“I want to go back to the garden—I want to be alone,” she said.
But as she was leaving the room she turned.
“Where’s Betty?” she said.
“Betty, the bad little thing! To think of her doing it,” said nurse.
“Oh, nursey, do you think she did it?”
“You have heard, then, my pet?”
“Yes, I have heard.”
“Of course, she done it,” said the nurse. “Who else would? All of us old trusted servants, and she just fresh in the place. But I’ve heard before now that the Wren family are just about—well, to say the least of it, not all they might be. She’ll have to go back to Mrs Wren.”
“What sort of a woman is Mrs Wren?” asked Penelope.
“Oh, a decent body enough; but they do say the husband was a poacher. Well, he’s dead, and Betty’s the eldest of the family. She wouldn’t have got in here if I hadn’t spoke for her, and I’m ashamed of her, that I am.”