“My husband contemns not the blessed Sacrament that our Lord Jesus Christ instituted,” answered Collet, turning to face her new assailant; “but he is one of them that will not be made to commit idolatry unto a piece of bread.”
“Well said, indeed!” sneered Mr Benden. “This must needs be good world when cloth-workers’ wives turn doctors of religion! How look you to make my rent, Mistress, with nought coming in, I pray you?”
“Your rent’s not due, Master, for five weeks to come.”
“And when they be come, I do you to wit, I will have it—or else forth you go. Do you hear, Mistress Glib-tongue?”
“Dear heart, Master Benden!” cried Collet, in consternation. “Sure you can never have the heart to turn us adrift—us as has always paid you every farthing up to the hour it was due!”
“Ay, and I’ll have this, every farthing up to the hour ’tis due! I’ll have no canting hypocrites in my houses, nor no such as be notorious traitors to God and the Queen’s Majesty! I’ll—”
“O Master, we’re no such, nor never was—” began the sobbing Collet.
But both speeches were cut across by a third voice, which made the landlord turn a shade paler and stop his diatribe suddenly; for it was the voice of the only mortal creature whom Edward Benden feared.
“Then you’d best turn yourself out, Edward Benden, and that pretty sharp, before I come and make you!” said the unexpected voice of the invisible Tabitha. “I haven’t forgot, if you have, what a loyal subject you were in King Edward’s days, nor how you essayed to make your court to my Lord of Northumberland that was, by proclaiming my Lady Jane at Cranbrook, and then, as soon as ever you saw how the game was going, you turned coat and threw up your cap for Queen Mary. If all the canting hypocrites be bundled forth of Staplehurst, you’ll be amongst the first half-dozen, I’ll be bound! Get you gone, if you’ve any shame left, and forbear to torture an honest woman that hath troubles enow.”
“He’s gone, Mistress Hall,” said little Beatrice. “I count he scarce heard what you last spake.”