Free Portrait of a Girl by Mary Williams Page A

Luigi were forced on me — in a way.’
    ‘ Nonsense.’ The one word came out explosively, like a pistol shot. ‘I do recall very well the day at Christmas when you flaunted yourself before his eyes with your shoulders bare, and that wicked gypsy look in your eyes. Oh you were all out to make an impression, girl, so no trying to pull the wool over my eyes.’
    I flushed, bit my lip, and was silent. It was true, I had wished Rupert to notice me, and contrived to make myself as spectacular as possible. And I had not entirely failed; the memory of his warm glances on me and the mutual interest between us — the understanding that had so fiercely flamed for those few revealing moments, returned painfully, stirring me with sudden longing.
    When I didn’t speak, Dame Jenny said in more conciliatory tones, ‘Now, now! There’s no need to be cast down. Just take heed of a bit of advice, that’s all, and remember what the master’ve told you; if what you said was true, get as much fresh air in your spare time to relax thee and keep the breath sweet in your lungs. I won’t be bothering asking so much where you’ve been so long as you’re back to time. “Don’t chain her too hard,” Mr Verne said the other afternoon when he was passing, “she’s a free spirit,” he said, “let her roam a bit, t’will do her no harm.”’
    ‘ I didn’t know he’d called, you didn’t tell me.’
    ‘ I don’t report on every small happening of the day, girl. ’Tisn’t my duty to do so. I’m only tellin’ thee now for your own encouragement. You were a bit later back from Truro than usual or you’d have seen him for thyself.’
    I recalled that on one occasion the signor had pressed me into staying at rehearsal for an extra half an hour to get my words better perfected. What a nuisance, I thought, that Rupert had chosen the very time to visit Tregonnis.
    Still, I was slightly uplifted by the knowledge he’d taken the trouble to call at all, and decided his advice to Dame Jenny was right. I needed fresh air and exercise.
    It was a fine afternoon. Clouds of the morning had cleared, leaving the countryside splashed with pale golden sunshine. Quite soon it would start to sink lower in the sky, sending long shadows snaking down the moors, but if I started immediately — it was only four o’clock — I would have almost an hour for an enjoyable stroll.
    So I set off wearing boots and a loose grey cloak to cover my gown, taking the lane round the base of Rosecarrion. I didn’t venture to climb the hill — the air was sweet enough in the valley, heady with the scents of early spring, and I had an urge to follow the roadway in the direction of the sea where the moor cut so sharply and surprisingly inwards to the gully. With my eyes averted from glancing upwards at the Three Maidens sloping slightly sideways at a peculiar angle, their menace for me had abated a little during the hectic period of intense rehearsals, and when a fleeting memory of them had occurred I’d told myself reasoningly that their unpleasant impact had only lingered because the rigid starkness of the ancient stones reminded me in a childish way of the rigid coldness of Rupert’s lady wife.
    It was pleasant walking. As I neared the gully — it was really a very narrow creek — the smell of brine mingled with that of heather, damp sweet earth, and all the other odours of thrusting young life and herbage. The narrow river on the opposite side of the lane had curved abruptly in another direction, away from the coast, but the gaunt cliffs loomed precipitously close to the road, and the shadowed cut in the lane appeared as though giants’ teeth had taken a savage bite leaving a cruel void of darkness and death for the unwary.
    I paused, held by the wild fascination of the scene. It was then that I glimpsed movement, and after a moment’s astonishment was able to distinguish close against the far side of the inlet a vessel at anchor. Details or name of the ship