Barbara Cartland - An Introduction to the Pink Collection

“Yes, of course it is, but nobody told me you were coming.”

The woman sniffed. “Is there any reason why you should be informed?”

“Well – my name is Rena Colwell. My father was the vicar here until he died in January.”

“Then what are you doing here now?”

“I had nowhere else to go. Of course I knew I should have to leave when the new vicar arrived, but I thought I’d be given some warning.”

“It seems to me that you’ve had quite enough time.”

They were interrupted by a shout up above.

“Ma, look at these old clothes we’ve found.”

Two girls of about fifteen were standing at the top of the stairs, waving a couple of old fashioned dresses. Rena stiffened as she recognised her mother’s clothes.

“They were in the wardrobe of our room,” one of the girl’s called. “Aren’t they funny? There are a lot of other things there too – ”

“They’ll be mine,” Rena said, tight-lipped. “That is my room.”

“Not any more,” said the woman. “Please remove your things at once.”

Rena ran up the stairs and found her room a scene of devastation. Her drawers had been pulled out and upended on the floor. Her small personal possessions were strewn everywhere. The two girls ran after her into the room, staring at her rudely.

“This is ours now. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Then I will pack my things and go,” she said, tight lipped, trying desperately to remember Christian charity. “Please leave while I do so.”

Instead of leaving they giggled. One of them picked up a picture of Rena’s mother that she kept by the bed.

“What a frowsty old thing.” But her smile faded as she saw Rena’s face. “Oh, who cares anyway?”

She tossed the photograph on the bed and the two of them flounced out.

Scarcely able to control her temper Rena began to pack up her things, moving like a whirlwind. If she didn’t get out of here soon she would do something violent, she knew she would.

In the end her belongings filled two large bags. She took what she could of her mother’s clothes, but there was no room for everything, and it mattered more to have the photographs and personal mementoes of her parents.

Then she thought back to the find of the coins, and realised that but for them she would have no place to lay her head tonight. And more than ever she felt that her father was watching over her.

As she struggled down the stairs the haughty woman was standing at the bottom, waiting for her.

“I’m sorry you were inconvenienced,” Rena said to her politely. “I shall not trouble you further.”

The woman looked her up and down. “I do hope you haven’t taken anything that isn’t yours.”

Rena took a deep breath and controlled herself. “You may be sure that I have not,” she said.

A large piece of furniture was being manhandled through the front door.

“I’ll leave the back way,” Rena said.

“It’s up to you.”

Some strange noises were coming from the kitchen. Rena discovered what they were as soon as she entered, and received a feathered body almost full in the face. She dropped the bags and clung to it.

It was Clara, her chicken.

“Poor Clara, how could I forget you?” she said. “You’re coming with me.”

“Put that chicken down,” said a tow headed young man. “That’s our supper.”

“It most certainly is not. Clara belongs to me, and I won’t let you kill her.”

“What’s the trouble?” The haughty woman had appeared again.

“She’s trying to take our supper, Mama.”

That did it. Rena had borne much patiently but suddenly enough was enough.

“Once and for all,” she said, “Clara is mine, and I am taking her with me.”

She looked at the four of them ranged against her.

“If you take her from me,” she said, slowly and emphatically, “that will be stealing, and I shall report you to the constable.”

“Who’s to say who it belongs to?” the unpleasant young man demanded. “That animal is parish property, and the constable will say the same.”

“No, he won’t,” Rena flashed, “because he’s met this chicken before (she could have bitten her tongue out for the idiotic words). In fact, his mother gave it to me.”

“Which means,” she added, recklessly casting aside Papa’s teaching aside, “that he’ll know that this is a den of thieves. Ask yourself how your brother will like that on his first day.”

In sullen silence they stood back to let her pass. Still keeping a firm hold on Clara, Rena had to use her other hand to put one bag on the table, fitted her arm over it, and lifted the other with the hand of that arm.

She was horribly aware of what she must look like, staggering out of the house, laden down. It took her an hour to limp through the village to her destination.

But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except that she had stood up against bullying and won. She could have cried hallelujahs.

Thus it was that Miss Colwell returned to The Grange in triumph, carrying all her worldly goods under one arm, and a chicken under the other.

Luck was with her. She found the front door of The Grange unlocked, and was able to slip inside. The house was in darkness, so she guessed that the Earl was still carousing in the tavern. That meant she could settle herself in peace.

Dropping the bags, she made her way to the kitchen, keeping firm hold on Clara, who was making contented little mumbling squawks, as though signifying that she felt safe now.

With Clara safely deposited in the kitchen, she lit a lamp and went hunting for a place to lay her head. She could find a proper bedroom tomorrow.

It was dark in the house with only the lamp, and the huge place seemed to echo about her. Suddenly she could hear how full it was of creaks and strange noises. It had stood here for hundreds of years, and seen all manner of history, births, deaths, perhaps even murders. Was it really fanciful to imagine that a ghost or two might walk?

Well, suppose it did, she thought. She was drunk from her victory, exhilarated at giving free rein to something too long repressed in her nature. She had stood up for herself. And she had won. She was ready to take on any ghost.

It felt like being reborn as another person, and she wished there was somebody that she could tell. But who would understand?

He would, she thought suddenly. She had known the Earl for only a few hours, yet instinct told her that she could confide this new feeling to him and he would sympathise.

If only he would return home so that she could talk to him!

Now she had a chance to contemplate him at leisure, which she found herself very willing to do. There was delight in considering his tall, upright body, hardened by years on active service in the Navy.

She liked too the way he held his head, as though there was nobody alive whose eye he feared to meet. That was how a man ought to look.

His face was pleasing with its blunt, good looking features, and the amiable grin that was seldom far from his lips. His eyes were full of warmth and humour, and he seemed to laugh as easily as he breathed.

That had been startling at first. He spoke with a kind of half comical inflection, as though a remark could be amusing or not, depending on how his listener took it.

And Rena had discovered that dear Papa must have been right all along. She really did have a shocking inclination to levity, for part of her instinctively responded to this way of talking with a humour of her own.

Nothing in her experience had prepared her for a man like this. In fact nothing had prepared her for men of any kind.

The only man she had known well had been her father, who had taken life and the world with great earnestness.