He is there again. Henry Prince. As we pass the town square, I see him standing before a small crowd. His arms are stretched wide. My heart jolts. I wish I could hear what he is saying. But the air in this carriage is so heavy it seems to muffle all sound from outside, except for the slow heavy creak of the wheels. I drink in the sight of him. He is like no one I have ever seen before. There is something about him, something in his eyes; something that I can’t explain. But it makes me feel scared and thrilled all at the same time. As we pass by, the crowd turns to look at us. He turns too. For a moment, he looks straight at me, and it is just like before. It feels as though he has looked straight into my soul. I shudder. Someone’s just walked over your grave, Eli would have said when we were little.
I follow Henry Prince with my eyes, craning my neck to catch a last glimpse of him. As he disappears from view I am left with an empty feeling; a hunger for something that I can’t describe. I will see him again. I know I will. I will find a way to leave the house. I will walk to the town square and if I have to wait all day to see him again, then I will. Even if I have to go back day after day, I will find a way to see him.
I slump back in my seat, and look across at Eli. He is itching at his collar and scowling like a little boy. It is hard to imagine that he is the man of the house now. I wonder if Mama will even let him be the man of the house. I wonder if she will be different now that Papa has gone. Will grief soften her? Will she be grateful for what she has left? I look at her, wafting her fan and gazing out at the onlookers as though she is royalty or some such.
She turns her head to me and glares. ‘Sit up straight, Alice,’ she commands. ‘We are nearly there now. All eyes will be on us in a moment, and you will not embarrass me. Do you understand?’ Then as though she has read my thoughts, she leans towards me and whispers over the top of her fan, ‘Just because your father has died, do not think things will be any different.’
She snaps her fan shut and traps a fly between the lacy ribs. And, like the fly, any hopes I had of a gentler Mama are crushed. The carriage jolts to a standstill. We have arrived at St Mary’s, and although the sun floods into the carriage when the door is opened, I have never felt as miserable in my whole life.