“Well, well?” Lady Peggy’s words came with a gasp, as the old man dead stops.
“Go on Bickers, I say!” the mistress’s foot stamps with a thud on the damp earth.
“Askin’ Your Ladyship’s parding, the devil caught me that time at the Kennaston Arms, My Lady, and he clawed that tight, My Lady, that I couldn’t stir, and—and—”
Peggy now stooped, seized a billet of wood as big as her arm and gave Bickers a sound drub across his hands. The pipe fell in bits, the ash glowed; Bickers jumped, so did Chockey.
“‘And, and’ what?” drubbed Peggy with a will. “Not so much as ha’ penny of the sovereign, unless you out with the whole truth!”
“I will! I will!” cried the old man. “Sir Percy never got the letter, My Lady, until the very day I seen him on the long roan a-ridin’ for’s life away from the Castle yonder,” and Bickers jerked his thumb toward the house as he now made off.
The devil did not catch Bickers that night; he earned his sovereign before the moon rose.
As he sped, Lady Peggy took Chockey’s proffered arm.
“You see, Chock, you see, how we that are born to wear petticoats are no better’n puppets! a-dancin’ and a-cryin’; or a-kneelin’ and a-weepin’, as it happens to suit the whim of what, Chock? Who, Chock? Tell me, Chock!” cries Lady Peggy excitedly.
“Lawk, My Lady, that can I not!”