It had been different. The dust had once been wiped away with damp clothes, lights were replaced, food had been stocked, meals prepared.
Then the wizened woman, Enda, had died, along with so many others. Betony hadn't been at the Boarding House that day or she probably would have died too.
Where had she been. She couldn't even remember now.
The police had cleaned up the remains but death had stayed, killing the warmth the house had once possessed. It took more than a week for the back door to be replaced.
To be fair, the Jasons woman hadn't minded all that much. Her room was kept warm, crocheted and knitted blankets thrown on bed and chairs, the scent of herbs in the air and Autumn sun coming through the window. Her dwelling within a dwelling. Secure against the encroaching decay of the house.
It wouldn't last though. No new tenants had come by in months. She had sent letters to those handling the sale of the house. She'd even, heaven help her, offered to assist as property manager. She had been told there already was a property manager. As far as Betony Rue could tell, the person they were talking about was almost a ghost. The building continued to die. Slowly.
She couldn't buy it, not with the money and income she had. She seriously doubted even if she did she would be willing to make such a purchase.
The situation was beginning to vex her. She had brought the children here because had been the place of hospitality. The freehold bulletin board was still here. She had been unaware of just how far it had degraded, having been focused on other tasks. Now that she was spending most of her days here she was keenly aware. The atmosphere was not conducive to the health of the children.
This was not a refuge. Not anymore. And if no one else cared, not other tenants, not property managers, not real estate marketers... well then, she would have to.
So she began speaking with the other boarders through out the day, asking for their help the only way she knew how, by not using questions. Only statements.