But she was not destined to be indulged long in her rare mood for solitude. There came a clatter of hoofs, a hum of wheels along the dusty road. A high curricle swung into the yard, at the raking trot of a tall chestnut driven by a reckless hand. It was drawn up with a splash of protesting hoofs; and Pamela, suddenly pricked to interest, beheld, springing unaided from the high perch, the young lady whose erratic conduct had earned for her the sobriquet of “the Mad Brat,” Lady Selina, who had scandalised society, outraged her Royal patrons, alienated her friends, and positively stupefied her family a bare three months ago by eloping, from the very back of the Princess’s chair at the Opera, with a penniless insignificant officer of Marines of the name of Simpson. Lady Selina Simpson’s further career, though necessarily passed in comparative obscurity, had done little to lessen the aptness of the sobriquet. Much the contrary, indeed, and—Lieutenant Simpson being stationed at Weymouth—Lady Selina had had an unexpected opportunity for a display of eccentricity, which made both her elder sisters agree for once that something must be done to put a stop to Selina’s goings on—“under the very nose of the Royals, my dear; she does it on purpose to discredit us,”—even if something entailed the purchase for Lieutenant Simpson of some post pleasantly remote in the Indies.
Here, then, was the Mad Brat, as naughty and modish as you please (Miss Pamela’s professional eye was quick to notice); wrapped to the ears in a military looking cloak of elegant blue, and hatted with as smart a little beaver, also of military cock, as she, Pamela, had ever seen—and that was saying a great deal.
My young Lady Selina’s curls were scarcely powdered, and shone very golden under the evening light, set in flying bunches each side of her narrow, pretty, pale, impertinent face. There was something in the expression of her countenance, attractive for all its wilfulness, that made Pamela’s quick wits jump to the horrid conclusion—before even she had clapped eyes on the driver of the curricle.
“Lord! if ever I see the look of one bent on a desperate course, I see it this minute!” thought the milliner, turning the glance on Lady Selina’s companion.
And there it was for you. That black-avised gentleman, with the bushy black eyebrows, and the small, restless black eyes beneath, with the blue chin and full, insolent mouth—that was never young Simpson! “Some elderly rip, out of the poor lad’s regiment!” diagnosed Pamela rapidly, seeing the gold-lace glint. “And that is why my young Madam is so monstrous military herself. If ever I see an elopement——!”
And indeed, the two had a flushed and conscious air; defiant, suspicious.
“However you may try to brazen it out, your heart’s as heavy as lead, you poor silly thing,” was the next conclusion of the watcher. “As for you, you wicked wretch, you are all ardours and whispers, all swollen with triumph, yet you aren’t a bit sure of her. There, now, I knew it—she won’t let you lead her in, with your arm about her waist; not even let you take her hand. She’s no notion to have you blazon her your conquest, for all the Inn company to see. Mercy on us, there’s a toss of the head! Aye, and here’s a look for you, my fine gentleman! No—I wouldn’t make too sure of her yet, if I were you!”
The sound of hoofs and wheels, and of the clanging bell had brought landlord and landlady to the doorway. Pamela emerged slowly from her leafy retreat. She had a mind to keep the Mad Brat under observation as long as she could.
’Twas a mere child! Pamela knew that she could scarce have reached her twentieth year; and Pamela had once herself been mighty near flinging away everything a woman should hold dear, for a man’s smile. She had been saved, on the very edge of the precipice, by a sort of miracle. And she often had shuddered, contemplating the horrible depth of the chasm into which she had all but fallen. Did she not now read on the young wife’s face something of the frantic recklessness that had once moved her?
Besides which she had a pride in her sex which made it personally grievous to her when a woman went wrong. And lastly, she flattered herself she was a judge of character, and yonder military buck was a bad, dissipated, selfish wretch, with no use for a woman but to break her heart.