"Well, I don't know as my master would hire a horse out of a Sunday, unless 'twere very particler--illness or suchlike. Lea Farm did you say ma'am? Is it the Lea out by Windmill hill--Master Brown's; or Lea Farm, down by the river--Tom Smith's?"
"No, this is Mr. Meadows's, a grazier."
"Never heard tell on him, ma'am, but the master might, when he comes in. But bless me," she added, after a moment's consideration, "what will your master say? He'll be asking how it comes that a lady like you, with a coach and horses of her own, should be coming after a horse here. You ain't been and got into trouble with my Lady, my dear?"
"Oh! Dame, indeed I have; pray help me!"
It was no wonder that Mrs. Wheatfield failed to gather more than that young Madam had almost burnt the house, and had fallen under grievous displeasure, so as even to fear the constable.
"Bless your poor heart! Think of that now! But I'm afeard we can't do nothing for you. My master would be nigh about killing me if I harboured you and got him into trouble, with the gentry."
"If you could only hide me in some loft or barn till I could meet the coach for Bath! Then I should be almost at home."
"I dare not. The children are routing about everywhere on a Sunday afternoon; and if so be as there's a warrant out after you" (Aurelia shuddered) "my man would be mad with me. He ain't never forgot how his grandfather was hanged up there in that very walnut for changing clothes with a young gentleman in the wars long ago."
"Then I must go! Oh, what will become of me?"
"Stay a bit! It goes to my heart to turn you from the door, and you so white and faint. And they won't be out of church yet a while. You've ate nothing all this time! What was you thinking of doing, my dear?"
"I don't know. If I could only find out the right Lea Farm, and get a man and horse to take me there--but my sister goes on Monday, and I might not find her, and nobody knows where it is. And nobody will take me in or hide my till the coach goes! Oh, what will become of me?"
"It is bitter hard," said the Dame. "I wish to my heart I could take you in, but you see there's the master! I'll tell you what: there's my cousin, Patty Woodman; she might take you in for a night or two. But you'd never find your way to her cot; it lies out beyond the spinneys. I must show you the way. Look you here. Nobody can't touch you in a church, they hain't got no power there, and if you would slip into that there empty place as opens with the little door, as the ringers goes in by, afore morning prayers is over I'll make an excuse to come to evening prayer alone, or only with little Davy, as is lying asleep there. If Patty is there I'll speak, and you can go home with her. If not, I must e'en walk with you out to the spinney. Hern is a poor place, but her's a good sort of body, and won't let you come to no harm; and her goes into Brentford with berries and strawberries to meet the coaches, so may be she'll know the day."