Anne Bennett - If You Were the Only Girl

There were many tears at the parting, and even Danny’s voice was choked as he submitted to a hug from his sister.

‘Look after yourself and don’t worry about us back here. I will see to Mammy and all,’ he said.

‘I know,’ Lucy replied. ‘Goodbye, Dan.’

Despite the cold they all stood at the cottage door, and the sorry sight of them brought tears to Lucy’s own eyes, but with great resolve she refused to let them fall. She shivered despite her good clothes because the thin porridge had done little to warm her.

She hadn’t long to wait for the rail bus. She was the only passenger to get on at Mountcharles and she was so glad of the trip to Donegal with Clara because she was able to board the rail bus confidently as if she had been doing it for years.

By the time Lucy reached the level crossing just before Donegal Town she was able to see the gates tightly shut because the gatekeeper, swinging his lantern, came out to wave as the rail bus passed. Clara had told her that just the other side of Donegal Town the track ran along the side of Lough Esk, but she could see nothing outside and the rail bus was approaching Barnes Gap before Lucy noticed the sky had lightened just a little. As the rail bus chugged its way through the Gap, the austere and craggy hills loomed upwards on each side like threatening, grey monstrosities. Lucy remembered the tales she had been told as a child, of the highwaymen who used to hide in the hills and swoop down on the coaches in bygone years.

The darkness receded further so the journey became less tedious as she was able to see more. When the track ran alongside Lough Mourne, Lucy could see the gleam of water. She knew that Letterkenny was still some distance away, and Clara had warned her that before that she would have to leave the rail bus at Lifford because it was a border post, and that sometimes they opened people’s cases.

‘Why?’ Lucy asked. ‘What are they looking for?’

‘In case you are carrying something you shouldn’t, I suppose,’ Clara said. ‘But you won’t be doing that, so there will be no problem.’

Although it was full daylight when they eventually pulled to a stop at Lifford station, heavy grey clouds made the day a gloomy one. There were not that many passengers, Lucy noted, and she followed the others to the customs shed, which was down the platform, next to the stationmaster’s house. The unsmiling customs officer asked Lucy where she was coming from and where she was going to and then whether she had anything to declare.

‘Like what?’ Lucy might have said. However, she thought it more sensible to say nothing and so she just shook her head, was signed through and was glad to get back to the relative warmth of the rail bus.

Clara had told her that Letterkenny wasn’t all that far from Lifford, and Lucy was glad because nerves had driven sleep away the previous night and she suddenly felt very weary. She leant back against the seat and closed her eyes, and when she opened them again the train was stopping. She sat up straighter and read the name: Letterkenny. She climbed out onto the platform.

It was a very busy station with many people milling around, but Lucy was intent only on following Clara’s instructions, which were to go up the hill she would see on leaving the station and then cross over Main Street and on down the road leading out of the town. She remembered Clara saying that Windthorpe Lodge was only about one and a half miles out. ‘Not far,’ she’d reassured Lucy, ‘and you won’t be able to miss it.’

As Lucy trudged along she reflected that places not far away seemed much further when a person was carrying a case, and she really hoped Clara was right about not being able to miss it.

Windthorpe Lodge was set back from the road, but the name was written on a plaque in huge golden letters attached to black-and-silver steel gates with spikes on top. These were supported by two massive honey-coloured stone pillars with a lion atop each one. Lucy knew she never would have the courage to walk through those gates, but luckily she didn’t have to because Clare had said that set into the wall on the right-hand side, but well away from the main entrance, was a door to the path the servants used.

She located it and stood for a moment in front of it. It was Monday, 4 November 1935 and she knew she was beginning a new phase in her life, that once through that door nothing would ever be quite the same again. She swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat and she resolutely turned the handle. She was so glad to see Clara O’Leary there, waiting for her, wearing a thick woollen shawl over a shiny black dress, and she gave her a hug.

‘You got here all right then?’ she said unnecessarily. ‘And you made good time because I have just got here myself. Let’s away in, for they are all looking forward to meeting you.’

Clara led the way along the track to the house and Lucy, behind her, did her best to avoid the puddles caused by the recent rain, not wishing to arrive with excessively muddy boots. She thought she might catch sight of the house, but it was partially hidden from view behind a high hedge.

‘How do we get in?’ she asked, for the hedge seemed impregnable.

‘Well, not through the front door,’ Clara said. ‘Oh, dear me, no, that would never do. In houses such as these, Lucy, 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.