“No one doubts her competence.” The rejoinder was tart and hostile. “But that is hardly the point. The library is not the place for the housekeeper.”
“I choose to have her here. In any case it is entirely my affair.”
“People talk.”
“Let ’em.”
“It’s an old quarrel, my friend.” Growing asperity was in the voice of Charlotte. “You know my views on the subject of Mrs. Sanderson. We none of us like the woman. Considering the position she holds she has always taken far too much upon herself.”
The Duke shook his head. “I must be the judge of that,” he said.
“But surely it is a matter for the women of your family.”
“With all submission, it’s a matter for me. I find the present arrangement entirely satisfactory, and I don’t recognize the right of anyone to interfere.”
The Duke’s tone grated like a file upon his sister’s ear. This was an ancient quarrel that in one form or another had been going on for very many years. The housekeeper at Buntisford and more recently at Bridport House had been a thorn in the flesh of Charlotte almost from the day her sister-in-law died, but the Duke had always been Mrs. Sanderson’s champion. Time and again her overthrow had been decided upon by the ladies of the Family, but up till now the perverse determination of his Grace had proved too much for them and all their careful schemes.
They had reached the usual impasse. Therefore, for the time being, Charlotte had once more to swallow her feelings. Besides, other matters were in the air, matters of an interest more vital if of a nature less permanent.