Early upon the morning after the funeral, a lad from the village of Raynham presented himself at the principal door of the servants' offices, and asked to see Lady Eversleigh's maid.
The young woman who filled that office was summoned, and came to inquire the business of the messenger.
Her name was Jane Payland; she was a Londoner by birth, and a citizen of the world by education.
She had known very little of either comfort or prosperity before she entered the service of Lady Eversleigh. She was, therefore, in some measure at least, devoted to the interests of that mistress, and she was inclined to believe in her innocence; though, even to her, the story of the night in Yarborough Tower seemed almost too wild and improbable for belief.
Jane Payland was about twenty-four years of age, tall, slim, and active. She had no pretensions to beauty; but was the sort of person who is generally called lady-like.
This morning she went to the little lobby, in which the boy had been told to wait, indignant at the impertinence of anyone who could dare to intrude upon her mistress at such a time.
"Who are you, and what do you want?" she asked angrily.
"If you please, ma'am, I'm Widow Beckett's son," the boy answered, in evident terror of the young woman in the rustling black silk dress and smart cap; "and I've brought this letter, please; and I was only to give it to the lady's own maid, please.
"I am her own maid," answered Jane.
The boy handed her a dirty-looking letter, directed, in a bold clear hand, to Lady Eversleigh.