Chapter 5

Phoebe, having spent two hours with him among ladders, dust, rafters, and old account books, had not yet decided her own opinion. She only knew that he asked exact questions, listened to the answers, and possessed the rare talent of making silence feel industrious rather than awkward.He had arrived at 8:00 with a leather case of instruments and a notebook full of neat drawings. Phoebe had met him at the side entrance carrying keys."You are punctual," he said."I am responsible for a building that may be condemned. Punctuality seems the least I can offer.""And keys?""Those, too."They began in the service passage, where Mr. Meer examined damp patches near the outer wall. From there, they climbed a narrow stair to the space above the ballroom ceiling. Phoebe had not been there since childhood, when she had once followed her uncle and been scolded for ruining her muslin on soot.The air smelled of dust, old wood, and cold plaster. Light entered through a small roof hatch. Mr. Meer crouched among the beams, running his hand along the timber."Here," he murmured.Phoebe held the lantern closer. A beam near the gallery end had darkened with old damp—not rotten through, but weakened. Some plaster laths beneath it had shifted."Is it very bad?" she asked."It is bad enough to demand honesty.""That sounds like an architect's way of avoiding an answer.""It is an architect's way of refusing a dramatic one."She looked at him. He tapped the beam lightly."The damage is serious, but not necessarily fatal. The ceiling must be shored at once. The gallery should not be used. The ballroom must remain closed until repairs are made.""But repaired, not demolished?"His eyes met hers in the lantern light. "I have seen no reason for demolition."The relief that passed through Phoebe was so strong she had to rest one hand on a beam. Mr. Meer saw it and looked away with tact."Thank you," she said."I have not saved it yet.""No, but you have not buried it, either."He gave a quiet laugh. It changed his face: the severity eased, and for an instant, Phoebe saw the younger man beneath the professional reserve. It was gone almost at once, but she remembered it.When they descended, Mr. Gibbs was waiting below with folded arms. "Well?" he demanded.Mr. Meer removed dust from his sleeve. "The ballroom ceiling requires immediate support. I shall prepare a report for the committee."Mr. Gibbs snorted. "Report? A man could mend the thing quicker than write about it.""A man could also conceal the fault quicker than mend it."

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