Then Mrs Clere went downstairs, her heavy tread followed by the light run of her daughter’s steps; and then Elizabeth heard the bolts drawn back, and the Bailiff and his men march into the kitchen of the Magpie.
“Good-morrow, Mistress Clere. I am verily sorry to come to the house of a good Catholic on so ill an errand. But I am in search of a maid of yours, by name Elizabeth Foulkes, whose name hath been presented a afore the Queen’s Grace’s Commission for heresy. Is this the maid?”
Mr Maynard, as he spoke, laid his hand not very gently on Amy’s shoulder.
“Eh, bless me, no!” cried Amy, in terror. “I’m as good a Catholic as you or any. I’ll say aught you want me, and I don’t care what it is—that the moon’s made o’ green cheese, if you will, and I’d a shive last night for supper. Don’t take me, for mercy’s sake!”
“I’m not like,” said Mr Maynard, laughing, and giving Amy a rough pat on the back. “You aren’t the sort I want.”
“You’re after Bess Foulkes, aren’t you?” said Mrs Clere. “Amy, there’s the key. Go fetch her down. I locked her up, you see, that she should be safe when wanted, I’m a true woman to Queen and Church, I am, Master Bailiff. You’ll find no heresy here, outside yon jade of a Bessy.”
Mrs Clere knew well that suspicion had attached to her husband’s name in time past, which made her more desirous to free herself from all complicity with what the authorities were pleased to call heresy.
Amy ran upstairs and unlocked the door of the porch-chamber.
“Bessy, the Bailiff’s come for thee!”
A faint flush rose to Elizabeth’s face as she stood up.