Chapter Text
Door 1
Merlin hopped off his bicycle, the faint creak of its wheels falling silent as he leaned it against the stone wall by the wrought-iron gate.
A sense of unease washed over him as he glanced up at the towering building before him. The manor almost looked like a little castle, two turrets flanking the white stone facade, decorated by a few, well-trimmed roses climbing up the walls. Large, arched windows gazed down on him, a similarly shaped door waiting at the end of the gravel path leading up to the house.
“Lords,” Merlin muttered, running a hand through his hair. What was he even doing here? People who owned this sort house did not associate with the likes of him. This was old money, the dragon crest decorating the gate just one of the many signs that whoever lived here had inherited a centuries-old name, and a title to match.
He had known, of course, from the moment he had read the advert in the newspaper, that whoever was behind the mysterious initials ‘UP’ had to be wealthy. Still, Merlin had hoped for a more relaxed kind of rich—the cool, hip, invented-something-terribly-handy sort.
This was the house of a toff. Some stiff-upper-lipped, self-important aristo who wrinkled their nose at council flat dwellers like Merlin’s mum.
Hesitating, Merlin’s eyes drifted across the sprawling front garden, the lawn perfectly manicured and bordered by topiary, the maintenance of which probably cost more than an entire year’s worth of rent for Merlin’s flatshare. There was a fountain, too, and a statue of a dog.
Merlin was no longer sure he wanted the job.
The offered pay was, of course, staggering; more than anything he had ever seen being offered for a male nanny, and he had looked after enough kids by this point to make a fair comparison. What was more, there was only one child: a boy, seven years old, with an eight-year-old half-sister visiting every other weekend.
No, Merlin wasn’t worried about the children, spoiled as they probably were. It was the parents he wasn’t sure about.
Still hesitating, he glanced at his watch, chewing on his lip. If he wanted this job, he would have to go and ring now, or risk being turned away for being late.
Shifting his weight, he debated turning on his heel and simply pedalling off. The thought of being faced with some stuck-up lord or lady—who would probably take one look at him and decide he wasn’t worth the hassle of giving an interview anyway—was hardly worth it, even for the chance of a secure job with very generous pay.
He should leave.
But just as he was about to take a step back towards his bicycle, movement in one of the arched windows caught Merlin’s eye. Squinting, he focused on the second floor, spotting a small figure—a boy—barely visible behind the curtains: blond, with pale skin and watchful eyes.
He was staring at Merlin.
Merlin blinked, then slowly raised his hand in a small wave. The boy visibly startled, his eyes widening before he quickly ducked to the side, disappearing behind the drapes as if swallowed by the fabric.
Merlin stood frozen for a second, his hand still in mid-air, as if the kid might come back at any second.
But he didn’t.
Still, that fleeting glimpse had struck something in Merlin. The boy had looked… vulnerable, he supposed; terribly small, certainly, compared to that large window in an even larger house.
“Ah, sod it,” he said under his breath, finally lowering his hand.
Taking one last glance at his bicycle, Merlin set off down the gravel path toward the imposing door. The house seemed even larger up close, a dragon door knocker smirking at him as he came to stand on the front steps. Pendragon, a little sign read.
Merlin paused, taking a deep breath. Then he rang the bell.
The door was opened within seconds by a man with a pinched expression, who looked Merlin over with a critical eye, before drawling, “Good day, sir. Mr Wyllt, I presume?”
He was a butler, clear as day, the white gloves and black tie speaking volumes.
Merlin bit back the instinct to make a sarcastic quip. “Yes, that’s me,” he replied.
The butler stepped aside, showing him in. “May I take your coat, sir?” he offered.
Merlin shrugged off his brown suede jacket, taking in the high entrance hall as he handed it over. There were portraits and landscapes, statues and vases, and a massive wooden staircase leading up to a gallery.
Merlin’s eyes lingered there for a moment, finding a small, pale face peeking through two wooden bannisters. Merlin did not wave this time, though he made sure to send a smile up the stairs before turning back to the butler, who had hung up the coat and was now giving Merlin another not-very-subtle once over.
Merlin was wearing his best trousers and one of the two buttoned shirts he owned, which Freya had been darling enough to iron for him that morning. Still, he knew his hair always looked a mess after a bike ride, and there was nothing to be done about the state of his shoes, either: a pair of scuffed, old-fashioned loafers he had inherited from his father.
Despite an obvious air of disapproval, the butler seemed to deem Merlin presentable enough not to offend his employer’s eyes too terribly, and he announced, “If you’d follow me, sir? His Lordship is expecting you in his study.”
His Lordship. Right. That would be the father, then.
“Thank you,” Merlin replied, as politely as he could, and glanced up at the gallery again as the butler passed him. But the boy was gone.
The butler led the way, walking stiffly, as if something was stuck up his backside, a thought that had Merlin bite his lip very hard in an attempt to school his features, lest he break into a laugh and make a completely terrible first impression.
He was not sure why he bothered, exactly. With every step he took further inside the manor, it became clearer to him that this was most definitely not his sort of job. They were passing an honest-to-the-gods suit of armour now, then more portraits and landscapes, and side tables with polished figurines that probably belonged in a museum.
At last, they arrived at a large, wooden door, on which the butler knocked exactly three times before stepping inside and bowing as he announced, “Mr Wyllt for you, my lord.”
There was no response, but the pointed look the butler shot him let Merlin know he was to enter.
Hells! This was like being called into the headmaster’s office!
Swallowing down a sudden, absurd surge of nervousness, Merlin braced himself and entered the study.