Getting to the end of Betteredge's account of the moonstone mystery he has Franklin saying:
'When I came here from London with that horrible Diamond', he said, 'I don't believe there was a happier household in England than this. Look at the household now! Scattered, disunited - the very air of the place poisoned with mystery and suspicion! Do you remember that morning at the Shivering Sand, when we talked about my uncle Herncastle, and his birthday gift? The Moonstone has served the Colonel's vengeance,, by means which the Colonel himself never dreamt of !'
After which, Franklin, too, packs his bags and leaves. Asked by Betteredge where he is going, he replies: Going? I am going to the devil!'. Even the pony is startled, 'as if he had felt a Christian horror of it.'
Betteredge: 'I kept my spirits from sinking by sticking fast to my pipe and my Robinson Crusoe.'
The book is a commentary on nineteenth century attitudes and feelings about many things, including class and gender. What would the readers have made of the doctors remedy for the distraught Rachel? 'She had better be amused. Flower-shows, opera balls - there was a whole round of gaieties in prospect; and Rachel, to her mother's astonishment, eagerly took to it all.'
And I'm astonished at the hidden meanings that can be found in everything. It's true. Authors write stuff they're hardly conscious of. Directed by the muses, of course. It was astonishing to read that Collins himself was so caught up in what her was writing that he forgot his gout and even his dying mother.