'Tell me, husband,' she said; 'be ye a true spy for Thomas Cromwell?'
He glanced round him with terror—but no man stood nearer than the meat boards across the kitchen, so far out of earshot that they could not hear feet upon the bricks.
'Nay, ye may tell me the very truth of the very truth,' she said. 'These be false days—but my kitchen gear is thine, and nothing doth so bind folks together.'
'But other listeners—' he said.
'Hosts and hostesses are listeners,' she answered. ''Tis their trade. And their trade it is, too, to fend from them all other listeners. Here you may speak. Tell me then, if I may serve you, very truly whether ye be a true spy for Thomas Cromwell or against him.'
Her round face, beneath the great white hood, had a childish earnestness.
'Why, you are a fair doxy,' he said. He hung his head for some more minutes, then he spoke again.
'It is a folly to speak of me as Privy Seal's spy, though I have so spoken of myself. For why? It gaineth me worship, maketh men to fear me and women to be dazzled by my power. But in truth, I have little power.'
'That is the very truth?' she asked.
He nodded nonchalantly and waited again to find very clear words for her understanding.