Chapter Thirty One.
How he heard it.
“Why, what’s this?”
Mr Justice Roberts had opened the old press, tried all the drawers, and come at last to the secret drawer, of whose existence only he and his brother knew. No sooner had he applied his hand to a secret spring, than out darted the drawer, showing that it held a long legal-looking document, and a letter addressed to himself. He opened and read the latter, Margery standing quietly at a little distance. Slowly and thoughtfully, when he had finished the letter, he folded it up, pocketed it, and turned to Margery.
“Ay, Madge,” he said, “they are gone.”
“And not coming back, Master Anthony?”
“Not while—well, not at this present. Madge, my brother would have me come hither, and take up mine abode here—for a while, look you; and methinks I shall so do.”
“Well, Mr Anthony, and I shall be full fain. I’ve been right trembling in my shoes this three days, lest them noisome pests should think to come and take possession—turn out all. Master’s papers, and count Mistress Grena’s partlets, and reckon up every crack in the kitchen trenchers; but there’s nought ’ll keep ’em out, even to you coming, ’cause they’ll be a bit ’feared of you, as being a Justice of Peace. Ay, I am glad o’ that.”
“‘Noisome pests’! Why, whom signify you, Madge?”
“Oh, catchpolls, and thirdboroughs (minor constables), and sheriffs, and hangmen, and ’turneys, and the like o’ they,” replied Margery, not very lucidly: “they be pests, the lot of ’em, as ever I see. They’re as ill as plumbers and painters and rats and fleas—once get ’em in, and there’s no turning of ’em out. I cannot abide ’em.”