[CW - there will be some at some point...]
 
Work was work, didn’t matter what time or day. His family needed the money. Yet being basically forced out of the house to another job after being on a fishing-ship all night was not something Claude enjoyed. Although he supposed it was better than being criticised by his father for being lazy, despite doing more then the man for the family.
 
Carrying his heavy toolbox across to the other side of town, he stood in front of the house for a moment taking it in before knocking on the door. Hopefully it would be a quick and easy job, then he could find somewhere on the beach for a nap.

As luck would have it, one of the seats in the lounge that predated his stay and God knew what else had... well, given up. Given up when he had sunken into it after a heated letter exchange with some literary buffoon from York. His letter hardly deserved an answer, and Zechariah had been ready to let him know just that!

… and then he fell straight through to the floor. Damn the couch, and damn Literary Buffoon, too!

The butler was the one to answer the door, with a carefully neutral face that totally didn’t say “I broke it first and propped it up with bricks”.

Claude nodded his head politely to the man that opened the door. "I'm from Longbottom's Repairs sir" he said while holding up his toolbox.

Of course he was. The only visitors the moody bastard got were family, law enforcement, and that one fellow who he was pleasantly surprised hadn’t coughed up pneumonia unto them all.

“Right this way, sir,” he said, leading the workman to the bench.

There were splinters everywhere, splayed out under the leather upholstering. It made a distinct “V” shape from the middle... and there was a pile of toppled, chipped bricks poking out from under it.

Claude followed after the Butler, freezing at the sight of the destroyed bench. They wanted him to fix that? Surely if they had the money for the house then they had the money for a new one. But then he couldn’t really turn down work...

“Is there wood in the yard I can use?” He asked, moving to kneel by the bench, taking stock of what he could reuse and what would need replacement.

“There’s … trees, sir,” the butler answered with a quizzical look. “Do you need an axe?”

"Yes, if possible" he responded while starting to dismantle the bench to save what he could of it. This was going to take some time... no wonder father had left it for him to do. "The master of the house won't mind trees being cut?"

“... The house is let, sir.”

Well... shit... That made things more difficult... "Can I talk to the master of the house?" surely he would know if Claude could start cutting down a tree in the yard... If not, he could pay for the lumber.

The butler turned quickly, in part to hide his look of relief. He was fairly certain he had found something juicy on the master should things turn south, and he wanted to rifle through some more to make certain.

Zechariah, meanwhile, was not relieved to be summoned. He was beginning to wonder if someone a little less... mustached? might make a better butler for him.

Purely merit-based ponderings, of course.

The butler made himself scarce once Zechariah was in eye-contact range of the workman.

“Is there a problem?” he asked immediately with a sour look... then squinted.

Was this the workman? He thought he would be uglier older.