What the cartographers originally recorded as Fort Henry had, by the early twentieth century, become Loughlea, and the building's footprint had altered enough that the two maps show noticeably different layouts. That kind of quiet reinvention, a house reshaping itself and shedding its old identity across a span of decades, is easy to miss unless you happen to be comparing old maps side by side.

The house itself is a fairly typical product of mid-nineteenth-century rural ambition: two storeys, rendered walls with plastered quoins at the corners, a three-bay entrance front facing south-west with a central porch, and sash windows set in plastered surrounds. Gable-ended rooflines with chimneys sitting atop each gable, a lean-to stairway projection at the rear, and farm buildings behind it all suggest a household that was neither grand nor modest, somewhere in the practical middle ground of prosperous tenant or minor landowning Ireland. The name Fort Henry, carried on the 1842 six-inch Ordnance Survey map, hints at an earlier identity or affectation, possibly a nod to a former owner or a fashionable military association of the kind that cropped up on Irish estates in the post-Napoleonic decades. Whatever the reasoning, it did not last. By the time the surveyors returned for the 1906 revision, the name had gone and the building's arrangement had changed.

Today the structure is an overgrown ruin, its architectural details, the plastered quoins, the window surrounds, the porch, gradually being reclaimed by vegetation. The farm buildings to the rear survive in some form alongside it, a reminder that the house was always the centre of a working agricultural holding rather than a purely domestic retreat.