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Updated: May 20, 2025
"You must allow me to speak plainly on account of of several things. My my superiority in in age, you know, and all that!" "What's the matter, Mrs. Folliot?" asked Mary, steeling herself against what she felt sure was coming. "Is it very serious? And pardon me is it about what Mr. Folliot mentioned to me this morning? Because if it is, I'm not going to discuss that with you or with anybody!"
Folliot shook his head, and it was plain to Bryce that his gesture of dissent was genuine. "You're wrong," he answered. "I never at any time knew anything of Brake's family affairs. So little indeed, that I never even knew he was married." Bryce rose to his feet and stood staring. "What!" he exclaimed.
It's a mistake to share secrets with more than one person." "There is a secret, then!" asked the solicitor, half slyly. "Might be," replied Glassdale. "Who's your client?" The solicitor pulled a scrap of paper towards him and wrote a few words on it. He pushed it towards his caller, and Glassdale picked it up and read what had been written Mr. Stephen Folliot, The Close.
He turned and quietly inspected his visitor once more. "Aye!" he said quietly. "So you're after that thousand pound reward, eh?" "I should have no objection to it, Mr. Folliot," replied Glassdale. "I dare say not," remarked Folliot, dryly. "I dare say not! And which are you, now? one of those who think they can tell something, or one that really can tell? Eh?"
Of course, when all this sad trouble was made far worse by that second affair the working-man's death, you know, I said to my husband that really one must do something, seeing that Dr. Ransford was so very, very obdurate and wouldn't speak. And as money is nothing at least as things go to me or to Mr. Folliot, I insisted that he should offer a thousand pounds reward to have the thing cleared up.
A man who was walking across the Close pointed out the Folliot residence Glassdale entered by the garden door, and in another minute came face to face with Folliot himself, busied, as usual, amongst his rose-trees. Glassdale saw Folliot and took stock of him before Folliot knew that a stranger was within his gates.
For this policy Becket was far too straight-forward, and his perplexity was great, especially when the Archbishop of York, who had always been his enemy, the jealous and disappointed Gilbert Folliot of London, and the time-serving Hilary of Chichester, all declared themselves of the King's party.
And Folliot nodded solemnly. "I tell you, not mine!" he repeated. "I'd naught to do with it!" "Then who had?" demanded Bryce. "Was it the other man Flood? And if so, who is Flood?" Folliot got up from his chair and, cigar between his lips and hands under the tails of his old coat, walked silently about the quiet room for awhile.
Folliot also says, that all the bishops were resolved obstinately to oppose the Constitutions of Clarendon, but the primate himself betrayed them from timidity, and led the way to their subscribing. This is contrary to the testimony of all the historians, and directly contrary to Becket's character, who surely was not destitute either of courage or of zeal for ecclesiastical immunities.
Folliot, at any rate, had not bound her to secrecy. "Mr. Folliot," she replied. "He called me into his garden, to give me those roses, and he mentioned that Mrs. Deramore had said these things to Mrs. Folliot, and as he seemed to think it highly probable that Mrs. Folliot would repeat them, he told me because he didn't want you to think that the rumour had originally arisen at his house."
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