POVERTY'S PRIDE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

February 1885

Shivering, Rosalind drew the crocheted wool shawl closer around her shoulders and edged her chair a little nearer to the meagre glow in the fireplace. The parsonage was always cold and draughty but today the house seemed more chilled than usual.

Iciness had pervaded her very sinews and bones since standing in the fluttering snow at the open graveside earlier in the day. Watching her beloved father's coffin being lowered into the ground was the greatest ordeal she had ever known and she felt her heart break. How could she go on without his love and protection?

'Did you hear what I said, Rosalind?'

Startled, Rosalind jerked up her head to stare at the elderly man sitting opposite her.

'I'm sorry Mr Davies. I'm afraid my mind was wandering.'

He nodded briefly. 'It's understandable. Burying a loved one is a strain and I know you and your father were very close.'

'My father was all I had, Mr Davies.' It was true. She had been motherless since birth and her father had been all in all to her. Her future was looking very bleak and lonely without him.

'Just so,' he said. 'But I must now get on and advise you of the terms of your father's will.'

Rosalind was not very hopeful. They had lived frugally on a parson's stipend but they had been happy together. And after all, a loving home was all that really mattered.

'Of course, Mr Davies,' said Rosalind rallying. 'I'm keeping you from more important business.'

Mr Davies coughed and then spread out some legal-looking papers on the table before him.

'You are, of course the sole beneficiary. Your father has left you a sum of money.' He glanced up at her. 'Not a great amount its true, but enough to see you through until you take up your post at Rhosilli.'

Rosalind frowned puzzled. 'My post? I don't understand.'

He looked surprised. 'But surely your father discussed it with you?'

'I know nothing of it.'

Mr Davies wetted his lips. 'When your father realised he was dying he contacted a distant cousin of his, Sir Leopold Trevellian, asking that he provide for you after his death.'

'Why did he never tell me?' Rosalind was hurt. She could not understand why her father had kept this arrangement from her.

Mr Davies shook his head. 'I can't say, my dear. However, it appears that Sir Leopold has agreed to take you in as an unpaid companion to his youngest granddaughter, Pricilla, a girl of some thirteen years.'

She was stunned by the revelation. 'Have I no say in the matter?'

He raised his eyebrows. 'Have you any other choice, Rosalind? Your inheritance will not last so long and you will need to find some employment. Is it not better that you be with relatives, no matter how distant?'

Rosalind was not so sure. 'But Sir Leopold and his family are strangers to me.'

'My dear child, alone in the world as you are, all around you will be strangers from now on.'

Rosaline sighed. How true. She pondered. 'Rhosilli is on the Gower Peninsular, isn't it?'

Mr Davies wetted his lips again and nodded. 'I'm afraid it is a rather isolated community. But, my dear, you must make the best of things. At least you will have a roof over your head, a seat at the table and a bed to sleep in.'

Rosaline felt her shoulders droop at the prospect.

'If only you had the expectation of marriage,' Mr Davies said. 'But I gather there is no young man on your horizon?'

'No.'

She had never met anyone in the area whom she would consider as a suitable suitor. Maybe she was too particular.

Mr Davies clicked his tongue. 'You are nineteen years of age,' he said although she hardly needed reminding. 'Most young women are anticipating matrimony much younger.'

'I'll not marry for the sake of security,' she said pertly. 'I value my independence too much.'

Mr Davies looked dubious. 'Independence? A rather radical view for a young woman in your circumstances, if I may say so.'

Rosalind straightened her spine. 'I may have little to call my own in this world, Mr Davies, but I do have my pride.'

'Pride and penury often go hand in hand.'

Rosaline bit her lip, offended by his lack of understanding.

'When am I expected to take up this post?'

'I have written to Sir Leopold to advise him of your father's passing. I await his reply.' He paused. 'You do understand that this house, the furniture and fitting are the property of the church, and so I'm afraid you must leave the parsonage.'

'Yes, of course.'

She had anticipated that and knew it had to be, but the thought of leaving the only home she had ever known was distressing. She fought not to show her feelings before her father's lawyer.

'You must vacate the house by the end of this month. The living will be given to another at that time.'

Rosalind was dismayed. 'But that gives me only two weeks to find somewhere else to live. It's not enough time.'

'I have instructed my clerk to find decent and respectable lodgings for you in Swansea until we have Sir Leopold's answer.'

'That is good of you,' Rosalind conceded.

'Now I must take my leave,' Mr Davies said. 'My clerk will contact you within the week. You may trust his judgement on accommodation, my dear.'

'Thank you,' Rosalind murmured and walked with him to the door.

When he had gone Rosalind stood in the hall a moment gazing around, tears in her eyes. Leaving the parsonage would be like abandoning her father.

For a moment she thought she heard him call her from the sitting-room but realized her mind was playing tricks. She was in the midst of grief, after all, and grief could do strange things to people. She had witnessed its effects many times as a parson's daughter.

Then she remembered his last whispered words moments before he died. 'I shall always be with you, Rosalind.'

She knew it was true. No matter where she went, she knew her father's love would always be close to her.

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