POVERTY'S PRIDE

CHAPTER FOUR (Part Two)

                                                          CHAPTER FOUR (Part Two)

After the cold luncheon shared with Pricilla the child was led away by a determined Mrs Gilbert. Rosalind wanted to protest. It was a beautiful day and Pricilla should be out enjoying it. But this was only her second day, Rosalind reflected. She had better wait before attempting to make changes to the child’s daily routine.

     Putting her letter in her reticule and a shawl around her shoulders, Rosalind was ready for her walk to the village and went in search of Linda.

     Outside Rosalind started to walk down the carriage way to the road, but Linda halted her.

     ‘Now that way, Miss,’ she said quietly. ‘We’ll take the footpath along the cliffs. It’s shorter really.’

     The view was magnificent. The terrain swept around in a shallow curve and in the distance Rosalind could make out the church spire in the village and some of the cottages. Past that, was a magnificent stretch of beach. It was so hauntingly beautiful Rosalind could hardly believe it was real.

     They had walked a little way along the path in silence, as Linda seemed reticent to chatter, when all at once the girl gave an exclamation of annoyance.

     ‘Oh, no!’

     She was looking ahead where Rosalind saw the tall figure of a man walking towards them. She could tell at once by his garb that he was a clergyman.

     ‘Mr Tucker, the curate,’ Linda said in a tight voice. ‘We mustn’t linger, Miss Trevellian. It’s best not to catch his eye.’

     Rosalind was amused. ‘Why not? Does he preach at you?’

     ‘Quite the reverse,’ Linda said in a low voice. ‘His friendliness is unseemly.’

     Rosalind was intrigued. As the man drew closer she saw that he was young, probably in his late twenties, with handsome features and well-built frame.

     ‘Good afternoon, Linda,’ Mr Tucker said smiling. ‘You’re looking particularly radiant on this fine day.’

     He stood squarely in the centre of the way, his sturdy gaitered legs astride on the narrow path as though he intended to prevent them from going by.

     ‘We’re on our way to the village, sir,’ Linda said, her eyes downcast. ‘Please let us pass.’

     He ignored her plea. ‘And who is your lovely companion?’ he asked. ‘I would make her acquaintance.’

     ‘My name is Rosalind Trevellian,’ Rosalind spoke up, gazing squarely at him.

     His eyes flickered with heightened interest. ‘A Trevellian? A new member of the family then?’

     ‘A very distant relative only,’ Rosalind said quickly. ‘A poor relation, if you will, taken in by the kindness of Sir Leopold to act as companion to his granddaughter.’

     ‘Sir Leopold’s kindness?’ He stared at her. ‘Companion and what else I wonder?’

She was as much puzzled by his meaning as by the strange bitterness in his voice. She felt Linda’s hand on her arm as though warning her to say no more.

Rosalind took a step forward as though to pass him. ‘We bid you good day, sir,’ she said firmly. ‘We must continue our walk to the village.’

He hesitated a moment, his expression turning sour. ‘Do not slight me Miss Trevellian,’ he said. ‘I have some social standing in the village as clergyman. Companion is merely one step above servant. Remember that.’