The Folly Read Free Page A

own governess, Miss Trumble, walking to meet her.
    “Why, Rachel!” exclaimed the governess. “What are you doing, walking unescorted and without your hat?”
    So Rachel told her about the children and about what she had said to Charles Blackwood and then waited for a lecture. But, to her surprise, Miss Trumble gave a gentle laugh and said, “Why, I declare you are become a woman of principle at last. We will say no more about it.”
    Rachel decided to write to Abigail and say that she would go to London. The hold Mannerling had held on her had gone. It belonged to a family now, another family, and the fact that it was an unhappy family had nothing to do with her.

    But in the morning when she went out to find Barry Wort, the odd man, to give him the letter, she experienced a strange reluctance to hand it over. She tucked it in the pocket of her apron instead. Barry was weeding a vegetable bed, sturdy, dependable ex-soldier Barry, whose common sense had proved of such value in the past.
    “Good morning, Barry,” said Rachel. He straightened up and leaned on his hoe and smiled at her.
    “We’ve been getting some uncommon fine weather, Miss Rachel.”
    “I went to Mannerling yesterday, Barry,” said Rachel abruptly.
    “Well, now, miss, there do be a strange thing. I would have thought you cured of wanting the place.”
    “I went for just one last visit.”
    “Reckon that place is like gambling, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, miss. It’s always one last time.”
    “I meant it this time. But wait until you hear of my adventure.”
    Barry listened carefully to the story of the children and the confrontation. “You did well,” he said, not betraying that he had already heard the story from Miss Trumble. “There are beatings and beatings and those motherless children could do with a bit of kindness. What was this Mr. Blackwood like?”
    “He is a very fine-looking man,” said Rachel slowly. “I had heard he was nearly forty and had expected—well, a middle-aged-looking gentleman.”
    “Mr. Blackwood already has a good reputation in Hedgefield,” said Barry. “But any gentleman who settles his bills promptly gets a good reputation.He’s caused quite a flurry in the district among the ladies.”
    “The widows?”
    “No, miss, all the young ladies do be setting their caps at him. He is reputed to be a fine-looking fellow, he has Mannerling and, they do say, a fortune as well.”
    The thought flicked briefly through Rachel’s mind that she too might set her cap at the master of Mannerling, but then she remembered that grim face and the unhappy children. “I will not be of their number,” she said lightly. She turned and walked away, and it was only some time later that she realized she still had that letter to Abigail in her pocket.
    “You never talk to us any more.” Belinda and Lizzie confronted Rachel later that day. “Are you going to London? For if you do, you must ask Abigail to invite us as well.”
    “I have not made up my mind,” said Rachel loftily. “And I do talk to you. I am talking to you now.”
    “Where were you yesterday morning? You just disappeared and Miss Trumble went out looking for you,” said Lizzie.
    “I simply went for a little walk across the fields. Good heavens,” exclaimed Rachel. “Must I report to you every minute of the day?”
    “But what of Mannerling and what of this new owner?”
    “You know as much as I do. He is nearly forty, a widower with two children.”
    “Do you think he means to entertain?”
    “I don’t
know
,” snapped Rachel. “We promised Miss Trumble, if you remember, that we would putall ambitions of regaining Mannerling out of our heads. Why? Would you have me entertain romantic thoughts of a man nearly in his dotage?”
    “I suppose it is silly,” said Lizzie. “But it would be wonderful just to go to Mannerling again.”
    Rachel looked at her uneasily. The loss of their home had affected Lizzie more than her sisters, so much