“I don’t know London at all.”
Jean looked straight into the other’s fat face. She was glad to be able to say something which was absolutely true.
“There now, fancy that! You surprise me—seein’ that I can see you’ve ’ad some edication. I’m a Londoner born and bred—proud of it, too. It’s unlucky you and me can’t go out together. I’d take you to see the sights! But you’ll be able to go ’ere and there on your afternoon off. A young girl like you won’t be long before she gets a friend to walk out with.”
To that Jean made no answer. Instead she sat down and poured herself out a cup of tea.
“As you come from Terriford I expect you’re quite familiar-like with all the parties concerned with this ’ere Garlett murder—The Thatched ’Ouse Mystery some calls it? Ever seen my top floor—Miss Cheale? She’s in it, of course!”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her,” faltered Jean.
She bent her face down to her plate. “I wasn’t in Terriford long.”
“I’ll give you a peep at Miss Cheale some time or other,” said Mrs. Lightfoot kindly. “But she’s the one of my lodgers you won’t ’ave much to do with. I do the waitin’ on ’er myself. She simply can’t abear strangers! But you’ll ’ave to help do ’er room, mind you. ‘What the hear don’t ’ear, the ’eart don’t grieve at.’ She thinks I never lets any one into her room. But there she’s mistaken. I can’t do all the work, and it’s lucky for me that my front ground floor’s been hempty a while, though now you’ve come, my dear, I don’t mind ’ow soon it fills up.”
Jean’s hands were shaking. How stupid, how idiotic of her, not to have realized that Agatha Cheale’s connection with the Thatched House would be known to Mrs. Lightfoot!
“She’s takin’ on awful about that case,” went on the housekeeper. “She left ’ere over a year ago to go to that very Mrs. Garlett as lady-’ousekeeper. I says to ’er then, ‘You’re a fool to give up your hindependence, Miss Cheale, my dear!’ But she would do it. And see where it’s landed ’er!”