The few shillings Laura Stanbridge had on her when cast into gaol were of course soon expended. She found out that a supply of money was absolutely requisite, and she began to consider how this could be obtained. She had a large balance at her banker’s, and a considerable sum in her house at the West-end of London. She had a great objection to doing anything that might advertise her present position to her friends and associates, and she did not care about making a confident of Alf Purvis. She hoped to get through her present difficulty without letting either Alf or Tom Gatliffe know that she had been charged with shoplifting. Unprincipled woman as she was, she had nevertheless a vast amount of pride, and of course this was greatly wounded.
After considering the matter over for some time she determined upon her course of action. Charles Peace was the very man for her purpose. She had befriended him on more than one occasion, and he was in duty bound to do the same towards her. Anyway, she felt that she could trust him, as there was no reason for him to round upon her.
Peace was therefore much disconcerted upon receiving a letter addressed to him in the Evalina-road from his quondam companion, Laura Stanbridge. In it she begged of him to pay her a visst—he was to pass as her brother on this occasion.
“Look here,” said our hero, addressing himself to “Bandy-legged Bill,” “Lorry Stanbridge has written fool to the end of her name at last.”
“What do you mean?” inquired Bill.
“Mean! Why, just this—she’s been charged with shoplifting—been caught in a lace net, and they’ve run her in.”
“The devil! you don’t mean that? Where did it occur?”
“Down in the country where she went for change of air. Gad, she’s got a change now, and no mistake.”
“Well, I’m blessed, that’s the last thing I should ha’ thought of. Why, I thought she was all over money.”
“So she is—leastways I’ve always understood so. She wants to see me to arrange about her affairs—don’t care about anybody knowing that she’s in quod, and all that sort of thing. That’s not to be so much wondered at. It is hard, but you see, Bill, it won’t do for me to trust myself inside a gaol—’taint likely.”