“It does, I suppose.”
“But I thought Buntisford had been closed for years?”
“His Grace had it opened again, so that he can go down there when he wants to be quiet. He was always fond of it. There’s a bit of rough shooting and a river, and it’s within thirty miles of London; he finds it very convenient. Of course, it’s quite small and easy to manage.”
“What is your position there?”
“I’m housekeeper,” said Harriet. “That is to say, I manage everything.”
The elder sister looked at her with incredulity, in which a little awe was mingled. “Housekeeper—to the Duke of Bridport—and you not yet thirty, Hattie. Gracious, goodness, what next!”
The visitor smiled at this simplicity. “It’s hardly so grand as it sounds. The house doesn’t need much in the way of servants; the Family never go there. His Grace comes down now and again for a week-end when he wants to be alone. Just himself—there’s never anyone else.”
“But housekeeper!” Eliza was still incredulous. “At twenty-nine! I call it wonderful.”
“Is it so remarkable?” Harriet’s calmness seemed a little uncanny.
“The dad would have thought so, had he lived to see it. He always thought the world of the Family.”