Mr. Potter: Well, theer was poor Dick Hobden as went a-walkin’ one evenin’ Windover way wi’ Lucy Price, a rare handsome lass. Poor Dick were found stone dead next day, but the lass vanished an’ nobody never seen her no more, nor never will, I reckon.
Sir John: Vanished?
Mr. Potter: Ay, like Mary Beal as disappeared and came back and drownded of ’erself, pore lass. There was Ruth Wicks as likewise vanished an’ was found weeks arterwards singin’ in the dark atop o’ Windover ... died mad, she did. There was other lasses as disappeared from Wilmington an’ Litlin’ton an’ never come back.
Sir John: A hateful tale!
Mr. Potter: It be, sir.
Sir John: And whom do you suspect?
Mr. Potter: Mum for that, sir! But there be folk as Potter would be j’yful to ’ave the skinnin’ of——
Sir John: You mean my Lord Sayle and Sturton——
Mr. Potter: Hist—sir! Speak soft! I don’t mean nothin’. Only what one bids t’other obeys.... And now Lord Sayle swears he’ll ruin all on us—every man an’ bye, ah, wumman, maid an’ babe, not forgettin’ wives an’ widders.
Sir John: How so?