Page 34 of My Fair Lord

“There are many roles a man can take which require only a half-hearted commitment, but for a life serving the Almighty, I believe it must be fully given. I, poor sinner that I am, lacked the necessary conviction. We quarrelled about it on several occasions until my father finally saw it wasn’t something I had enough faith for. I was too impulsive and wayward.”

“In that case, you were right to choose otherwise and fortunate your father saw sense,” Miss Wakechild said. She wrinkled her brow. “Does your father approve of your current choice of career?”

Ned looked away, only now seeing the snare he had set for himself and unerringly walked into.

“My father died before I was able to embarrass him with the knowledge of what I had become,” he said briskly.

“I’m sorry.”

Miss Wakechild pressed her hand onto his. It was a small gesture and there was no reason for it to create such a large lump in Ned’s throat. He didn’t miss the old man. Hadn’t for years. His death wasn’t the tragedy that a woman from a loving family would assume it was.

“Thank you.”

What more was there to say?

Ned held the gate open for Miss Wakechild. As they passed through, he noticed the stables were on the edge of the property, closer to the village than the house. Seeing them reminded Ned of something he had been meaning to do and the lull in the conversation caused by the awkward exchange needed filling.

“Could we go pay a visit to Alfie?” Ned asked. “I haven’t seen him and I’d like to know if he is doing well.”

“Of course, I should have thought of that myself,” Miss Wakechild said. “We can go to the stable yard now. He’s sure to be there.”

In the stable yard a groom was leading Lord Griggs’ carriage horse across the straw-strewn yard. Alfie was sitting on a bale of hay beside a couple of lads a few years older. All three had brooms resting across their laps. Alfie jumped off when he saw Ned approaching, then hesitated as if unsure that he was allowed to do that. When he saw Miss Wakechild, he looked even more uncertain. He pulled the cap from his head. His hair had been shorn close to his head and was now practically nothing more than a black fuzz. It made him look desperately young.

“It’s alright Alfie,” Miss Wakechild said. “You can come and talk to us.”

“Thanks, Miss. I’ve got a break, but I wasn’t sure if I’m allowed to leave the yard.”

Miss Wakechild looked surprised, as if such a thing as being constrained never occurred to her before.

“Well, I shall answer for you, if that is the case. Please come and talk to us for a minute. Your bruises are healing nicely, I see. Are they treating you well?”

Alfie raised his brows and twisted his mouth slightly uncertainly. Ned looked around. The stable yard was a hive of activity, but most of it was momentarily paused at the arrival of the American visitor. The two stable boys were openly staring.

“Let’s take a walk,” Ned suggested in an undertone. “If there is anything Alfie needs to say with regard to his treatment, he would hardly confess it in front of the people responsible.”

Not even in private, given how many years of suffering the child had endured at Carver Clarke’s hands.

“You’re right; I didn’t think,” Miss Wakechild said. She held her hand out.

“Come on, young Alfie. Come and introduce me to the horses in the paddock. Have you learned their names yet?”

Ned followed behind as the woman and boy picked a relatively clean route through the yard and down to the enclosure where four horses were grazing. The two of them chatted as they walked and Ned felt confident that if anything was amiss, it would be revealed by the time they reached the horses. Something in Miss Wakechild seemed to invite people to share confidences. Ned had surprised himself on that account more than once.

As they watched the horses make their slow way from hay bale to thistle, Alfie told them of his experience.

“There’s always bread and scrape for supper, but they only give me milk or water to drink. I miss gin. The lads are ok. Bit of teasing but I’ve had worse.”

“Teasing? How do you mean?” Miss Wakechild asked.

“Say they’re gonna use the saddle soap to clean me face white.”

“That’s dreadful! Do you want to leave?” Miss Wakechild asked.

“No. I don’t want to go back to me dad,” Alfie said, far too quickly for Ned’s comfort.

Miss Wakechild patted his hand. “No, of course not. But perhaps the kitchens or gardens might be better for you than here if the boys aren’t kind.”

Ned grimaced. Liverpool was a port city filled with people from all over the world, of every race and colour. Goreswarth was not, and Alfie was the only person in the household whose skin was dark. It was bound to be commented on wherever he was sent.