Chapter Two
Monday came. There was no one for Lucy to say goodbye to. She struggled the two suitcases containing her possessions downstairs to the hall and waited for the taxi to arrive, Mrs Sweeney, her hair permanently tangled in pink plastic curlers, popped her suspicious landlady face around the door of her ground floor flat. She had taken the news of departure, and most of the last of Lucy's precious few pound notes, with a disinterested sniff of her long, sharp nose. Now, she scurried up the stairs to inspect the room before her tenant departed out of reach of any possible claim for compensation.
Lucy watched with a feeling of distaste as the woman hurried out of sight. It did not matter to Mrs Sweeney who occupied her miserable little room, as long as they paid the exorbitant rent promptly and adhered firmly to the over-strict house rules, one person was the same as the next. Lucy had occupied the room for three months. and in a week Mrs Sweeney would have totally forgotten her face and name. Lucy felt depressed by the house and its occupants. Her stay there had been short and not so sweet and it was with a feeling of relief that she opened the door to the taxi- driver sounding his horn as a signal for his arrival.
She had never really settled anywhere. Lucy thought about that on the train journey to Scarton and wondered about the reason. Of course. her being unemployed on this occasion was not of her choosing. She thought she might have been happy with the courteous Mr Webster and his quaint ways in his funny little office. It was one job that she had been genuinely sorry to lose.
But wasn't that the way with everything? she thought with a sigh. Just when you were into something good. Fate with its big, flat feet, would wander clumsily into your life. trampling all over your plans and seedling dreams and reducing everything to confusion yet again. Jobs and flats and men, nothing was safe.
And what of Agatha Westgate? Lucy pursed her lips thoughtfully, unaware of the startled glance she received from her one fellow passenger in the compartment, who was under the impression that she had suddenly pulled a face at him. Miss Westgate was.....? Lucy was not sure. Agatha was not a person who would fit easily into any known category. She was bright and busy, domineering and brusque to the point of rudeness. But there was an underlying vein of warmth. Lucy thought Agatha Westgate's friendship would not be given easily, but once won it would be enduring, 'And if we don't become friends, then heaven help me. My life will not be worth living,’ Lucy decided.
She arrived on the steps of Valley House just after noon. The driver hauled her suitcases from his ramshackle cab and deposited them at the foot of the steps.
“You dare, Joe Wentwick,” a voice boomed threateningly. Agatha Westgate stood atop the steps, hands on hips, and glared down at the unfortunate man.
“I can manage, Miss Westgate,” Lucy called, as she paid the taxi fare.
“I dare say you can. But you won't! Not while there is a gentleman to assist you,” Agatha said loudly, laying particular emphasis on the word ’gentleman'.
With a scowl, the driver picked up the suitcases and hauled them ungraciously up the steps.
“This don't be part of my duties.” Joe Wentwick grumbled when he reached Agatha. “I don't be paid for a doin' this.”
“Save your breath, man, you will need it for the remainder of your journey. Upstairs with you. Mary will show you the way,” Agatha said briskly, motioning forward a small, dark-haired and pretty girl who was tugging nervously on the white apron she wore. Mary hurried up the stairs and Joe Wentwick reluctantly followed, bad temperedly bumping the suitcases as he did so.
“And you will pay for any damage you cause,” Agatha called after him. She turned to Lucy, who was standing in the hallway.
“You must learn to be firm when dealing with trades people, especially the unwilling ones. And I find most of them fall into that category. Now, to the study." And she marched quickly into that room. Lucy followed and took the sheet of paper that Agatha Westgate thrust toward her. “Contract I promised you.”
Lucy Swiftly scrutinized the paper.
“All in order and perfectly legal. I assure you. Solicitor friend of mine drew it up. Note the salary. Adequate?”
Lucy looked. Generous rather than adequate, and she nodded.
“Good. good. We can review the situation in six months, all being well. That is that out of the Way. Now to introduce you to the rest of the staff.” Agatha strode out of the study and across the hall, with Lucy in tow. Joe Wentwick was just leaving. He scowled at Agatha as she passed. She ignored him. Or appeared to. But as he Opened the door, she boomed: “Slam that door at your peril. Joe Wentwick.”
He did not. But there was a startled look on his face, as though he had intended to.
“And this is Martha. Mrs Lorring. Martha has been with me simply ages. Place would fall down without her,” Agatha said. They were standing in the kitchen. Martha was gray-haired and fifty, a warm smile on her plump, red-cheeked face.
“Welcome, Miss Lucy,” she said cheerfully, wiping her hands on her spotlessly clean white apron. She spread her arms to indicate the large, stone floored kitchen, a scrubbed, whitewood table occupying the center of the floor. Along the walls hung various cooking utensils. Lucy‘s attention was caught by the row of gleaming copper- bottomed pots that stretched the length of one full wall and reflected images like copper mirrors.
“This is my domain, Miss Lucy. A place of refuge, it is. for those who