I glanced at him. ‘Did you?’
‘Brought her some coal Mr Hamilton said could be spared.’
‘Did you, Alfred?’ I said appreciatively.
‘Been cold of a night, it has. Didn’t like to think of your ma going cold.’
I was filled with gratitude; it had been my guilty fear that Mother’s passing had been brought about through lack of warmth.
A hand clamped firmly on my wrist. My aunt was beside me. ‘That’s over and done then,’ she said. ‘And a fine service too. Can’t see she’d have anything to complain about.’ Defensive, though I hadn’t disagreed. ‘Nothing more I could have done, I’m sure.’
Alfred was watching us.
‘Alfred,’ I said, ‘this is my Aunt Dee, Mother’s sister.’
My aunt narrowed her eyes as she stared at Alfred; a groundless suspicion that was native to her. ‘Charmed, I’m sure.’ She turned back to me. ‘Come on then, miss,’ she said, affixing her hat and tightening her scarf. ‘Landlord’s coming first thing tomorrow and that house needs be spotless.’
I glanced at Alfred, cursed the wall of uncertainty still stretched between us. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I suppose I’d best be-’
‘Actually,’ said Alfred quickly, ‘I was hoping… that is, Mrs Townsend thought you might like to come back up to the house for tea?’
He glanced at my aunt who scowled in return. ‘What would she be wanting with all that?’
Alfred shrugged, rocked back and forth on his heels. His eyes were on me. ‘Have a visit with the other staff. A bit of a natter. For old time’s sake?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said my aunt.
‘Yes,’ I said firmly, finding my tongue. ‘I’d like that.’
‘Good,’ said Alfred, relief in his voice.
‘Well,’ said my aunt. ‘Have it your way. I’m sure I don’t mind.’ She sniffed. ‘Just don’t be long. You needn’t think I’m doing all the scrubbing myself.’
Alfred and I walked through the village, side by side; soft flakes of snow, too light to fall, suspended on the breeze like flecks in pond water. For a time we travelled without speaking. Footsteps muffled by the damp dirt road. Bells ringing as shoppers went in and out of doors. Occasional motor cars whirring down the lane.
As we neared Bridge Road, we began to speak of Mother: I recounted the day of the button in the string bag; the long-ago Punch and Judy visit; told him of my narrow escape from the Foundling Hospital.
Alfred nodded. ‘Brave of your ma, if you ask me. Can’t have been easy, her all on her own.’
‘She never tired of telling me so,’ I said, with more bitterness than I intended.
‘Shame about your da,’ he said as we passed Mother’s street and the village turned abruptly to countryside. ‘Having to leave her like that.’
At first I thought I had misheard. ‘My what?’
‘Your da. Shame things didn’t work out for the two of them.’
My voice trembled against my best attempts to still it. ‘What do you know about my father?’
He shrugged ingenuously. ‘Only what your ma told me. Said she was young and she loved him, but in the end it was impossible. Something to do with his family, his commitments. She wasn’t real clear.’
My voice, thin as the floating snow: ‘When did she tell you that?’
‘What?’
‘About him. My father.’ I shivered into my shawl, pulled it tight around my shoulders.
‘I took to visiting recently,’ he said. ‘She was all alone, what with you in London. Didn’t seem much trouble on my part to keep her company once in a while. Have a natter about this and that.’
‘Did she tell you anything else?’ Was it possible, after a lifetime of keeping secrets from me, Mother had opened up so easily at the end?
‘No,’ said Alfred. ‘Not much. Nothing more about your da. To be honest, I did most of the talking; she was more a listener, don’t you think?’
I was unsure what I thought. The whole day was deeply unsettling. Burying Mother, Alfred’s unexpected arrival, learning he and Mother had met regularly, had discussed my father. A topic closed to me from before I’d even thought to ask. I walked faster as we entered the Riverton gates, as if to walk free of the day. I welcomed the clinging damp of the long dark driveway. Surrendered myself to a force that seemed to be pulling me inexorably on.
I could hear Alfred behind me, walking faster to catch me up. Small branches cracked under foot, the trees seemed to eavesdrop.
‘I meant to write, Gracie,’ he said quickly. ‘To reply to your letters.’ He drew beside me. ‘I tried so many times.’
‘Why didn’t you?’ I said, walking on.
‘I couldn’t get the words right. You know how my head is. Since the war…’ He lifted a hand and rapped lightly on his forehead, ‘Certain things I just can’t seem to do no more. Not like before. Words and letters are one of them.’ He hurried to keep up with me. ‘Besides,’ he said, breath catching, ‘there were things I needed to say that could only be said in person.’
The air was icy on my cheeks. I slowed. ‘Why didn’t you wait for me?’ I said softly. ‘The day of the theatre show?’
‘I did, Gracie.’
‘But when I got back-It had only just gone five.’
He sighed. ‘I left at ten before. We just missed each other.’ He shook his head. ‘I would’ve waited longer, Gracie, only Mrs Tibbit said you must have forgot. That you’d gone on an errand and wouldn’t be back for hours.’
‘But that wasn’t true!’
‘Why would she make it up, a thing like that?’ said Alfred, confused.
I lifted my shoulders helplessly, let them fall. ‘It’s what she’s like.’
We had reached the top of the driveway. There on the ridge stood Riverton, large and dark, the edges of evening beginning to enclose her. We paused unconsciously, stood a moment before continuing past the fountain and around toward the servants’ entrance.
‘I went after you,’ I said as we entered the rose garden.
‘You didn’t,’ he said, glancing at me. ‘Did you?’
I nodded. ‘I waited at the theatre until the last. I thought I could catch you up.’
‘Oh, Gracie,’ Alfred said, stopping at the base of the stairs. ‘I’m so sorry.’
I stopped too.
‘I should never have listened to that Mrs Tibbit,’ he said.
‘You weren’t to know.’
‘But I should have trusted you’d be back. It’s just…’ He glanced at the closed servants’ door, tightened his lips, exhaled. ‘There was something on my mind, Grace. Something important
