I got a cab, took her to the railway-station, and saw her safely into the train off to her brother who, I knew, would not be pleased to see her, for he was as helpless with her as myself. Six months she stayed in the country, and many were the letters she wrote to me, all couched in the most endearing language--they lie before me as I write, and bring it all back to me. She got tired of writing letters, and her brother got tired of her; so one night at eleven o’clock I found her on my doorstep, and all her worldly goods with her--three brown-paper parcels of good dimensions. She always had them with her. Few people saw her at liberty without those brown-paper parcels. Many people have asked me what she carried tied up in brown-paper. Every piece of clothing I had given her for ten years was tied carefully up in those parcels. When her clothing got too bad, I gave her some better; but all the old pieces were carefully treasured and jealously guarded; on no account would she part with any.
In two days’ time she bade a cheerful ‘Good-morning’ to the magistrate at North London, who promptly discharged her, because she looked so nice and had been away so long; and before she could well speak she was ushered out of court. But that did not suit Jane, so next day she appeared again, and this time more evidence had to be given by the police--she had taken care of that--so time was given her to get in her usual string of interruptions, and Jane was happy.
For over thirty years this farce had gone on, and all this time a demented woman had been looked upon and treated as a confirmed inebriate. Of course she took drink, and plenty of fools were always ready to treat her, nay, even to entice her into a public-house for the purpose of hearing her talk and seeing the fireworks. It has always seemed to me an extraordinary thing that publicans who knew her so well, and knew what would happen, should allow her to be served on their premises; but so it was.
Cakebread became a great nuisance, not only to the public, but especially to my family. As soon as she was discharged from prison she would make her way to the street in which I lived; but she never could remember which was the right house, and as there was a number of houses exactly alike, she invariably began at the first and inquired at every one till she arrived at mine. After calling at one house, and being told that I lived farther on, sometimes she would insist that I did live there, and would make herself comfortable on the doorstep, where she would remain till taken away by a policeman. The neighbours began to look coolly at me; they did not want any of Jane’s glory reflected on them.