“Well, miss, ‘tis true folks say you shouldn’t believe all you hear, and ‘tis early days to speak, seeing she’s scarcely into her house yet, as you may say.”
“You give me an uncomfortable feeling that she spent the night on the doorstep,” observed Ann.
“Oh, no, miss,” replied Maria, matter-of-factly. “She slept in her bed all right last night. But maybe, for all that, it’s true what folks are saying,” she added darkly. “I’d run out of sugar, so I just stepped round to the grocer this evening after tea, and he told me ‘twas all the tale in the village that this Mrs. Hilyard isn’t a widow at all, and some of them think she’s no better than she should be.”
An ejaculation of annoyance broke from Robin.
“The tittle-tattle in these twopenny-halfpenny villages is almost past believing!” he exclaimed angrily. “Here’s an absolute new-comer arrives in the district, and they’ve begun taking away the poor woman’s character already.”
“Well, sir, of course I’m only speaking what I hear,” replied Maria, who, with all her good points—and they were many—had the true West Country relish for any titbit of gossip, whether with or without foundation. “Let’s hope ‘tisn’t true. But they say her clothes do be good enough for the highest lady in the land. Mrs. Thorowgood—her that’s been helping up to the Priory all day—called in on her way home just to pass the time of day with me. It seems Mrs. Hilyard has arranged she shall wash for her, and she was taking a few of her things home with her for to wash to-morrow. And she told me her own self, did Mrs. Thorowgood, that the lace on them be so fine as spider’s web.”
Ann endeavoured to conceal her mirth and reply with becoming gravity.
“Maria, dear, if a disreputable character is considered inseparable from pretty undies in Silverquay, I’m afraid I shall get as bad a reputation as Mrs. Hilyard,” she suggested meekly.
“You, miss?” Maria’s loyalty rose in wrathful protest. “And who should have good things if ‘tisn’t you, I’d like to know? ‘Twouldn’t be fitting for any Miss Lovell of Lovell Court to have things that wasn’t of the very best. And as to telling up little old tales—there’ll be no tales told about you, nor Mr. Robin neither, so long as I’m in Silverquay. I’ll see to that!”
Thoroughly devoted, illogical, and belligerent, Maria picked up the coffee tray and stalked out of the room, leaving Ann and Robin convulsed with laughter.