In the end, all did go well. Every night I went back to the White Hart, where Quicksilver loudly reported how the Poppletons were progressing. The steward sat beside him, nodding solemnly, opening his mouth in one glorious hymn of praise for old Quicksilver's skills. So the trap was closed. On Saturday night I could tell from the charlatan's face that all was going as planned: he designed to notice me in the inglenook corner, brought me a cup of claret and raised his own in a toast, his eyes full of devilment.

The next morning, my master and I went down to church for morning Mass. Benjamin was still subdued. Indeed, I had hardly seen him or talked to him. I could tell the insults had rankled deep.

Accordingly, you can imagine my glow of triumph when Vicar Doggerell stood on the altar steps, hands extended, his fat, foolish face wreathed in smiles. He beamed at the Poppletons, now returned to rude health, sitting in one pew, and then at my master.

This week,' the old fool declared, 'the parish has seen a great victory. One of our noblest families snatched from the jaws of death.'

He turned and, clasping his hands, bowed towards where Quicksilver sat beside a pillar. Good Lord, the rogue looked; so saintly, for a few seconds he even deceived me.;

Vicar Doggerell continued. 'Now this miracle is not only the result of a physician's skill, but also of a deep-thinking woman realising she may have offended, albeit unknowingly, against a fellow Christian. Mistress Poppleton now wishes to make amends.'

Well, up gets the Great Mouth in her dark brown dress and a ridiculous flurry of veils framing her fat, sullen face. She stood at the mouth of the roodscreen looking as if butter wouldn't melt in that horrible mouth.

'Dear Brothers and Sisters in Christ,' she intoned. There is a dreadful rumour running like a sore through this parish that this good man-' she pointed at Benjamin – 'this county's most excellent teacher, is the subject of unnatural lusts.' Her voice rose.