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 born 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.
CHAPTER THREE
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
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 born 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.
CHAPTER THREE
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
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