Maggie MacKeever Read Free Page B

her all the better for it. A pity she wouldn’t meet Vivien. Peregrine would have given several ponies he didn’t have to see Vivien given a set-down.
    He patted Miss Minchin’s hand. “You wait here! I’ll fix it up all right and tight!” he said, and went in search of the innkeeper. Within a short space of time, Tabby was in possession of lodging for the night.
    Tabby gazed around the small room; at the narrow little bed, the chair, the small chest of drawers, the water pitcher and bowl on the comer stand. Then she collapsed on the hard bed. There she remained for an unconscionably long time, suffering the full force of the anguish of her separation from her home. Tabby missed her uncle very much. She wished she could share with him her impressions of the journey. She wondered if she would ever meet anyone who understood so well her sense of the absurd.
    But she was very weary, and one didn’t die of the dumps, after all. Tabby rose from her cramped position and subjected her surroundings to a cursory inspection to ensure she wasn’t sharing the chamber with dust-bunnies and assorted insect life. Finding the room neat and clean, she gratefully exchanged her mourning gown for her comfortable old nightdress, blew out the candle, and climbed between the cool rough sheets.
     

Chapter Three
     
    The hour was far advanced when yet another carriage drew up outside the little inn. Its occupants, too, had suffered the inconvenience of an accident. The driver of this carriage, however, could blame no mischief-making rooster for his mishap. It was his own inattention that had led to the upset—a surprising thing, for Mr. Sanders was a noted whip. But he had been in the midst of a brangle with his current ladybird, and his attention had strayed from the road.
    This mortifying fact, the divine Sara—or Sara Divine, as she was known upon the stage—had not let him forget. “At last!” she said now. “What a wretched trip. Once you were very attentive to my comfort, but now—I do not know what I have done to turn you against me, but obviously I have done something, because to drag me out into the country like this is cruel in the greatest degree!”
    Mr. Sanders handed his reins to a sleepy groom. “I do not immediately perceive how I have displeased you, my love,” he responded with commendable patience. “It was you who wanted to come along.”
    “You do not understand?” repeated Sara incredulously. “Consider, Vivien! I do not see you for a week, and then you wish me to go into a neighborhood where a prizefight is being held. As if I should enjoy such a thing!”
    Mr. Sanders helped her down from the carriage. “Then you should have said that you didn’t care to attend.”
    “Oh, certainly!” Sara tossed her head. “Then you would feel perfectly free to go without me, which is probably why you invited me in the first place! You’re on the dangle for some other female, I know it! Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes!” Those fine dark orbs flashed.
    Contrary to the oft-repeated accusations of his current light-o’-love, Mr. Sanders was not particularly interested in any other female. In point of fact, he was not particularly interested in Sara, either. Already today he had endured hysterics and a fainting fit. Now he was expected to coax her once more out of the sullens. Vivien didn’t think he cared to do so. Wondering why and how so initially amusing an encounter had turned into so tedious an alliance, he made his way toward the inn.
    “Pray do not regard my feelings!” said Sara, as she trailed after him. “And do not trouble yourself to offer me any word of explanation, because I am very displeased with you.” As result of this comment, and innumerable previous comments of a similar nature, it was with considerable energy that Mr. Sanders assaulted the inn door.
    That summons was answered by a maidservant, the taproom being long closed and the innkeeper long since asleep beside his cozy wife.