Halfman slapped his thigh approvingly and answered to the Cavalier with grave voice and smiling eyes.
“Never was pike so handled before, I promise ye.”
The tone of his voice mimicked Mrs. Satchell’s manner even as the words of it aped her matter, but the dame was too pleased with herself and the world to heed what it was that set the gentlemen laughing.
“So, so,” Radlett hummed approval. “Mrs. Satchell, will you ride with me to the King?”
Mrs. Satchell dipped him a swimming reverence, but she shook her head decisively.
“Your honor means well, but I cannot leave my lady. The Roundheads might come again.”
The Lord Fawley had by this seen his glass filled by Tiffany and was staring boldly into her pretty face, much to the exasperation of honest Thoroughgood, chafing in the background.
“Do you handle a pike, prettikins?” Fawley asked. Prettikins dropped him a courtesy and shook her curls.
“No, my lord,” she whispered, “I am not very soldierly.”