‘Then, it was you that left him at Sloville, where I took him up?’
‘Yes,’ said the poor woman feebly, adding: ‘Come nearer.’
Rose complied with the request.
‘I was an underservant in Sir Watkin’s house. He was a wicked man. He took a fancy to me. I war young and good-looking, and a fool.’
The old, old story, thought Rose to herself, for the poor woman gave her plenty of time to think, so slowly and feebly did the words come out of her mouth.
‘One day the missus came and caught me in his room. I was turned out into the street, without a character and without a friend. I vowed I’d be even with him, and I run off with his boy.’
‘How could you manage that?’
‘Oh, that was easy enough. The nursemaid was allus a talking to the sodgers in the park. And an Italian Countess helped me. She had an idea that if she could get rid of the child and the wife she would marry the master.’
‘But was no effort made to get the child back?’
‘Oh yes! But I managed to get a dead baby, the very moral of his’n. An Italian lady staying in the house helped me. I dressed it in his clothes. The master thought it his own, and had it buried in the family vault.’