“Well, ma’am, yes and no. I was in service as a girl. Then I got married. I’m a widow, ma’am. He only lived three years. He was thrown from a horse. I’ve been in service since.”
“How long were you in your last situation, and where was it?” inquired Lucy.
“It was near Edinburgh, ma’am—between Edinburgh and Berwick—and I was there twenty years.” She said this quite simply, as if she had no idea of effect.
“Twenty years!” echoed Lucy.
“Yes, ma’am. I was with the lady and gentleman first, and when he died, I lived on with the mistress. She died last year.”
“What made you come away from all your friends to London?” Mrs. Challoner asked.
“Well, I hadn’t many friends to leave—we’d lived terrible quiet-like—and I had a cousin and his wife with a nice home near London, and they asked me up for a visit, and now I’d sooner stay here than go back.”
“From whom shall I get your references?” asked Lucy, putting the question almost reluctantly.
“Well, you see, the family I’ve been with is all gone, ma’am. And the poor mistress she was bed-rid for nigh ten years, and few folks came about her. When I left the North, I hardly knew what I was going to do—I half thought of a little shop, ma’am—but I thought I’d keep on the safe side in case I decided on another place. So I got lines from the parish minister and from my mistress’s lawyer. There was nobody knew me better as woman or worker than them two. There’s the papers, ma’am, and they said they’d answer any other inquiries; but they couldn’t well say more than they’ve said there.”
Mrs. Challoner took the manuscripts. She read the shorter first. It was from the lawyer. The paper was stamped with a good Edinburgh legal address, and the handwriting was professional and educated. The missive was in note form.