POVERTY'S PRIDE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

                         CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

As Richard Whillowby and Twm Beynon dismounted and approached the door of the rectory it was opened and Mrs Collins stood there looking at them startled and somewhat frightened.

     ‘What is it, sir?’ she asked with a gasp. ‘What’s the todo?’

     Richard Whillowby was somewhat taken aback by her look.

‘We’re here to speak with Mr Tucker,’ he said hastily. ‘Is he at home?’

‘He was, sir,’ she nodded. ‘Not five minutes ago; been here all day staring through the front window.’ She threw up her hands. ‘Then all of a sudden, like a jack-in-a-box, he ups and chases through the kitchen to the stable yard.’

‘Is he there now?’ Richard moved forward quickly to enter the house with Twm close on his heels.

‘No, sir,’ Mrs Collins said, following them inside. ‘He saddled our poor old mare, Rosie and rode off at a skip.’

‘He’s skedaddled,’ Twm said disappointedly. ‘We’re too late.’

‘Rosie’s not used to being ridden, sir,’ Mrs Collins said. ‘She’s used to pulling the trap, and the Rector never pushes her hard. She’ll fall under him at the rate he’s going, that’s my opinion. Poor old Rosie.’

Richard whirled on his heels and made towards the door. ‘Come on, Beynon. We must get after him.’

‘But what’s the todo, sir,’ Mrs Collins asked plaintively

Richard and Twm raced outside. As they mounted their horses four men galloped down the road towards them. Richard recognised Cedric Trevellian, and his grooms Jowett and Dobbs. The fourth man was a stranger, but by his garb, Richard assumed it was the new Rector, Dunbar.

‘We must arrest the curate,’ Cedric called loudly as they approached. ‘He’s an impostor and wanted for murder,’

‘I knew it!’ Twm exclaimed. ‘I knew he was a wrong ‘un. Him and his airs and graces!’

‘He murdered my wife,’ Cedric exclaimed angrily. ‘He must be caught. His name is James Gilbert.’

Richard looked startled.

Cedric nodded grimly. ‘Yes, I believe he is the son of our housekeeper, Mrs Gilbert.

‘He’s already fled,’ Richard told them. ‘Somehow he has got wind of our intentions. We’re after him now. Join us.’

‘Which way?’

Twm glanced around. Mrs Collins was still on the front path watching them, almost hopping from foot to foot in her inquisitiveness.

‘Which way he went, Mrs Collins?’ Twm asked.

She waved an arm vaguely towards the back of the house. ‘He took the lane that goes passed Honey’s Farm,’ she said. ‘He was going at a lick. Poor old Rosie.’

‘He’ll try to get off the Peninsular,’ Mr Dunbar opined. ‘If he can reach a town like Llanelly or the port at Swansea, he’ll never be caught.’

‘We’d best split up, sirs,’ Jowett suggested. ‘Once past Honey’s Farm he can take any path at the cross roads.’

‘Jowett’s right,’ Cedric said quickly. ‘Dunbar and I will take the Scurlage road. Richard, you and Beynon take the road to Middleton. Jowett and Dobbs can follow him up the lane to Honey’s Farm. Someone may have seen him and can point the way he took from there.’