‘Put that back, young lady,’ said he severely.
Poor Maude held out her guilty relic on the palm of her hand. ‘I am so sorry,’ said she. ‘I am afraid I cannot put it back.’
‘We’ll ’ave the ’ole church picked to pieces at this rate,’ said the clerk. ‘You shouldn’t ’ave done it, and it was very wrong.’ He snorted and shook his head.
‘It’s of no consequence,’ said Frank. ‘The plaster was hanging, and must have fallen in any case. Don’t make a fuss about a trifle.’
The clerk looked at the young gentleman and saw defiance in one of his eyes and half a crown in the other.
‘Well, well!’ he grumbled. ‘It shows as the young lady takes an interest, and that’s more than most. Why, sir, if you’ll believe me, there’s not one in a hundred that comes to this church that ever ’eard of Pepys. “Pepys!” says they. “’Oo’s Pepys?” “The Diarist,” says I. “Diarist!” says they, “wot’s a Diarist?” I could sit down sometimes an’ cry. But maybe, miss, you thought as you were picking that plaster off ’is grave?’
‘Yes, I thought so.’
The clerk chuckled.
‘Well, it ain’t so. I’ll tell you where ’e really lies, if you’ll promise you won’t pick another chunk off that. Well, then, it’s there—beside the communion. I saw ’im lyin’ there with these very eyes, and ’is wife in the coffin beneath ’im.’
‘You saw him?’