POVERTY'S PRIDE

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

                         CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 

Sir Leopold stood staring at the closed door after the girl had left. He was still fuming at her flagrant disregard for his commands and suspected she had arranged this incident with the new Rector to embarrass him.

     He had been a charitable fool to let her come to Cliff House in the first instance. She had an independent way about her that troubled him, as though her will would defy his; undermine him if she could. But that could soon be rectified. Immediately after the funeral she must go, bag and baggage. Her future fate was none of his concern.

     There was a polite cough behind him, and with a start he recalled he was not alone.

     Mr Dunbar was regarding him with a puzzled smile. ‘You seem reoccupied, Sir Leopold. Perhaps you would rather we converse later when you have rested.

     ‘No, no, Mr Dunbar,’ Sir Leopold said quickly. ‘It is nothing.’ He came further into the room and indicated the chair just vacated by the clergyman.

‘Pray be seated again, Reverend,’ he said, with more gruffness than he intended. ‘Are your needs satisfied? Shall I ring for more tea?’

Mr Dunbar held up a hand. ‘No thank you. Miss Trevellian is the perfect hostess. She supplied all my needs most efficiently.’

Sir Leopold felt his jaw tighten, but he said nothing.

The clergyman resumed his seat and Sir Leopold took the one lately occupied by the girl.

‘You have my condolences, Sir Leopold,’ Mr Dunbar continued in a sombre tone. ‘On the sad loss of your daughter-in-law.’

‘Yes, thank you, Reverend.’

‘A great loss to your family.’

Sir Leopold straightened his shoulders. ‘I am very gratified that you have been given the living at St Mary’s,’ he said. ‘Mr Timpson has served us honourably for many years, but now his health as deteriorated so much that he cannot go on.’

‘Yes, I understand that, and I wonder how the parish has been faring without his ministry.’

Sir Leopold cleared his throat. The time had come to mention the so-call curate, and he felt some apprehension. No one else could possibly know of the deception perpetrated by James Gilbert. After all, the documentation Gilbert had presented was genuine, yet it was a delicate matter that he most gloss over if he could.

‘The curate has been able to serve the parish when Mr Timpson was unable to do so,’ he said.

Mr Dunbar raised his brows in surprise. ‘Curate? To my knowledge another curate has not been appointed to the parish.’

     Sir Leopold was filled with consternation, realising too late that he had made a grave mistake, yet Dunbar would have encountered Joshua Tucker the following day in any case.

     Mr Dunbar stared at Sir Leopold’s continued silence.

     ‘Sir Leopold, I must insist on learning the name of this man who claims to be the curate at St Mary’s.’

     ‘It is not a matter of his claiming to be anything,’ Sir Leopold replied with some sharpness born of nervousness. ‘His papers are in perfect order. He is...who he says he is. Joshua Tucker.’

     Mr Dunbar got to his feet, appearing plainly shocked. ‘Joshua Tucker? That is impossible. Joshua Tucker is dead.’

     Sir Leopold got to his feet also, feeling the room reel about him for a moment. ‘You are mistaken, sir,’ was all he could utter.