If You Were the Only Girl. Anne Bennett

servants always go in to the back of the house and always use the back stairs.’

      ‘They have two sets of stairs?’ Lucy asked incredulously.

      ‘Oh, yes,’ Clara said with a wry smile. ‘You will find people like the Heatheringtons like to have everything done for them, but never like to see much of the servants that do it. Still, as long as they stay as lazy as that we all have jobs – that’s how I look at it, anyhow. Now here we are at the kitchen door and this is the way we go into the house.’

      She swung open the door as she spoke and Lucy noted with surprise that only the bottom half of it was wood, while the top was two panes of frosted glass. However, when she stepped inside that enormous kitchen, where rows and rows of copper pots and pans gleamed on the shelves, welcome warmth enveloped her. So did delicious smells, and Lucy’s nose wrinkled in appreciation as she realised how hungry she was.

      ‘Leave the case here and it can be dealt with later,’ Clara said, pulling off her shawl. ‘And take off your coat or you will cook in here. There are hooks behind the door for the moment, though it must go up to your room later.’

      Lucy nodded, laying down the case with a small sigh of relief and taking off her outer clothes. As she descended the three steps after Clara she realised that the warmth was coming from the long shiny black range that ran almost the entire length of one of the walls. There was a sink fitted in beside it, where a girl was washing pots, a huge, very solid-looking scrubbed table in the middle of the room, and a range of wooden cupboards along the side wall.

      ‘Now, Ada, here’s the help in the kitchen I was telling you about,’ Clara said.

      The woman turned from the range where she had been stirring something. She still had the long tasting spoon in her hand, and Lucy couldn’t help feeling that if it tasted as good as it smelt it would be delicious.

      ‘This is the cook, Mrs Murphy, Lucy, and she will explain your duties to you.’

      Cook’s eyes widened as she surveyed Lucy, but she didn’t speak, and Lucy was little unnerved by her stare and her stance because she was a hefty-looking woman. A stained apron was tied around her ample waist and the sleeves of the striped dress that she wore beneath it were pushed up to reveal forearms bulging like two pink hams. Added to that, her round and slightly podgy face was more than pink, and above her bulbous lips, brown eyes like two currants sank into her face. A white cap sat on the top of her mop of brown frizzy hair, which was liberally streaked with grey.

      Clara went on, ‘Her name is Lucy Cassidy. Now, Lucy,’ she said, indicating the girl at the sink, ‘this is Clodagh Murray, and you will see a lot of her because you will be working together in the kitchen.’

      Clodagh gave Lucy a tentative smile as Clara continued, ‘If you will excuse me, I must see her ladyship. I said that I would let her know immediately Lucy arrived.’

      Barely had the door closed behind Clara than Cook almost barked at Lucy, ‘Are you sure you are fourteen?’

      ‘Yes,’ Lucy said.

      ‘Yes, Cook,’ Ada snapped. ‘That’s how you answer me.’

      Lucy gulped. ‘Sorry, Cook.’

      ‘So when were you fourteen?’

      ‘Nearly a month ago, Cook,’ Lucy said. ‘The school said I could leave if I had a job, and I have brought my birth and baptismal certificate for you to see, er, Cook,’ Lucy went on, glad that Clara had advised her to bring these with her just in case. She wished wholeheartedly that Clara had not left her in the kitchen with this woman to go and speak with her mistress.

      ‘Well, I have never seen a child of fourteen as small as you are,’ Ada said to Lucy. ‘And Clara had no right to have it all signed and sealed you working here without me even being consulted. She might think she is in charge here, but let me tell you, I make the decisions as regards the kitchen and I’m not at all sure that a person so small would be capable of the work here, whatever age you are.’

      ‘I’m very strong, Cook,’ Lucy said. ‘Much stronger than I look.’

      She knew that wasn’t true, strictly speaking, for she often felt weak and faint, but that was usually because she was so hungry, and she was suddenly apprehensive because she didn’t know whether the disapproving and formidable cook had more sway than Clara. Her eyes suddenly met Clodagh’s sympathetic ones across the kitchen.

      In the few days Clodagh had been there she had learnt that Cook’s bark was far worse than her bite, as long as you were prepared to work hard.

      Lucy, however, didn’t know that yet. She felt tears stinging her eyes just as Clara O’Leary opened the door she had gone out of at the opposite end of the kitchen and beckoned to Lucy.

      ‘The Mistress wants to see you,’ she said. ‘Come along.’ Lucy followed Clara through the first door, along a small corridor that she was to find led to the butler’s pantry and back stairs, and through another door covered in green cloth that closed with a sort of sigh. ‘This is the door that leads to the other part of the house where the Family live,’ Clara said, and she pulled out a comb she had secreted up her sleeve and set about tidying Lucy’s hair, retied the bow on her dress and pulled the bodice straighter. Her attentions made Lucy more nervous than ever.

      ‘What’s the matter?’ she cried.

      Clara smiled. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘You’ll do.’

      Lucy wasn’t at all sure if she was right, and she could feel her stomach churning as they walked along the corridor.

      ‘Lady Heatherington is seeing you in the library,’ Clara said.

      ‘Do I call her “Lady Heatherington”?’ Lucy asked.

      ‘No, you will just call her “my lady”.’ Lucy looked up at her apprehensively. ‘Now come on,’ Clara said. ‘That’s not so hard, is it?’

      ‘S’pose not.’

      ‘And she doesn’t bite,’ Clara said. ‘Well, not on Mondays, anyway.’

      A ghost of a smile touched Lucy’s lips as she said, ‘I don’t think that cook, Mrs Murphy, likes me very much.’

      ‘Oh, I’ll deal with Cook,’ Clara said. ‘Now, I have recommended you to the Mistress and she values my opinion, but the final decision is hers and she wants to meet you as she does with most of the staff, the indoor ones, anyway. It’s not unreasonable.’

      Lucy shook her head. No, none of it was unreasonable except for the fact that Lucy didn’t want to be here at all. And then Clara was knocking on a cream door with a shiny brass handle. They were bade enter and as Clara stepped into the room, Lucy, following behind her, felt as if a leaden weight had settled in her stomach.

      ‘I’ve brought the girl, my lady,’ Clara said, ushering Lucy forward, bobbing a curtsy and bidding Lucy do the same.

      As she was doing this, Lucy had a swift look around. A great many polished wooden shelves were fitted floor to ceiling and filled with books of every shape and size, yet the room was light and airy with the light coming from the large windows at the back.

      ‘Thank you, Mrs O’Leary,’ Lady Heatherington said.

      At her words, spoken in a languid, almost bored way, Lucy swung her eyes away from the books to study the woman in front of her, who sat in a black leather chair behind a gleaming wooden desk. ‘You can leave us,’ she said with an imperious wave in Clara’s direction and her eyes met Lucy’s as she looked her up and down.

      For Lucy’s part, she saw a very beautiful woman, which surprised her because Lady Hetherington wasn’t young. Yet her dark brown hair was dressed beautifully with combs and ribbons, and though most of it was caught up, curls still framed her oval face, which was as white and smooth as alabaster. Her dark eyes matched the colour of her hair, her long nose looked quite haughty and her mouth was like a perfect rosebud.

      Amelia Heatherington,