Harry shook his head. “Those woods”—with his head, he indicated the woods on the western bank—“the section north of the lane, are part of the Hall estate. The lane is our southern boundary, and we have the woods to the west and north as far as they stretch, and farmland to the north and to the east.”
Godfrey nodded. The Hinckley Hall lands couldn’t be termed extensive, yet if well managed, would likely be sufficient to support the Hall, at least during normal times.
They reached the tiny village of Galphay shortly after and traveled past the handful of cottages. Not much farther, they reached another lane and turned north, soon meeting other carriages and riders heading to the church.
St. Andrew’s Church proved to be a sizeable edifice built in medieval times. After halting their horses and the carriage in the graveled area beside the church, Godfrey helped Harry assist Mr. Hinckley into his wheeled chair. Then with Harry pushing his father ahead, Godfrey strolled between Ellie and Maggie and admired the lines of the church’s tower and its mullioned windows. As they neared the door in the south face of the tall stone tower, he noted the carving decorating the door frame and gracing the stone arches of the windows.
“That’s twelfth century,” he murmured, impressed.
Ellie smiled. “You’re right—the congregation here dates from before that time.”
It was still an active and quite decently sized congregation; as he and Ellie followed Harry, Maggie, and Mr. Hinckley down the aisle to the second pew on the left, the ornately carved pews to either side were commendably filled.
Harry halted the chair alongside the second pew, and Mr. Hinckley grasped the pew’s raised side, levered himself up, and shuffled to claim the first place on the bench seat.
In what was obviously an established routine, Harry pushed the chair on, and Maggie, Ellie, and Godfrey followed as Harry rounded the front pew and made for the side aisle. Harry positioned the chair in a spot against the wall, while Ellie—followed, at Maggie’s urging, by Godfrey—filed into the pew from that end. Maggie followed him, and Harry brought up the rear.
With Ellie next to her father, they sat, and Godfrey noted the smiles, nods, and quiet greetings Mr. Hinckley and Ellie, and Maggie and Harry, too, exchanged with many of those in the surrounding pews.
Judging by the tenor of those exchanges, the Hinckleys were not only well-known but also well-liked and respected.
While they waited for the minister to enter, Godfrey studied the interior of the church—the nave, the chancel with its ornate arches, and the chapel to one side. It was not only beautiful but also eminently functional. As he gazed at stonework he knew had stood there for centuries, the aura of permanence, of a place of worship anchored in this soil with roots buried deep, reached him clearly.
Sensing rising expectation that the minister would soon arrive, he glanced around again, admiringly tracing the line of the nave’s roof back to the foyer inside the south-facing door and saw Morris stepping into the central aisle. Morris continued to the pew opposite the one the Hinckleys occupied.
Godfrey recalled Morris lived nearby. He hadn’t seen either Pyne or Masterton, but both lived in Ripon, which boasted a cathedral; Godfrey imagined that if either man was so inclined, they would attend services there.
Morris sank into the space at the end of the pew—clearly his accustomed place. The pew was otherwise empty; locals probably regarded it as the Malton Farm pew. He exchanged nods with Mr. Hinckley, then directed half bows to Ellie and Godfrey.
Godfrey returned a nod as another gentleman, closer in age to Godfrey and well-dressed in neat and plain style, entered Morris’s pew from the other end. Oblivious to the newcomer, Morris was exchanging a whispered comment with Mr. Hinckley. The unknown gentleman’s gaze rested on Morris in an assessing way as the man walked closer.
Then the man bent, and when he straightened, he held a scrap of a paper in his hand.
Morris finally noticed the man. The gentleman held out the paper. “I believe this is yours, sir.”
Morris took the paper, stared at it, then fleetingly looked at the man and mumbled a thank-you. Morris stuffed the paper into his pocket and pointedly stared straight ahead.
The well-dressed man smiled faintly and sat a little way from Morris.
Puzzled, Godfrey studied Morris’s now-ruddy face. From his pinched lips, Morris would have liked to put more distance between himself and the stranger, but couldn’t without drawing attention to that fact.
Before Godfrey could make anything of that observation, a stir at the back of the church heralded the arrival of the minister. Godfrey rose with the rest of the congregation and, curious to see what sort of cleric inspired such an enthusiastic flock, gave his attention to the robed forty-something clergyman who took up his position on the steps before the altar, smiled on his congregation, then raised his hands.
“Let us pray.”
Godfrey was only too ready to do so. As the service rolled on, through familiar hymns, lessons, and an engaging sermon, a sense of peacefulness stole over him.
A sense of belonging, of being in the right place and no longer needing to search to find that.
As he rose for the final hymn and, standing beside Ellie and sharing her hymnal, raised his voice to twine with hers, simple pleasure infused him. When the hymn ended, and they sat again, he stole a look at Ellie’s face.
Serene, assured, she was looking at the minister, but she felt Godfrey’s gaze, glanced his way, met his eyes, studied them for a second, then smiled softly and returned her attention to the minister.
Godfrey followed her gaze, yet his awareness had shifted; he looked inward, fascinated by the reality that had taken root within him. He liked it there, sitting beside Ellie as if he were a part of the Hinckley tribe. The family, the Hall, and its household had slipped into his soul and filled a yawning emptiness the existence of which he hadn’t previously understood. He’d always felt that inner emptiness, but until now, he hadn’t appreciated what the feeling stemmed from—a lack of belonging, of not being a vital part of something larger than himself.
If he surrendered to the compulsion that was urging him to pursue Ellie and succeeded in claiming her hand, he could secure and embrace all he’d recently found and permanently eradicate that deep-seated emptiness. That fundamental loneliness.
Yet to have a chance with Ellie, he first needed to successfully negotiate the challenge the Albertinelli represented.
What to do?
As he sat and listened to the minister introduce the final prayer, Godfrey finally grasped the entirety of what hinged on his decision, yet he could still not see the right path forward.
For a moment, his confidence faltered. His gaze came to rest on the minister as he called for bowed heads. Godfrey complied and decided he could do worse than ask for divine guidance.
He emptied his mind and let the words of the prayer flood in. Let the sentiments evoked well and flow through him.
When the prayer ended and the minister raised his hands and spoke the benediction, Godfrey blinked and looked inward again.
He didn’t find any answer waiting, yet despite that, he felt more settled, more certain.
Right and wrong weren’t nebulous concepts but active choices, and he knew which was which.
The service ended, and he rose with the Hinckleys, swapping places with Ellie so he could assist Mr. Hinckley back into the chair that Harry wheeled around.