She locked the door again and returned to bed, still wondering if it had all been a bad dream. That didn’t seem likely, but any other explanation appeared even stranger. With a sudden shiver, she rubbed her palms up and down her arms.
She slid under the covers and stared at the ceiling.
Listening.
It took her quite a while to fall asleep, but she decided she would speak with Mrs. O’Leary first thing in the morning.
4
Pamela entered the dining room for breakfast with a headache and sore muscles from her lack of sleep. She never fell into a restful sleep once the incident in her room happened.
She vacillated for the rest of the night as to whether she had dreamt the entire episode or if it had really occurred. Just when she had herself convinced it was a bad dream, she would remember her door being unlocked when she knew she had locked it. She did it every night.
“Good m-m-morning, Mrs. O’Leary.” Pamela took a seat across from her.
Mrs. O’Leary joined them for breakfast and dinner. Lunch was on each boarder. Since Pamela met with Addie and Lottie each day for a late tea, that sufficed for lunch.
“Good morning, dear.” Mrs. O’Leary took a sip of her tea. “Did you sleep well?”
Pamela looked around the table at the four other ladies who resided with Mrs. O’Leary. It would not be proper to discuss the situation from last night in front of the others.
Mrs. O’Reilly was an older lady whose children had moved her into Mrs. O’Leary’s house so as not to interrupt their lives. Miss Dawson was a teacher in Bath, Mrs. Grady worked in a shop in Milsom Street, and Lizbeth—who looked sleepy—was still seeking employment, having been dismissed from her last job due to a misunderstanding.
All of the women, except for Lizbeth had been residents since Pamela moved in three years before. But then Lizbeth occupied the room that always seemed to have a new tenant every few weeks.
Deciding to speak with Mrs. O’Leary later about the incident last night, Pamela said, “Yes. I slept quite w-w-well, thank y-y-you.” She reached out and took a slice of toast and poured tea from the lukewarm teapot.
Although Mrs. O’Leary was quite generous at dinner, breakfast consisted of toast with jam and butter, and tea. Occasionally she would offer scones, or apples, but most times it was a scant meal.
“I don’t understand why I am still so sleepy,” Lizbeth said as she placed her hand over her mouth to stifle a yawn. “I slept quite well after you gave me that tisane, Mrs. O’Leary.”
Pamela paid attention to her breakfast and considered exactly what she would say to Mrs. O’Leary. Who, Pamela, noticed, seemed to take a great deal of interest in her this morning.
The usual chatter among the women took up all the time it took Pamela to eat her breakfast. She checked the timepiece on her bodice, noting that Miss Amelia George was due for a voice lesson in about twenty minutes.
Pamela excused herself and returned to her bedchamber to go over the music sheets she intended to use for Miss George’s lesson. The poor girl tried very hard, and her parents were most insistent that she sing well enough to perform at social gatherings, but Miss George had never risen above barely adequate. And sometimes bordered on downright awful.
She was ready in the back parlor with the music sheets all in the correct order when Miss George entered the room. “Good morning, Lady Pamela.” She gave a very nice curtsy.
Miss George was beautiful enough that the ability to sing well would never keep her from receiving marriage offers. She had deep brown hair, wavy enough to look attractive, but not too curly to make it impossible to tame into lovely hairdos. Her hazel eyes expressed excitement and joy, along with her charming smile.
Luckily for whoever gained her hand in marriage, the young girl was also sweet, intelligent and kind. She would be whisked off the marriage mart within her first season and all this hysteria about her ability to entertain at parties was quite unnecessary. But since it provided Pamela with her living, a necessary evil.
“Are y-you ready to s-s-sing?” Pamela settled on the piano bench and adjusted the music sheets.
Miss George sighed. “Yes. I am. However, I must admit I am quite terrified because Mother has arranged for me to sing at a musicale this evening.”
Pamela did her best to control the horror she felt for the girl. Offering any sort of sympathy would only decrease what little confidence she had. Pamela smiled brightly at her. “Well then. We just get to work. I am sure it will be fine. We shall select pieces you’ve mastered and go over those for the entire lesson.”
“I don’t suppose you would be willing to attend the musicale with me?” The poor girl was frantic. “I am sure Mother can obtain another invitation for you.”
Appear in public? Forced to speak with others? “I d-d-don’t think th-that’s a g-g-good idea.”
Miss George waved her hand. “Oh, don’t be silly, Lady Pamela. You won’t have to talk. I would only ask that you play the piano for me. I would feel much more confident with you there.”
Fully aware of how frightening it would be for Miss George to sing in public, knowing full well her shortcomings, Pamela found it impossible to refuse her plea.
She studied the girl for a minute, then said, “All r-r-right. I will g-go with you. What t-time?”