“Soup, blankets, cloaks, a dozen or two of port from the wood.”
Nicodemus looked incredulous.
“Part from the wood? What a queer place to get ’un. There be allers beef at Yuletide, milk for widders and little ’uns, a mort o’ comfort for them as keers for cows’ gifts. A gert charitable ’ooman, my lady be. Rich folk should be treated wi’ respect.”
“And what does it all come to in cash?” asked Agatha. “I’ll tell you. About five hundred pounds—counting everything.”
Nicodemus chuckled, rubbing together his gnarled hands, which indicated more than his face great age.
“A gert noble sum, neighbours. My lady has done her dooty.”
“What hasn’t she done?” asked John sharply.
“Dang my old boans, I dun’no.”
“She hasn’t pulled down a score of cottages like this.”
“Pulled down cottages?” Nicodemus wiped his shining brow.