The girl’s eyes stared.
“No, she ain’t. She’s gone to London, and ain’t coming back.”
“When did she go?”
“Must have been this morning before I was up. She’d ’ad ’er breakfast, and written me a letter. She’s left everything to me, and I don’t know which way to turn. There’s luggage to be packed and sent off to London, and the house to be cleaned, and the keys to be taken to Mr. Hanstead’s. I’m fair bothered, sir. I ain’t going to sleep ’ere alone, and my ’ome’s at Croydon. Maybe my young man’s mother will take me in.”
“If not some of my people can.”
“Miss Carfax left a letter for you, sir.”
“Let me have it.”
The girl went into the dining-room, and Canterton followed her. The letter was lying on the parcel that contained the Latimer and Fernhill pictures. He went to the window, broke the seal, and read Eve’s letter.
The girl watched him, and he was conscious of her inquisitive eyes. But his face betrayed nothing, and he acted as though there were nothing wonderful about this sudden flight.
“Miss Carfax did not tell you that she was expecting the offer of work in London?”