exclaimed Millicent in great astonishment; although Thomas Bagg had been in the shop a few hours back and told her all about their arrival. "Oh, well, uv course, miss—!" she broke off and waited expectantly.
But Pamela's next remark was disappointing.
"I think it's an awfully interesting-looking village altogether," she said. "Whereabouts is the ruined mill you mentioned just now? Very far from the village? I wonder if we have time to go and see it this morning."
"It's a goodish way," said Millicent reluctantly. "Well, about two mile over that way," she pointed toward the back of the shop. "Along the lane that goes through the fields.... I expect you'd find it vurry muddy in the lane after all the rain we've been 'aving."
"Oh, I don't mind that," said Pamela, but Isobel wrinkled up her nose and looked down at her dainty shoes. "But have we time before lunch—um—no, it's half-past twelve now—what a shame! … Never mind! I must go along to-morrow if I can. I feel I don't want to use up all the country too quickly—it's so nice exploring." She smiled at Millicent, and gathered up the papers she had bought.
"Oh, by the way, who lives at the Manor House?" asked Isobel, addressing Millicent, directly, for the first time; her voice was slightly condescending—it was the voice she always adopted unconsciously when addressing those she considered her 'inferiors'; she did not mean to be unkind—she had been taught, by those who should have known better, to talk like that to servants and tradespeople. But Pamela, whose upbringing had been very different, frowned as she heard the tones; they jarred on her.
However, Millicent did not seem to notice anything amiss.
"Sir Henry and Lady Prior, miss," answered Millicent.
Isobel raised her eyebrows and gave a short laugh. "Prior! That's strange! I wonder if they're any relation to me," she said to Pamela. "I must try to find out." She turned to Millicent again. "Sir Henry Prior, you said?"
"Yes, miss," said Millicent, looking at Isobel with fresh interest. (Here was a choice tit-bit to tell Aggie Jones.)
"H'm," said Isobel. "Yes—I know pater had a cousin Henry—I shouldn't be at all surprised—Wouldn't it be delightful, Pamela, if it turns out to be this cousin–"
She broke off, feeling that until she was sure it would be wiser not to talk too much before Millicent, who was listening, with wide eyes and open mouth. To say just so much, and no more, was agreeably pleasant to Isobel, and made her feel as though, to the rest of the world, she was now enveloped in an air of romantic mystery. As far as Millicent represented the world, this was true. Millicent at once scented romance and mystery—for surely to be related to a titled person, and not to know it, is mysteriously romantic! She looked at Isobel with greater respect.... Pamela's voice brought her suddenly back to the everyday world again—the shop, the papers, and the fact that she was untidy and not dressed; she noticed with sudden distaste the blacking on her hands and hid them under her apron.
"Who lives in that pretty little white cottage opposite to Chequertrees?" Pamela was asking. "I'm sure it must be some one artistic—it's all so pleasing to the eye—it took my fancy this morning as I came out."
"The little white cottage—" began Millicent.
"With the brown shutters," finished Pamela.
"Oh, yes, I know the one you mean, miss," said Millicent. "Mrs Gresham lives there, miss. I don't know that she's an artist—she lets apartments in the summer—and has teas in the garden, miss. Does vurry nicely in the season with visitors, but she's terrible took up with rheumatics in the winter—has it something chronic, she does. But she's a nice, respectable person—always has her daily paper reg'lar from us."
"Her garden must look lovely in the summer," remarked Pamela. "There are some fine old Scotch fir trees in it, I noticed." She had already taken note of these particular trees by the cottage, for sketching later on; they were the only Scotch firs that she had seen in Barrowfield so far.
As she and Isobel walked across the green on their way back to Chequertrees the picturesque blacksmith's forge claimed her attention, and she stopped to admire it. As she did so a woman came down the lane beside the forge, and passing in front of the two girls walked quickly over the green. Pamela's attention was immediately attracted to her, firstly because she was carrying an easel (also a basket, and a bag, evidently containing a flat box); secondly, because she was dressed very quaintly in a grey cloak and a small grey hat of original design; thirdly, because she went into the garden gate of the little white cottage opposite Chequertrees; and lastly, because, as the woman turned to latch the gate after her, Pamela caught sight of her face.
"Who does she remind me of?" said Pamela. "I'm sure I've seen some one like her–"
But Isobel was not listening to Pamela.
"If Sir Henry Prior is related to us, mater will be frightfully interested to hear what–"
But Pamela was not listening to Isobel.
"Oh, p'r'aps she doesn't live there then—I wonder," said Pamela, as the woman in grey, after handing the basket in at the front door of the cottage and speaking a few words to somebody inside, who was invisible to Pamela, came quickly out of the gate again and hurried away down the village, the easel under one arm and the bag under the other.
"Who does she remind me of?" puzzled Pamela, as she and Isobel turned in at the gate of Chequertrees.
CHAPTER VII
BERYL GOES THROUGH AN ORDEAL
When Pamela opened the registered envelope that was waiting for her she found inside twelve pounds in postal orders, and a short note from Mr Joseph Sigglesthorne informing her that Miss Crabingway had desired him to send this pocket-money for her to share between 'the three other young ladies' and herself. That was three pounds each—the pocket-money for the next three months. To those girls who already had some pocket-money in their purses this little addition came as a pleasant, though not unduly exciting, surprise; to those who had little or no money of their own the three pounds was very welcome indeed.
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