POVERTY'S PRIDE

Chapter Two (Part One)

Swansea, April 1885

Rosalind let herself into the lodging house in Calvert Terrace. Her landlady, Mrs Dutton was in the hall as she came in.

     ‘Any luck finding employment today, Miss Trevellian?’ Mrs Dutton’s expression was eager.

     Rosalind smiled weakly at the older woman. She was a kindly soul and meant well. She kept good respectable lodgings and Rosalind knew that if she could stay here permanently she would be fortunate. It all depended on her finding suitable employment quite soon.

     ‘Not today, Mrs Dutton,’ Rosalind said wearily. ‘I saw that lady you recommended who runs an employment agency in Rhyddings Park Road, but it was the same tale. No one will risk employing me without a reference from a former employer.’

     ‘Tsk!’ Mrs Dutton shook her head. ‘A respectable young lady like you ought to be taken on trust.’

     Feeling tired and in need of a cup of tea, Rosalind took off her bonnet and her cape and hung them on the hallstand.

It had been over two months since her conversation with her father’s lawyer. There had been no further word from him about Sir Leopold Trevellian’s intentions towards her, and Rosalind felt relieved.

Yet, her father’s small legacy would not last indefinitely and she was desperate to find a position as a governess or lady’s companion with a good local family. She was keenly aware that she had no qualifications, but her father had made sure she had a good education. She knew she would do well if only someone would trust her enough to take her on.

‘Oh, by the way,’ Mrs Dutton said. ‘There’s a letter for you.’ Mrs Dutton handed it to her. ‘I’ll make a pot of tea while you’re reading it. I’ve got some of that seed cake you like, too.’

Mrs Dutton went off to the kitchen while Rosalind, smoothing down the skirts of her black wool mourning dress, walked into the sitting-room to read her letter. She saw at once that it was from Mr Davies and her heart jolted in anxious anticipation. She read it through and then read it through again.

Mrs Dutton came in with the tea tray. ‘Why, Miss Trevellian, you’ve gone as white as a sheet. Is it bad news?’

‘I am to be transported to Rhosilli tomorrow,’ Rosalind told her in a weak voice. ‘Sir Leopold will send a trap for me and my luggage. It will be here mid-day.’

‘Well!’ Mrs Dutton sat down quickly. ‘I am sorry to hear that, Miss Trevellian. I’ll be sorry to see you go.’

‘I’m not sure I want to go, Mrs Dutton,’ Rosalind admitted. Living amongst strangers seemed a bleak prospect. ‘If only I could’ve found employment.’

If she refused to take Sir Leopold’s help he would probably not offer again, and she could hardly blame him. With no chance of a position in sight she had little choice but to accept.

‘Tsk! Such a pity.’ Mrs Dutton looked down in the mouth.

‘I found a safe haven here with you, Mrs Dutton,’ Rosalind said. ‘You made me very welcome and very comfortable. I’ll not forget that.’

Mrs Dutton sighed. ‘Drink your tea, my dear,’ she said. ‘And then I’ll help you pack your portmanteau.’

* * *

The trap arrived mid-morning the next day as arranged. A young man in groom’s livery helped get her portmanteau onto the back of the open trap. Rosalind climbed in to sit beside the groom, taking her reticule and a carpet bag with her.

     Mrs Dutton came out onto the pavement to wave her off, tears in her eyes.

     ‘I’ll write,’ Rosalind called out, struggling to hold back her own tears.