“Mrs. Mercer is the housekeeper, I believe,” said Paul.
“Folks call her the housekeeper. I call her the boss,” said the driver. “She’s got the old lady under her thumb, if all accounts are true.”
“Is she agreeable?”
Amos, the driver, emitted a short laugh. “Wait till you see her,” he said, significantly.
“Do you think Mrs. Granville stands in dread of her?” asked Paul, rather anxiously.
He was beginning to think his task might be a hard one.
“No; the old lady is easy goin’, that is all. If she ever got roused she’d turn out to have a will of her own, or I’m greatly mistaken. Bless your soul, Mrs. Mercer wouldn’t dare to go too far, for she wants the old lady to leave her a good slice of her property. But she gets round her in an underhand way. For instance, if her son wants to go off anywhere, and it isn’t convenient for him to drive the old lady out, Mrs. Mercer persuades her that she isn’t looking well, or that the wind is cold and raw, and she’d better stay at home. I shouldn’t be surprised if she’d get the old lady to make a will in her favor.”
“I wonder what sort of a reception the housekeeper will give me,” said Paul, thoughtfully.
“Very likely she will not be over glad to see you, especially when she knows you’re a friend of Mrs. Holbrook. That lady saw through the housekeeper’s little schemes, and did what she could to put a spoke in her wheel—that’s why she hates her.”
“Well, all I can do is to hope for the best.”