’s the hole?” She called down.
“It leaks just to your left there, near the ridge.”
The furthest point from any kind of safe perch, of course.
And with the nature of water, the hole could be anywhere really, but one problem at a time. She squirmed, inching forward until there was ominous creaking below her. She let out a breath. “All right up there?” Charlie asked.
“Right as rain,” Meg returned, sounding far more confident than she should. She felt around the thatch, through the thick straw, around bumps and worn spots. “Found it! The birds have been at it. Shouldn’t take a moment to fix.”
The hole wasn’t very big, fortunately, but it also wasn’t particularly easy to reach. They never were. She stretched as far as she could, until her shoulder protested. It would be too easy to lose the plug of straw at this point, and watch it roll down the steep roof and have to start again. She held tight, knuckles aching as she maneuvered. A spider crawled past her nose. “If you come any closer, I will bite you.”
Wisely, the spider took a sharp detour.
Meg shoved the plug into the offending gap and pushed down. The straw scraped at her hands, prickling and biting. It was hardly professional work, but she was confident that it would at least slow the progress of water. Until she had herself a little chat with Mr. Clarke. Well, Dougal would talk to him.
She had to remind herself that she was leaving, and she had no say here.
It stung. Nothing to be done for it. She inched back down to a more secure perch on the ladder and took a moment to admire the picturesque sweep of hills and fields and sun on harvest grasses. And Dougal. He rode towards them, his horse prancing energetically. The sun glinted off the red buried deep in Dougal’s hair. He was so handsome, so himself, even at this distance.
But Charlie was right. He was a terrible rider. She wasn’t sure why that should be so endearing, but it was. She supposed she had been subjected to too many lectures from various earls and viscount’s second sons on the proficiency of their riding ability, stables, and horses, in that order. She always cared more about the state of the fields they rode through, and the damage done by hooves and what kind of manure was used. None of which she could say out loud.
Although she wouldn’t hesitate to say it to Dougal.
Perhaps not at this precise moment, however.