She looked at him questioningly.
“And I am a pilgrim.”
“Under a vow.”
“And how shall I serve you, on the top of a moor? It seems foolishness.”
“If a man goes to shrive himself or to pray at a holy place, can folk quarrel with him? That butcher villain of a Vance has his spies everywhere. A bird does not fly straight to its nest when a cat is about.”
“True.”
“And, sister, it would be well if you could steal your way to Woodmere, and see with your own eyes that things are as old Falconer and the Flemming say they are. The cellar trap is hidden under a pile of loose stones; a stout stake through the ring will raise it.”
“I could find my way to Woodmere in the dark.”
“What a wench you are for wandering! You have that money safely? I might have my purse cut in Gawdy. You must play Jew.”
She put her hand to her bosom.