“Ay, you’ll be alone,” the woman answered, staring at her. “Very much alone! But I’m not sure you’ll thank me, by-and-by. You madams are pretty loud for company, I’ve always found, when you’ve had your own a bit.” Then, “You don’t mind being locked up in a yard by yourself?” she continued, with a close look at the girl’s face and long grey riding-dress.
“Oh no, I shall be grateful to you,” Henrietta said eagerly, “if you will let me be alone.”
“Ah, well, we’ll see how you like it,” the woman retorted. “Here, Ben,” to her husband, “I suppose she is too much of a fine lady to carry her band-box—yet awhile. Do you bring it.”
“I am sure,” Bishop said, “the young lady will be grateful for any kindness, Mrs. Weighton. I will wait till you’ve lodged her comfortably. God bless my soul,” he continued, screwing up his features, as he affected to look about him, “I don’t know that one’s not as well in as out!”
“Well, there’s no writs nor burglars!” the jailor answered with a grin. “And the young folks, male nor female, don’t get into trouble through staying out o’ nights. Now, then, missis,” to his wife, “no need to be all day over it.”
The woman unlocked a low door in the wall opposite the lodge, but at the inner end of the yard; and she signed to Henrietta to enter before her. The girl did so, and found herself in a flagged yard about thirty feet square. On her right were four mean-looking doors having above each a grated aperture. Henrietta eyed these and her heart sank. They were only too like the dungeons she had foreseen! But the jailor’s wife turned to the opposite side of the yard where were two doors with small glazed windows over them. The two sides that remained consisted of high walls, surmounted by iron spikes.
“We’ll put you in a day-room as they’re all empty,” the woman grumbled. She meant not ill, but she had the unfortunate knack of making all her concessions with a bad grace.
Thereupon she unlocked one of the doors, and disclosed a small whitewashed room, cold, but passably clean. A rough bench and table occupied the middle of the floor, and in a corner stood a clumsy spinning-wheel. The floor was of stone, but there was a makeshift fireplace, dulled by rust and dirt.
“Get in a bedstead, Ben,” she continued. “I suppose,” looking abruptly at Henrietta, “you are not used to chaff, young woman?”
The girl stared.