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Updated: May 16, 2025
Accordingly, one morning she asked Parlett, in a casual way, if she ever heard from Mr. Horace. "Oh yes, my lady; he writes to me now and then," replied the housekeeper. Bettina had not expected to hear this; her only thought was to draw out some information gained by hearsay. "He is at St. Petersburg?" she asked, indifferently. "No, my lady; at Simla," was the unexpected answer.
Bettina's talk with Parlett had set her mind to working very actively in a direction in which she had not allowed it to stray before.
Bettina was unwilling to show her ignorance, so she did not say that she had no knowledge that he ever wrote for publication, and when Parlett went on to offer her the reading of the pamphlet she said, with an indifferent kindness, "Yes, bring it to me, by all means. I am very glad that Mr. Horace keeps up his intercourse with the old place, which of course may yet be his.
"And how long have you lived here, Parlett?" "Over forty years, my lady. I was here in the old lord's time. That is his picture, with his lady next to him." Bettina looked with interest at the two pictures designated. "He is thought to be very much like his present lordship," said the housekeeper. "Yes, I see it," said Bettina, feeling an instinct to guard her countenance.
That she had not done so of her own full surrender of herself, in mind and soul and body the picture seemed a plain representation. "Poor woman! She looks as if she had suffered," said Bettina. "Oh yes, my lady," Parlett answered, as if divided between the inclination to talk and the duty to be silent. "She was unhappy, then?" said Bettina. "You need not hesitate to answer.
"Good-morning, my lady," she said, gently, in answer to Bettina's friendly salutation. "Will your ladyship not have a shawl? This room is always cool, no matter what the weather is." Bettina declined the wrap, but passed on to the next picture, requesting the woman to come with her and act as cicerone. "What is your name? I ought to know it," she said. "Parlett, your ladyship."
By the light of the same knowledge she realized how his meeting with her had disturbed him in his customary calmness of poise, and she argued from this fact how important it had been to him to gain his object of making her his wife. In the midst of these reflections a house-maid tapped at her door, with some folded papers on a tray. "If you please, my lady, Mrs. Parlett sends you these," she said.
Suddenly she burst into violent weeping, and in this condition they found her, with the telegram on the floor at her feet. "Who would have thought my lady would have taken it so hard?" said Mrs. Parlett, when the exciting news was heard down-stairs. "They was that 'aughty to one another before people! But it's them as feels the most, sometimes."
"Oh no, my lady " began Parlett, but her mistress interrupted her, saying, quickly: "Of course he always knew that his lordship might marry, and could not have been unprepared for such a possibility; but in order that he might feel no difference in his present position on that account, Lord Hurdly has settled on him what is really a handsome fortune not only the income of it, but the principal also.
Walking ahead of the housekeeper, she gained a moment's opportunity for the recovery of her self-control, and she made good use of it. "Parlett," she said, presently, "I do not want you to think that in marrying Lord Hurdly I have done an injury to Mr. Spotswood." In spite of herself, her voice shook at the name.
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