Chapter Four
“I heard the car last night.” Agatha mentioned casually. “Anyone I know?” They were sharing breakfast on this rainy Sunday morning.
“I went to the cinema with Frank Walters last night,” Lucy answered cautiously. One never knew what mood Agatha might be in these days.
“Good film?” Agatha asked. “No, awful.” Lucy laughed.
“I haven't been to the cinema for years,” Agatha smiled. She seemed calmer, more assured this morning. “If I remember Frank Walters, though. Inquisitive little blighter as a boy.”
“He hasn't changed much.” Lucy admitted. “He seems to know everybody and their business.”
“Frank was always like that. Completely different from his father. Walters, Senior, only has time for his own worries. So much for the theory of like father. Like son.”
“I have never subscribed to that theory anyway.” “Are you like your mother?” Agatha asked curiously. “I don't know. I never knew her.”
“Oh. Sorry. I shouldn't have asked,” Agatha said gruffly.
“No, I don't mind at all.” Lucy re-assured her. “Both my parents died when I was very young. And Aunt Harriet, who took me in, always claimed that I was more like a little devil than anything human. But she had three children of her own to take care of and I think we proved too much for her on occasion.”
“You lived with your aunt until recently?”
“No. I left as soon as I was old enough,” Lucy said slowly.
The rain ceased in the afternoon, though the sky remained clouded gray and a fine mist veiled the countryside. Agatha was thinking of her work again. She and Lucy discussed different aspects of it through the afternoon and again in the evening. Lucy concluded that whatever had been troubling Agatha had either been resolved or put into proper perspective and accepted as baseless, unsubstantiated premonition. She did not mention the subject and neither did her employer. Lucy retired to her room that night relieved that the imaginary crisis seemed to have passed.
The improvement in Agatha's disposition continued through the next week. The household settled into its normal routine. Mary, after a nervous Monday, brightened considerably as the Week progressed. There was a cheerful, contented feeling inside and outside the house, as late spring promises blossomed into the warm, bright days of summer.
Mary failed to report for work on a Tuesday morning.
“There was nothing wrong with her yesterday.” Martha informed Lucy. “Trouble at home, I expect. Or the fine weather proved too much of a temptation. She will 'phone or call in to tell us if she has a problem.” But there was no word and no sign of Mary on the Wednesday. “She could have the common decency to inform us as to what is going on” Martha grumbled. “I daresay she has her reasons for being absent, but that don't excuse bad manners.”
“Could the silly girl he sulking, d'you think?” Agatha asked Lucy on Thursday afternoon. “Although I must admit that I don't recall hurting her feelings lately, with someone as touchy as that girl is, jolly difficult not to tread on her corns, so to speak.”
“I haven't a clue.” Lucy admitted.
“Well, I could do with a breath of fresh air. I'll stroll down to her home later this afternoon, see what the problem is.”
Agatha left the house after dinner. Tabitha following at her heels like a faithful dog. She returned an hour later, a thunderous expression on her face.
“Is Mary ill?” Lucy asked, as Agatha stamped past her.
“Depends on what you mean by 'ill', m'dear,” Agatha barked angrily.
“Physically, I should say she is in perfect condition. Mentally, well. that's another story. At a rough guess I would say that the girl is completely off her rocker. I have just been sent packing!”
Agatha looked angrily around her, as if still unwilling to believe that the incident had occurred.
“Sent packing by that slip of a girl! She told me, and in no uncertain terms, to get about my business. And to look at her you wouldn‘t dream that she knew so many unladylike words!”
Lucy followed Agatha into the study. “I take it that she will not be returning,” she asked dryly.
“The girl must be unwell!" Agatha snapped, snatching a cigar from the mantelpiece. “It is the only possible explanation for her behavior.”
“One of the first patients for the new doctor.” Lucy said soothingly. “Doctor?” Agatha glared angrily. “It's a psychiatrist she needs, not a doctor.”
“I'm sure that it is all a simple misunderstanding that can be easily cleared up,” Lucy said.
Agatha looked at her pityingly and silently puffed away at her cigar.
“Or perhaps she simply no longer wishes to work here,” Lucy reasoned. “And it would be understandable, I suppose, for her to vent some of her pent up resentment. You must admit that Mary and you have not enjoyed the ideal employee-employer relationship.”
Agatha Westgate stared long and thoughtfully before she answered and when she spoke she was calm again, a re-assuring smile accompanying her words. “Yes, I'm sure you are right. The foolish girl was just being spiteful.” She smiled again and Lucy felt irritated by the smile, the tone of Agatha's voice. She knew her employer was humoring her.
“But now follows the tiresome business of replacing her,” Agatha sighed. “And I am in no mood for interviewing a succession of local girls. Perhaps you could have a word with Martha in the morning? See if she knows of a suitable girl, preferably not neurotic.”
Lucy promised to speak to Martha. But, on the following morning, she did not Speak to Martha about a replacement for Mary, nor on