Aline had thought best not to mention the matter to Cousin Richard, as he might discuss it with his wife and her plans be frustrated. She felt sure, however, that he would take her part if any were on her side at all.
“These be troublesome days, madam,” said David Bowman, addressing Mistress Mowbray. “It looks as though all authority were to go by the board and every man go his own way. Mother Church is like to have her house overturned by these pestilent heretics.”
“Ay, and a man will not be master in his own house soon either, methinks, neighbour,” said Richard Mowbray.
“How now, Mistress Mowbray, what think you?” Bowman resumed. “Shall we not at least keep our kail better in future, when we have cleared the rabbit-warren?”
“What rabbit-warren?” said Audry innocently.
“The rabbit-warren of Newbiggin, child,” replied Bowman; “only these rabbits are fonder of sheep and chickens and folks’ corn and money than of kail, but we’ll have them all stewed shortly.”
“In the pot, with the lid on,” chimed in Eleanor Mowbray, “and it shall be hot broth too.”
“I hardly think your broth would be very tasty,” observed Master Richard.
“Tasty,” echoed his wife; “it would be the tastiest dish served to the Master of Holwick this many a long day.”
“Master Richard’s imagination is too literal,” said Bowman; “he’s thinking of the old leather hide of William Lonsdale, and tough bony morsels like Jane Mallet; but we could peel them and take out the pips.”