and Jane supplied both. It was nicer than popping me into some musty
priest's hole, though I expect this ancient building has one."

I looked at the wall as half expecting the sword of Captain
Smite-and-spare-not Wheatman to rattle to the ground under this awful
insinuation.

"The only use our family has found for priests, madam," I said, "has
been, I fear, to hunt them like vermin. As a Wheatman of the Hanyards, I'm
afraid I'm a degenerate."

"You'll not even be that much longer if I keep you from getting into some
dry clothes. And, if Jane is willing, I will make myself myself. I would
fain be on."

With a sweet smile and a gracious curtsy, she followed the ready Jane
upstairs.

I removed all traces of what had taken place, and carried my precious
jack into the pantry, where I hung him in safety. He should be set up by
Master Whatcot of Stafford as a trophy and memento in honour of this great
day. I then hurried off to my room to attend to my own appearance, and
indeed I needed it, for I was caked with mud up to my knees and soaking
wet up to my waist. For the first time in my life I was grieved to the
bone at the inadequacy of my wardrobe, and even when I had donned my
Sunday best my appearance was undoubtedly villainous from the London point
of view. I feathered myself as finely as my resources permitted, but it
was a homely, uncouth yeoman that raced downstairs and awaited her coming.
I drew the curtains, lit the candles, kicked the fire into a blaze, and
built it up with fresh logs.