POVERTY'S PRIDE

CHAPTER FOUR (Part One)

CHAPTER FOUR (Part One)

After breakfast Rosalind made her way to Sir Leopold’s study promptly at nine o’clock in trepidation. Her hand trembled at she knocked at the door. His bellowed bid to enter did nothing to ease her anxiety.

    She went in to the room and stood waiting before his desk. He sat there shuffling papers, ignoring her presence.

     What further had he to say to her, she wondered? She did not know whether she could tolerate further humiliation.

     ‘Well? What is it?’ His abrupt question startled her.

     ‘You instructed me to present myself at this hour, Sir Leopold,’ Rosalind said tentatively.

     ‘What?’ He looked up at her scowling. ‘Who the devil are you?’

     Rosalind was confused. ‘I’m Miss Trevellian, sir, Miss Pricilla’s companion,’ she said. ‘Edward Trevellian was my father.’

     ‘Well?’ He frowned. ‘Are you complaining already?’

     ‘No, sir,’ she said. ‘You asked me to...’

     ‘Leave me!’ he barked. ‘I’ve no time for this. In future if you have complaints speak with Mrs Gilbert. Do not trouble me again with your foolishness.’

     He returned to the inspection of his papers as though she had ceased to exist. Feeling totally floored Rosalind turned and quietly left the room.

     Pricilla was hovering in the hall, her expression animated.

     ‘What shall we do now, Rosalind? Shall we inspect the gardens? I want to show you my secret hiding place.’

     Rosalind rallied, smiling. ‘Your tutor awaits, Miss Pricilla,’ she said. ‘Lessons come before pleasure.’

     Pricilla’s face fell. ‘Mr Trump is no fun.’

     Rosalind laughed. ‘So you said before. Come on, I’ll come with you and take a lesson myself.’

     Pricilla clapped her hands. ‘Oh yes!’

     The ‘school room’ as Mrs Gilbert pompously called it, was near the top of the house, next door to what was once the nursery, a suite complete with a small kitchen and sluice room.

     A thin wiry little man was pacing impatiently as they entered. He was slightly stooped and had white hair that stood up straight reminiscent of a broom head.

    ‘Miss Pricilla, you’re late!’ he said in a scratchy voice. ‘Late for lessons means late for life. Do you want to grow up a dunce?’

     ‘No Mr Trump.’

     ‘Who is this person with you?’ Mr Trump eyed Rosalind suspiciously.

     ‘This is Rosalind, my companion,’ Pricilla said. She glanced shyly at Rosalind. ‘She’s my new friend.’

    Mr Trump grunted giving Rosalind an all enveloping glance.

     ‘I am Miss Pricilla’s tutor,’ he said harshly. ‘I’ve been with the Trevellian family for years. Do not think to usurp me, young woman.’

     Taken aback at his hostile attitude Rosalind could only stare at him. She noticed his shirt cuffs were frayed and a soup stain marred the appearance of his cravat, which had been tied in a haphazard fashion. Perhaps he too was here on sufferance and without wages.