Our two friends, Margaret Thurston and Alice Mount, left the shop together, with their baskets on their arms, and turning down a narrow lane to the left, came out into High Street, down which they went, then along Wye Street, and out at Bothal’s Gate. They did not live in Colchester, but at Much Bentley, about eight miles from the town, in a south-easterly direction.
“I marvel,” said Margaret, as the two pursued their way across the heath, “how Bessy Foulkes shall make way with them twain.”
“Do you so?” answered Alice. “Truly, I marvel more how she shall make way with the third.”
“What, Mistress Amy?”
Alice nodded.
“But why? There’s no harm in her, trow?”
“She means no harm,” said Alice. “But there’s many an one, Meg, as doesn’t mean a bit of harm, and does a deal for all that. I’m feared for Bessy.”
“But I can’t see what you’re feared for.”
“These be times for fear,” said Alice Mount. “Neighbour, have you forgot last August?”
“Eh! no, trust me!” cried Margaret. “Didn’t I quake for fear, when my master came in, and told me you were taken afore the justices! Truly, I reckoned he and I should come the next. I thank the good Lord that stayed their hands!”