“This then, dear Winny. We want it taken to Gloucester.”
She held out what appeared a spill for lighting pipe or candle. It was the note she had just written, folded and doubled-folded till no longer recognisable as a sheet of paper, much less a letter. For all the cadgeress knew it to be such; and not the first of its kind she had received from the same hands, for surreptitious conveyance.
“It shall be tookt theer,” she said, in a determined way, “if the Cavalières don’t take’t from me on the way. Them won’t find it without some searchin’, though.”
Saying which, she made further reduction in the dimensions of the sheet by double knotting it; then thrust it under the coils of her luxuriant hair, and by a dexterous play of fingers so fixed it that, only undoing the plaits, could it be discovered.
The letter bore no address, nor was name signed to it. Neither inquired the cadgeress to whom it was to be delivered. Enough that Mistress Sabrina had given it to her, and it was for Gloucester. She knew there was a man there it must be meant for; she herself, for a special reason, being always well posted up as to the whereabouts of Sir Richard Walwyn and his Foresters.
“Thee weesh me to start immediate I suppose, my lady?”
“At once—soon as you can get off. How long will it take you to get to Gloucester?”
“Well, for usual me an’ Jack be’s ’bout four hours fra Ruardean. But I once’t did the journey myself in a bit less’n three, an’ can go t’ same again.”
“It’s now a little after six—only ten minutes,” said Sabrina, consulting her three-cornered watch. “Do you think you could get there by nine?”
“Sure o’ that; an afores, if us be alive, an’ nothin’ happen to stop we on the way.”