Whether they had seen this or not, whether they knew or knew or didn't, they weren't ignorant.  Just because they hadn't seen this didn't mean Malachi didn't exist here.  He supposed that that was the excuse Malachi told himself, to explain his supposed family's inaction.

Arthur was not so easily convinced, and he was not so forgiving.

The dust was dry against Arthur's hand.  He held Malachi tighter.

"Burning it would be nice," he whispered.  It took a moment before Malachi's words - we would be set - fully sunk it.

"I don't need money to be happy, Malachi.  I just need you.  And - what I said at breakfast wasn't a lie, money isn't always great for a doctor, but.  I swear, I'll give every pence I earn to keep you in luxury if that's what you want, and I'd do so happily."

Happily doesn't even begin to describe it.  Arthur would do it lovingly.

"If you want to sell this place, Malachi, I will gladly help you.  The same goes for if you want to burn it down.  But please don't make that decision for my, or for our sake.  This is your home.  Whatever you want to do to it, or with it, is your choice, and yours only."