Chapter 3
Alexander was by nature a questioning individual. This made him an apt and eager scholar and had helped award him his various scholarships and tutelage, culminating in the former position he held at Brindley Hall with the Mather family.
His questioning and wonder at the world had begun when he was small. He would pester his mother from the moment he could speak with "Why?" whenever he was requested to do something, like go to sleep or to eat. When he was able to think more coherently, he would toddle about after his mother or one of the other occupants of the house in which they had lived asking "How come?" and "Why do you have to do that?". He was such a sweet and loving child that most people would suffer his questioning until they bade him to find another person to subject his queries to.
As an adult, although he was very well learnt for his years, his questioning nature had become slightly more sceptical, the more he learned via books and through life experience.
His mother's tale of the previous night had rendered his mind resonating with nothing but endless questions and as no answers were readily available, a sense of foreboding gripped him. It all boiled down to 'why'.
He left his mother at the foot of the drive way, which was lined in thick forest ahead and had created a roof over the drive by its entwined branches. It reminded him of his days at St. Anne's Catholic School on the outskirts of Coalcote for privileged boys. He had won a scholarship, which was subsidised by the diocese in which he lived.
He had never liked nor fitted into that school, and remembered feeling the same underlying woe as he passed the similar gate house and similar ancient stones that held the great wrought iron gates that loomed above his head. He shuddered as he passed through them, but continued to pursue his course up along the woodland road, the snow crunching beneath his feet.
The wind was biting at his ears and fingers and he pulled his cap down his head as far as he could in order to cover his stinging ears, but failed in his task. He settled with stuffing his left hand into his coat pocket and the other hand, holding his bag, found shelter inside the long sleeve of his rough brown coat.
He shuddered as he trudged through the snow. His mind forgetting the cold by being absorbed with the recent parting from his mother and all those endless questions that kept whirling in his mind, refusing to let him feel at peace. None of this made sense, especially the fact that his mother wanted to be parted from him. They were all each other had and now they were both on their own. This wasn't like when he was a tutor to the Mather's – he had always been able to come home and see his mother every single week. This was different and it felt so wrong it made him feel tense and made his heart thump hard in his chest.
His steps quickened without him noticing and his gaze stayed pinned to the ground. In his mind he replayed his mother's coach driving away into the distance and feeling so sad at seeing her leave. He remembered the ride from Paris that had taken place in almost silence and how angry it made him, not being allowed to question her and make her see sense. She had told him to remain in silence during the journey because they had fought when they awoke in the morning. He had been so passionate with his doubts and fears that she had had to raise her voice to him, which she had never done since he was small. How he wished he had ignored her instructions and spoke freely! He could never forgive himself if she were to find herself in trouble. Why did she have to follow up on these far fetched tales about his father? Even if they were true, why did she even care so much as to leave him and carry on her search, almost desperately, alone? He shook his head at these inward reflections.
His mind took this line of thought onwards and he could not help but allow for himself to do so. He thought about his father. He had apparently been murdered by his step uncle before he was born. He had been a recluse, he recalled his mother saying, and lead an unusual life; living beneath the Garnier Opera House in Paris, until his mother had met him and they had married in secret. The union was discovered, his mother never told him how and they were parted by force. All this he knew and yet, he had no real feelings about him. His mother would tell him stories about him all of the time and they were interesting, but in all, the opinion he had shaped about his father was that he was not the type of person that he thought he could have gotten on with. He seemed such an opposite to his mother, who was, on occasion, lively and imaginative and so loved by all who knew her. He seemed dull and two dimensional. This he had put down to the fact that he had never met him and now this stranger was controlling both his and his mothers fate's whether from the grave or otherwise. He did not like this notion and felt a stab of pain of concern and fear for his mother.
His mental ramblings had brought him to the house without him even noticing. He looked up suddenly when he noticed a change in the air about him and he thought he was walking off the track. He was almost shocked about how far he had walked and without even seeing this splendid building rising before him from the road. It truly was a unique building. It was as grand and ornate as Brindley, but much larger, as he could see the wings fan out further either side.
"Eck" he muttered as he gawped, raising his head to get a better look at the upper floors and the windows of the attic. He proceeded to walk slowly around the side of the building to locate the servants entrance, as his mother had instructed him to do. His head was still raised in wonder. He watched each pain of glass glitter in the daylight and revel in the extra gleam awarded to them by the white snow reflect from them.
He noticed a figure in a first floor window gazing back at him. It was a girl, of what age he could not tell, looking right back at him. He paused and looked up at her. When he did so, she stepped back, but a moment later walked right up to the pane and stared back at him. He was reassured that she was not a ghostly spectre come to welcome him, as her breath steamed the window in front of her face. He smiled at her, touching the brim of his cap as a sign of respect and trudged onwards in his quest. Something in the back of his mind told him that she had continued to observe him until he was out of sight.