Course, with anybody else but an easy mark like Mrs. Pinckney, maybe she wouldn’t have got away with it; but all Geraldine does is glance at the paper, ask her if she likes children, and put her on the payroll.
“Well?” says I. “And it got you some worried tryin’ to make good, eh?”
“I was near crazy over it,” says she. “I thought I could do it at first; but it came cruel ’ard. Oh, sir, the lies I’ve ’ad to tell, keepin’ it up. And with the rest of the ’elp all ’ating me! Marie used me worst of all, though. She made me tell ’er everything, and ’eld it over my ’ead. Next that Aunt Martha came and thought up so many bad things about me—you know.”
“Sure,” says I; “but how about this Sir Podmore?”
“I was ’ead laundress at Podmore ’Ouse,” says she, “and I thought it was all up when he saw me here. I never should have tried to do it. I’m a good ’ousekeeper, if I do say it; but I’m getting to be an old woman now, and this will end me. It was for Katy I did it, though. Every week she used to come and throw it in my face that she couldn’t call at the front door and—and——Well, I ’opes you’ll believe me, sir; but that was just the way of it, and if I’m taken to jail it will kill Katy and——”
“Aha!” breaks in a voice behind us. “Here, Pinckney! Come, Geraldine! This way everybody!” and as I turns around there’s Aunt Martha with the accusin’ finger out and her face fairly beamin’. Before I can get in a word she’s assembled the fam’ly.
“What did I tell you?” she cackles. “She’s broken down and confessed! I heard her!”
“Is it true, Shorty?” demands Mrs. Pinckney. “Does she admit that she was plotting to——”
“Yep!” says I. “It’s something awful too, almost enough to curdle your blood.”
“Go on,” says Aunt Martha. “Tell us the worst. What is it?”