Rachel's Story

Chapter 19

 This is my longest chapter till date. Hurray! Just saying. And now we return to our old haunt. Carillon Hall, here we come!

 CHAPTER 19

Rachel went around the parish and said her farewells to everyone there, as they had become a constant part of her life in Headley Downs thanks to the efforts of Miss Agnes. Little Emily clung to her hand and refused to let ‘Mith Mowan’ go until Rachel had diverted her attention with the shiny new berries that had come out on the church hedges. The elderly vicar of the mossy old Norman church saw them together and, on hearing about the lively young woman’s imminent departure, blessed her in the name of God with a happy and industrious life ahead. Miss Moreland’s six-to-ten years old Sunday school learners got together and performed an impromptu and rather shaky rendition of ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’ for her as a farewell gift, bringing sudden tears to her eyes at the innocence of the gesture.

Rachel simply told everyone that she had received an urgent summons from home and did not elaborate on the reasons, having become tired of lying all the time. This left the field open to pleasurable conjecture. Mrs. Benson thought this sudden call from the girl’s home was sure to be the herald of bad news which she was stoically hiding and, when her prying produced no results, she satisfied her conscience by giving Rachel a pound of her famous cherries to eat on the way. It will console the child during the lonely ride, I daresay, she told herself mournfully, and relished the feelings of being an upright Christian woman.

Some others were perceptive enough to mark the joy and trepidation occasionally flooding Miss Moreland’s countenance, and were more cheerful about the mysterious news. “I think she’s won a lottery!” Sam, the boy of all work in Thrush Cottage, whispered gleefully to Old Ben at the pub. “She looks just like my ol’ Pa did when ‘e won the parish sweepstakes, an’ tried to hide the money from Ma!”

“Her young man has proposed, I tell ‘ee,” said old Mrs. Hayter in the house across the lane to her companion Miss Trimble, a veneer of satisfaction causing her to almost crow in contentment. “Now she will settle down and be married like a sensible young ‘un. I tell an’ tell that silly grand-daughter of mine that youngsters should marry ‘afore it’s too late.” And her meek companion’s mumbled “I doubt that she had a young man, Madam,” brought forth a sharp “Nonsense! Girl was clearly pining for someone durin’ her stay.”

The Misses Trevelyan were most reluctant to relinquish their guest on such short notice. Rachel was like a fount of youth for them, and in the past month they had become used to her pretty face and unflagging enthusiasms to enliven their days. But they were as realistic as Rachel herself, and had known in their hearts that this liveliness was temporary; the girl was here to escape, and would return when she needed to hide no longer. They acted cheerful and packed a nice luncheon basket for the road, admonished Rachel to look after herself properly and to write to them often, and gave her a vial of Millicent’s own lilac water as a memento; “something to remember us by, child,” in the words of Miss Maud. And if more than one pair of eyes became bedewed in the hour of parting, well, no one mentioned anything by tacit understanding.

After Rachel had left, Miss Maud tremulously addressed the room at large. “Do you think we will ever see the dear girl again?”

 Miss Agnes said stiffly, “We did issue her an open invitation, you know. Why shouldn’t she ever come by? Of course she will…maybe not very quickly, but she will certainly visit again,” she ended almost fiercely. Miss Maud shook her head sadly. “Remember my times being a nurse, Agnes. Why, remember your own period of service. She is a governess. When will she get a long enough break to come to us?” She shook her head sadly. “I will miss her.”