“D’you think it would be any good if I went in to Miss Prince and asked her about Miss Cheale?” asked Jean in a hesitating tone. “I mean, couldn’t she ask Miss Cheale what she meant by saying that she knew that Mr. Garlett was innocent?”
A look of terror came into Lucy’s face.
“Oh, miss, you won’t go and do that? It would get me into terrible trouble! They’re such friends—she’d never say a word against Miss Cheale, I know she wouldn’t! Why, Miss Prince had a letter from her this very morning. That’s why I’m here now. Miss Cheale wrote as how the woman who keeps the place where she’s living in London can’t get any help, and Miss Prince thought my sister might go—just to oblige. Not much! But of course I couldn’t but say I’d ask.”
“Can you give me Miss Cheale’s address?” asked Jean in a stifled tone.
Lucy began hunting in the narrow pocket of her ulster.
“Not that you’ll get anything out of her! She’s an artful one—she is!”
She held out a crumpled piece of paper.
Required from next Monday a respectable young woman to help. Previous experience not essential. Wages, fifteen shillings a week and all found. A comfortable home for the right person. Apply Mrs. Lightfoot, 106, Coburg Square.
Jean Bower gazed down at the piece of paper now in her hand for some time. Lucy was looking at her anxiously, not liking to speak. Had she been wise to confide her great secret, her frightful half-suspicion of the woman she hated, to this young lady?
At last Jean turned round.