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“Not very much,” Emma said. “It’s a quiet morning and I’ll watch the telly, and then Dorothy and I meet for an early dinner. We keep it simple since we have had our big meal here. Usually a nice little roast, Yorkshire pudding and roasted potatoes.”
“And Christmas pudding,” Dorothy added. “Mrs. Johnson makes one for us to share, and sends it home with us after dinnerhere.” She looked at Cara hopefully. “I don’t suppose you found any Christmas puddings hiding about?”
“I haven’t but that doesn’t mean she didn’t make them, because don’t they get made weeks before Christmas?”
“I’m trying to think where Mrs. Johnson would put them,” Emma said. “When I grew up here, the kitchen was still downstairs. It was Alec’s idea to have the kitchen brought upstairs—”
“Alec said it was Mrs. Booth and Mrs. Johnson’s suggestion,” Cara interrupted.
“Oh, I’m sure they went to him, and he went to his father. Alec has a soft spot for Mrs. Booth and he’d do anything for her.” Emma didn’t sound upset as much as matter of fact. “He’s thoughtful,” she added, “far more sensitive to the needs of the staff than my brother or grandfather. But that’s probably because the staff practically raised him after his mother left. We all know that my brother wasn’t involved. At the very first opportunity, William sent Alec away.”
So much information had just been shared that Cara was trying to process it all. “Alec’s mother…left?”
Emma nodded. “William and Margaret weren’t well suited. They shouldn’t have married but William fell hard for Margaret, and I think they married in a rush because Alec was on the way. Only having a baby didn’t bring them closer, and Margaret was gone by the time Alec was what? Three years old?”
“That sounds right,” Dorothy said. “We only started coming here for Christmas after she was gone. You used to beg us to join you here, to try to make things happier. The boys would play together, my Michael and Alec. They became great friends.”
But Cara was still thinking about Alec’s mother, and how from the sound of it, she’d simply abandoned Alec. But surely it wasn’t that bad? Surely she stayed in his life? “Why did Alec’s mother leave?”
Emma and Dorothy exchanged glances. Neither seemed in a hurry to answer.
Finally Emma said, “She wasn’t happy here in the country. London was where she felt most like herself.”
“She loved to travel,” Dorothy added. “At one point she spent months at a time in Marrakesh—”
“Oh, I’d forgotten that! She did love Morocco, didn’t she?” Emma said.
Dorothy nodded. “Didn’t she fancy herself a Bohemian? Loved exotic places and people and Alec’s father was the furthest thing from a free spirit.”
“Dorothy is being very generous,” Emma said. “My brother wasn’t the most likeable man. Even in his twenties he could be quite stuffy, and he only became more rigid as he grew older. But perhaps when you are responsible for people’s money, that’s a good thing?”
“They were very much opposites,” Dorothy added thoughtfully. “In hindsight, I suspect that’s what attracted them to each other, but it also tore them apart.” Dorothy looked at Cara, her pale brow creasing. “I think the biscuits are burning.”
Cara could smell it now, too. She sprang into action, oven mitts on, and drew the trays from the oven but they were very dark, some on the bottom tray black. “I lost track of time,” she apologized. “I’m sorry.”
“We have plenty of dough,” Dorothy said, “we’ll just be more vigilant about keeping an eye on the time.” She took the oven mitt that Cara discarded and used it to carry a tray to the garbage and scrape the blackened biscuits into the bin. “This tray might be salvaged,” she said, returning the now empty tray to the top of the stove. She studied the browned ginger biscuits and nodded. “I quite like crispy biscuits.”
“They’ll be fine with tea,” Emma agreed.
Cara located another tray in the cupboard, and gave it a light greasing before dropping new rounds of the dough on the tray. “How old was Alec when his parents divorced?”
“Oh, but they didn’t divorce. There was no time. Margaret was in a car accident in Buenos Aires. She’d gone to visit a friend she’d met in Morocco and that was the end of that. She was only what? Twenty-seven, twenty-eight?”
Cara exhaled. How tragic that Alec lost his mom so young, and then his wife so young. “And Alec’s father never remarried?”
“No,” Emma said firmly. “William just closed himself off even more, and that was that.”
“Poor Alec,” Cara murmured, sliding the new tray of biscuits into the oven.
“Set the timer,” Emma said. “Quick. No burnt biscuits this time, please.”
Cara closed the oven door and reached for her phone. “I’ve got it.” She set the time on her phone and leaned against the counter. “So Alec never had another mother?”
“I think that’s where Alec’s devotion to Mrs. Booth comes in. Mrs. Booth was the closest thing to a mother he’s known. She had her own family, but she always made time for Alec.” Emma hesitated. “But with Alec being sent off to Eton so early, it wasn’t as if there was a lot of mothering there.”
Dorothy sniffed. “It would have been better if William had remarried. Alec needed a mother. Remember how William would lock himself in his study all day long leaving Alec to his own devices, and he was what? Four? Five? It was dreadful, but William wouldn’t listen to reason. He wanted to be angry and so he was. Cedric and I wanted to take Alec home with us, get him away from here but William wouldn’t hear of it. That was why those annual family dinners became even more important. It allowed us to come here and celebrate Christmas—”
“Early,” Emma said, turning to Cara. “After Margaret’s death, my brother wouldn’t have anyone here for Christmas. Everyone had to be gone by noon on the twenty-fourth. It didn’t matter that I was his sister, and Alec’s aunt, George and I had to be gone. I can’t even imagine how grim those Christmases must have been with just William and Alec.” She shuddered a little. “My goodness, those were terrible years.
