“We’ve not yet come to that. Bid them every one follow me to Dunchurch without loss of time. Only—mind you let not my mother know of my being here.”
“To Dunchurch—what, afore supper? We were but just come into the dining-chamber, and I smell somewhat uncommon good.”
“You may tarry for jugged hare,” said Catesby contemptuously. “I shall ride quickly to Dunchurch, and there consult.”
“Well—if you must, have with you.”
“Bring some pies in your pocket, Robin, and then you’ll not fall to cannibalism on the way,” called Catesby after him. “And—hark! ask if any wist the road to Dunchurch, for I know it not.”
The question was put in vain to all the party. It appeared, when they came up with Catesby, that nobody knew the road to Dunchurch. Guide-posts were a mystery of the future.
“We must needs have a guide,” said Catesby; “but I am fain at this moment not to show myself in Ashby. Robin, wilt thou win us one? Go thou to Leeson, the smith, at the entering in of the village as thou comest from Ravensthorpe—”
“Ay, I know.”
“Ask him if he will guide us to Dunchurch, and he shall be well paid for it. He is safe, being a Catholic. We will follow anon.”
Bennet Leeson, the blacksmith at Ashby Saint Ledgers, had given up work for the day, and having gone through some extensive ablutions and the subsequent supper, now stood at his cottage door, looking out on the green and taking his rest. He was not enjoying a pipe, for that was as yet a vice of the city, which had not penetrated to rustic and primitive places such as Ashby Saint Ledgers. A horseman came trotting up the street, and drew bridle at his door.