“Awm sorry, aunt,” said Mary, quickly crossing the hearth and putting her arms round my mother’s neck and kissing her brow. “Aw shouldn’t ha’ done it if aw’d thowt; but awm so happy awm hardly misen. Theer, aw’ll tell mi tale.”
“Well, then, yo’ may be sure after aw heerd owd Mother Walker’s threat aw wer’ bothered aboon a bit. Aw wer’ noan for weddin’ her lad, even if he hadn’t turned informer, but what use ’ud Ben here be to me hangin’ i’ irons off York gibbet. Aw could na see a road aat, look choose which way aw would. Well yesterday aw heerd uncle here say my lord an’ lady Dartmouth wer’ at Woodsome.”
My father gave a corroboratory nod.
“So aw thowt it ovver all neet, an’ to make a long story short awn been to Woodsome this very day.”
“An’ seen my lord?” cried my father.
“Aye, an’ mi lady, too. When aw gate to th’ big door lookin’ on to th’ lawn—an’ yo’ should ha’ seen th’ deer down th’ big avenue made o’ trees like th’ pillars o’ a cathedral aisle—when aw gate to th’ door aw gav’ a knock at th’ big knocker, an’ it made such a clatter aw could ha’ fun it i’ my heart to run, but aw thowt aw’d come so far aw’d see it through. A felly oppened th’ door. A reg’lar nobob. ‘It’s mi lord hissen,’ aw thowt. He’d a powdered wig, an’ epaulettes, an’ a brown plush coat wi’ big buttons wi’ figurin’ on, an’ a scarlet weskit, an’ plush shorts an’ silk stockin’s an’ oh! such an air o’ haughty pride. He pulled hissen up when he seed me. ‘Yo’ sud ha’ gone to th’ tradesmen’s entrance,’ he says. ‘Aw want to see his lordship,’ aw says as loud as aw could, but aw could scarce hear my own voice, an’ aw dropped a courtesy, ‘an’ a reckon yo’ mun be him, tho’ aw didn’t reckon to see so big a man, for Mr. Scott told me ye’ wer’ nowt much to look at.’ And then aw heerd a loud laugh, an’ i’ th’ gloom o’ th’ big hall aw spied a littlish man very plain dressed. ‘Admit: the lady,’ he said. And aw wer’ shown into a room on th’ reight hand, an’ th’ little man came in an’ made me sit dahn, but not afore he’d helped me off wi’ mi shawl, which wer’ wet wi’ snow, an’ made that stuck up jackanapes tak’ it to be dried. ‘An ask her leddyship to spare me a minnit,’ sez he. Then there came in a young leddy, just such another as thee, Faith, an’ so pleasant i’ th’ face. An ’oo smiled at me, an’ wouldn’t hear a word till aw’d warmed misen by th’ fire, an’ ’oo made me drink a glass o’ wine.”
“Did yo’ tell her who’s lass tha wer’?” asked my father. “But he’d noan know me. Th’ owd lord ’ud ha’ known me. But this ’un’s nobbud been th’ earl a year or two, an awn nobbud seen him once or twice.”
“Well, anyway he didn’t say he didn’t,” said Mary diplomatically. “And then,” continued Mary, “aw up an’ tell’d them all about it, about Ben o’ Buck’s pesterin’ me an’ about Long Tom an’ about Ben’s arm an’ about thee, aunt, bein’ confined to thi bed an’ havin’ th’ doctor to thee an’ all time ailin’ nowt….”
“Aye, an’ what did they say to that?”
“Well, th’ little lord laughed like a good ’un, an’ said th’ doctor ’ud ha’ to be sent to th’ ’sizes for bein’ a summat after the fact, not a necessary, what wor it?—oh! an accessory. But aw seed he wer’ jokin! Then aw began to tell about Ben Walker’s mother, an’ her ladyship told th’ little Earl he’d better go out o’ th’ room, an’ when he’d gone aw just down o’ mi knees i’ front on her, an’ ’oo drew mi face to her an’ aw had a good cry, an’ ’oo drew mi face everything just as yo know it.”