An odd little procession towards midnight roused the slumbers of the Mitre Inn at Salisbury, with peremptory summons. Two ladies in a post-chaise, escorted by two gentlemen in a curricle. The ladies seemed to be in high dudgeon with each other. The gentlemen very friendly. Indeed, the younger and better-looking of the two (though both were personable men) was distinctly assiduous in his attention to the other, who had (as the landlord was duly informed) met with a nasty accident through the overturning of the curricle at a sharp corner, which robbed him of the use of his right arm.
The post-boy had a curious tale to tell over a restoring mug of ale. But so scared and bewildered did he appear; so monstrous a jumble did he make of highwaymen and duels, that the landlord, who was a sensible man, diagnosed pure coward’s flim-flams, and promptly dismissed him to his straw.
Pamela slept late. She had been allotted the dressing-room of the superior bed-chamber which she had herself claimed for Lady Selina. Her last thought, as she snuggled down in the feather bed, had been: “I’ve got her safe, the little fool!” and the first that bore into her consciousness in the morning was the same comforting reflection: “I’ve got her safe.”
Angry words had passed between the two women in the chaise last night. Though Pamela had been unable to make head or tail of the arguments produced by the “Mad Brat” to justify her conduct, every word had revealed a childish inconsequence.
“One would say,” thought the milliner, as she lay, reflecting on her impressions, “that the silly chit had laid some wager, or was pretending to be wicked for the mere show off of the thing. For, if ever I saw a gentleman set down, it was Sir Jasper last night! In my opinion he was mortal glad to be out of it at the price. Never saw him so loving with my Lord! And, as for her, she looked at him like a wild cat, as she passed him by, on the way to her room.”
Pamela sat on the edge of her bed, yawned, and gazed at the door which separated her from Lady Selina’s apartment, congratulating herself that, so old-fashioned was the hostelry, there was no other issue. But, as she looked, the smile faded from her face. The door was not quite closed! She remembered very well how my Lady Selina had banged and bolted it last night, intimating thereby, better than by any speech, what she thought of the intrusive proximity of the milliner.
“It’s not possible——!” On the spur of suspicion, Pamela was out of bed and into the next room at a spring. Sunshine was pouring in between the open shutters; the great four-post bed was empty. There was no trace of the fair delinquent, save a long gauntletted glove on the floor.
“Well, of all—of all the minxes!” Miss Pounce pivoted on herself. “Pamela, my girl, you’re fooled! And you such a light sleeper, to think you should have slept so deep and let the bird fly!”