May 5th, 1913

My dear Esme,

I will arrive in Oxford the day after tomorrow, and I will not leave your side the whole time I am there. We shall hold each other up. You will, of course, have to shake the hands of a lot of well-meaning people and listen to stories of your father’s kindness (there will be many), but at the right time I will lead you away from the sandwiches and the well-wishers, and we will wander along Castle Mill Stream until we get to Walton Bridge. Harry loved that spot; it’s where he proposed to Lily.

This is no time to be strong, my dear girl. Harry was father and mother to you, and his passing will leave you feeling lost. My own father was very dear to me, and I know a little of how your heart must ache. Let it ache.

My father still echoes in my mind whenever I need good counsel; I suspect yours will do the same in time. In the interim, make the most of that young man you have become so attached to. “Lily would like him very much,” Harry said in his last letter. Did he ever tell you? There could be no higher blessing.

I expect you are camping in Lizzie’s room. I will go straight to Sunnyside from the train.

All my love,

Ditte

As promised, Ditte led me away from all the well-wishers. We didn’t say goodbye; we just walked into the garden, past the Scriptorium and out onto the Banbury Road. On St. Margaret’s Road, I realised Gareth was with us, just a few steps behind. We walked in silence until we got to the towpath along Castle Mill Stream.

“Harry took this walk every Sunday afternoon, Gareth,” Ditte said. Gareth fell into step beside me.

“He came here to discuss the week with Lily. Did you know that, Esme?”

I didn’t.

“I say discuss, but it was a meditation, really. He would walk along this path with his head full of the week’s concerns, and by the time he arrived at Walton Bridge the most pressing would have asserted itself. He told me he would sit and consider it from Lily’s perspective.” She looked to see if she should continue. I hoped she would, but I was mute.

“Of course you were the main topic of conversation, but I was surprised to hear that he would also consult Lily on everything from what to wear to some function to whether he should buy lamb or beef for Sunday lunch—on the few occasions he decided to tackle a roast with all the trimmings.”

I felt the smallest smile, remembering the beef, raw or burnt, and our Sunday strolls into Jericho.

“Truly,” Ditte said, squeezing my arm.