been doused, the kindly moon shone its light upon the proceedings in a manner which no eyes could deny. In fact, several sounds were heard, including not a few fretful groans, for at that moment Sir Richard was climbing to his peak and, as for Mary, her tummy and pussy seemed to be melting with bliss.
Staggering back against the wall and quite unmindful of the fact that she had devoutly wished such a denouement in order to uncover the proceedings, Pamela awaited the eruption that must surely come. Instead, however, amid the quite inexpressible sounds from Mary and her lusting mount, there came Belinda's astonished cry, “Oh! Harry!”
Indeed there came many.
“Belinda!”
“P… P… Papa!”
“Richard!”
“H… H… H… Harry!”
“C… c… c… close the door!”
The door closed, and such a momentary silence enfolded the night that Pamela somewhat dizzily allowed herself to believe she had imagined the entire affair, though she much fretted with herself afterward for ever having entertained such a thought. Then to her ears issued more cries.
“Oh! Harry! Oh, you naughty man-yes, do!”
“Ah, Belinda!”
“Oh, Papa!”
Pamela could hear no more. It was a much more wicked world than she had ever brought herself to think- particularly as she had not arranged this unexpected melee. Quite put out at facing her first defeat, she retired to her room praying only that her two charges, Helen and Miranda, had not been awakened by such licentious behaviour. Then in but a few moments her agile mind and unconquerable spirit came once more to the fore. Returning to Lady Waterhouse's room, she entered, removed the key, and locked the door from the outside without disturbing its resident.
Going then boldly forward to the main bedroom, where the four were now ensconced, she knocked and entered.
More cries! More alarms! Both Mary and Lady Bromley would have sat up-had they been able.
“Oh, pray forgive me-I do beg your pardon-I was looking for Lady Waterhouse,” said Pamela in her most dulcet tones while her eyes ranged blandly over the enlaced couples.
“Ah!” shrieked Belinda.
“Oh!” gasped Mary.
By then Pamela had stepped neatly without and retired once more to her room. She had not long to wait, as she expected, for in but two minutes an extremely ruffled Lord Waterhouse appeared in hastily drawn on trousers and crumpled shirt.
Upon his appearance-she having left her oil lamp lit-Pamela sat up in her bed with every semblance of alarm.
“Oh, sir, would you assault me, in turn?” she gasped.
“My dear, good heavens, no. It has all been a mistake,” puffed the gentleman, whose concealed erection evinced all signs of excitement. A sombre expression of anxiety then passed across his features. He made to sit upon the bed, but Pamela gave such a start that he desisted. “Why sought you Lady Waterhouse?” he asked.
“She awoke, sir. Naturally I gave her the tidings of your arrival. Her wonderment that you had not joined her was great. I believed her to have gone in search of you. Then I apprised her of your whereabouts and she locked herself in her room, saying that on no account would she speak to anyone.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the good lord in doleful tones. “In entering the bedroom in the dark, I fell, you see, upon the bed, and…”
His voice trailed off wistfully. His eyes sought help, but Pamela's gave him none.
“Yes, sir,” she replied distantly. “May I sleep now? I, too, have been over-disturbed.”
“Herrumph! Why, yes-but of course, I mean-why, that is to say-well…”
Unable to find further words, he retired ungracefully, leaving a pleased Pamela to douse her lamp and compose herself for slumber. Sir Richard and Lady Bromley would now both be put out beyond repair, but that could not be helped. The comedy that must ensue in the morning would be well worth attending.
Arising first that morn, Pamela made haste to silently unlock the door to Lady Waterhouse's room. She had debated with herself whether to apprise the lady of the night's events, but it seemed clearly better to let all confusion proceed. And thus it was-tedious though it would be to recount all the conversations that proceeded.
Lady Waterhouse's surprise that her husband had been present all night was naturally great, and a considerable upheaval at the breakfast table ensued.
“Where were you, Harry? You had no nightshirt,” declared Lady Waterhouse with impenetrable logic.
“I-er-my dear, I could not open your door. It s… s… seemed to be stuck.”
“Really? I found no difficulty with it this morning, Harry. As to you, Mary, you were to have slept with me, I thought.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“The poor little dear fell asleep upon the sofa, so we put her elsewhere,” interjected Lady Bromley, whose husband merely sat looking frightfully uncomfortable. Indeed, being crestfallen and experiencing shades of guilt over the entire matter, he succeeded in bringing a light flush to his cheeks which the perfectly able Lady Waterhouse's eyes did not miss.
“And where did you sleep, Miss?” she asked Mary without a moment's pause.
“Mama, in the-er-”
“Really? A most interesting place to sleep, I am sure,” her Mama observed cuttingly, for being given to peccadilloes herself she was ever conscious of their possibility in others and already-it will be recalled-had discovered her daughter and brother in a situation of what might be called flagante delicto. “Come, Mary, I wish to speak to you,” Lady Waterhouse declared. Ignoring the polite conventions, she swept from the table taking Mary with her, that maiden casting a wild-eyed and blushing look behind her as she did so.
“Ah…,” said Lord Waterhouse, “frightfully sorry-just remembered a most pressing appointment.”
Therewith he scuttled off in the opposite direction. Within moments the heavy slamming of the front door was heard.
“It was all Lady Waterhouse's fault, of course. She insisted last night in knowing where her husband was, for she awoke unexpectedly,” Pamela said sweetly, where she remained at table with Sir Richard and Belinda.
Sir Richard stared glassily. Lady Bromley's colour was high. In so excusing herself, Pamela had quite cut the ground even farther from under their feet.
“I say, my dear, were we not to have departed for Paris today?” Sir Richard squeaked to his spouse.
“Indeed, I have just remembered the same. The Ambassador is expecting us, is he not? Oh, how foolish of you to have forgotten, Richard. We must make haste. Is there not a packet to France today?”
“I b… b… believe there is,” said her husband, who was not normally given to stuttering. “Let us pack without delay, for with luck we shall reach Dover by afternoon and thus be able to embarque.”
Chapter seventeen
“You will see to all, I trust, Pamela,” Sir Richard had declared upon parting.
Mary had not betrayed her hosts, though what she had otherwise confessed to her severely questioning Mama was not then known. However, the Bromleys deemed it wiser to absent themselves from the scene, and there were thus some hasty and embarrassed farewells between themselves and Lady Waterhouse. Their social diary had been completely put awry by mistaken entries, Belinda had declared with a laugh so tinged with embarrassment that Lady Waterhouse kept her suspicions to herself.
“Indeed I shall see to all,” Pamela promised faithfully and returned to the drawing room, where Lavender Waterhouse had seated herself with some aplomb. Mary, having been duly spanked, sobbed fretfully in her room
