Nicholas Clere hesitated a moment. Elizabeth’s defence was not at all unlikely to be true. But he had made up his mind that she was in fault, and probabilities must not be allowed to interfere with it.
“Rubbish!” said he. “What man, having his eyes in his head, should trust a silly maid with any matter of import? Women can never keep a secret, much less a young jade like to thee. Tell no more lies, prithee.”
And he began to walk towards Balcon Lane, still firmly holding Elizabeth by the arm.
“Master, I beseech you, let me go on my way!” she pleaded earnestly. “I will tarry up all night, if it be your pleasure, to make up for one half-hour now. Truly as I am an honest maid, I have told you the truth, and I am about nothing ill.”
“Tush, jade! Hold thy tongue. Thou goest with me, and if not peaceably, then by force.”
“Will you, of your grace, Master, let me leave my message with some other to take instead of me? May I have leave to speak, but one moment, with Mistress Wade, of the King’s Head? She would find a trusty messenger to go forward.”
“Tell me thy message, and if it be truly of any weight, then shall it be sent,” answered Nicholas, still coldly, but less angrily than before.
Could she tell him the message? Would it not go straight to the priest, and all hope of escape be thus cut off? Like Nehemiah, Elizabeth cried for wisdom.
“Master, I cry you mercy yet again, but I may not tell the message.”
“Yet thou wouldst fain tell Mistress Wade! Thou wicked hussy, thou canst be after no good. What message is this, which thou canst tell Mistress Wade, but mayest not tell me? I crede thee not a word. Have forward, and thy mistress shall deal with thee.”