that you married someone you loved, who could easily not be that eminently sensible or very rich, but your choice at least. However, she was too miserable to say any of this. She knew that people like those she worked for often had different ways of doing things and this choosing someone who was eminently sensible to marry was just another indication of that.
As spring slid into a mild summer, Lord Heatherington got astride a horse again and Rory told them he had been like a dog with two tails. There was also no problem with Lucy going home every month, and, though she looked forward to it, she was always concerned by how much her siblings seemed to change each time and what little part she had in their lives now.
This was more or less confirmed when Liam made his first Holy Communion in late June.
‘It isn’t even that I can’t be there,’ she complained to Clodagh. ‘I mean, I would like to be there, it is a special day, but I am more upset by the fact that he more or less expected that I wouldn’t make it. He wasn’t the tiniest bit upset, like it didn’t matter to him one way or the other.’
‘Did you want him to be upset?’ Clodagh asked. ‘Would it have made you feel better if he was breaking his heart crying over it because you couldn’t be there, however upset he was?’
‘I know,’ Lucy said resignedly. ‘And no, I suppose that I don’t want him upset, of course I don’t. It’s just …’
‘Lucy, it would be the same if you were married and lived a distance away.’
‘I don’t want to be married,’ Lucy said. ‘Do you?’
‘Not likely,’ Clodagh said. ‘Well, not yet, anyway. Good job really, because where do we go to meet any men or boys?’
‘We go to Mass.’
‘Well, I’ve seen no likely looking chaps there, have you?’
‘No,’ Lucy said with a smile. ‘But then I haven’t been looking.’
‘Haven’t you?’ Clodagh asked. ‘You probably will in a year or two, but I wouldn’t waste your time looking in Letterkenny. And then if you found a boy you fancied, you would have no time to see him.’
‘Does that bother you?’
‘No, at the moment it doesn’t,’ Clodagh said. ‘But I’m definitely not going to stay in service for ever. For now, though, there is going to be a bit of excitement for us because Master Clive will be home next week.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Lucy said, ‘I had almost forgotten that.’ She blushed as she spoke because she knew exactly when Clive was expected home. The date seemed to be engraved on her heart.
Clodagh hadn’t noticed Lucy’s blushes, and she went on, ‘I wonder what Master Clive will make of his father’s progress. Neither the Master nor the Mistress has told him in letters or anything because Rory said the Master wanted it to be a total surprise.’
‘It will be a surprise all right,’ Lucy said. ‘Or maybe shock is a better word, because didn’t Rory say that the Master was trotting round on his horse the other day as if he’d never been out of the saddle?’
‘He did,’ Clodagh said. ‘He did indeed.’
Clive was indeed shocked, but also delighted to see his father so well. The first thing they did was go for a ride together. Word of this soon reached the kitchen and everyone was pleased. Clara had seen them both ride out together and said that it filled her heart with joy to see Lord Heatherington almost returned to the man he had once been. Aware of the short time he would have alone with his parents before his travelling companions arrived, Clive rode with his father every day and was also an amusing companion at the dinner table in the evening.
When his three friends arrived the house became instantly more alive and vibrant, and the kitchen a far busier place. They all seemed to have voracious appetites, and after dinner on the first day they insisted on being introduced to the cook who had produced the delicious food they had just enjoyed. They almost burst into the kitchen, and though Lucy thought they all seemed so nice, friendly and smiling, she was suddenly overcome by shyness. She retreated to the scullery and watched from the door.
She saw that Clive was his usual amusing self, putting his arm around Cook as he introduced her.
‘This is the one responsible for all the culinary delights you have just enjoyed, and will, I promise you, continue to enjoy, for she is the best cook in the world and she answers to the name of Ada, Ada Murphy.’
A young man with a shock of black curls and dark eyes, whom Clive introduced as Colin Braithwaite, shook hands with Cook and said, ‘Mrs Murphy, I have to say every mouthful I have eaten so far has been exquisite.’
Cook’s face was as red as a ripe tomato. ‘Oh, sir,’ she cried, ‘you’re too … too …’
‘He’s not too anything,’ said another young man, who was slight of build and had sandy hair and eyes a sort of hazel colour. ‘Exquisite is exactly the right word.’ He also took Cook’s hand. ‘My name is Phillip Banister and I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs Murphy, and I know my friend Mathew will agree. Likes his grub, does Mathew Mainwaring.’
Mathew was as broad as Phillip was skinny. His dark brown eyes twinkled as he said to Cook, ‘I’ll say so, Mrs Murphy. In fact, I can’t ever remember a time that I have eaten better.’
Cook recovered herself enough to say, ‘You’re so kind, young sirs.’
‘Not at all,’ Colin said. ‘Credit where credit’s due and all that.’
‘Hear, hear,’ Mathew put in. ‘Clive is always saying what a treasure you are.’
‘And was I right, or was I right?’ Clive laughed.
‘You were right,’ chorused his grinning friends.
‘And you know what they say?’ Clive continued, putting an arm around Ada’s ample waist. ‘Never trust a thin cook.’
‘Master Clive,’ Ada remonstrated, though Lucy knew that she wasn’t cross at all but really enjoying every minute of it. Cook introduced the young men to Clodagh, Jerry and Mr Carlisle. Clive’s eyes, meanwhile, were raking her kitchen and he suddenly walked quickly to the scullery. Lucy had dodged back when she realised Clive had caught sight of her and she was just about to plunge her hands into a sink full of hot water and pots when Clive drew her out into the kitchen by the hand. His attention sent a tingle up her arm and all through her body, bringing a tinge of crimson to her cheeks that, had she but known it, made her even more attractive.
‘This,’ Clive said, as he drew Lucy along behind him, ‘is the scullery maid, Lucy Cassidy. And in case you think my parents are involved in child labour, for all Lucy’s size, she assures us she is fourteen.’
Cook saw Lucy’s flushed face and said, ‘Shame on you, Master Clive. Lucy doesn’t like the constant reference to her size, which she can do little about, as much as I don’t like being referred to as fat.’
‘Sorry,’ Clive mumbled, though Lucy saw the spark of mischief was still there behind his eyes. ‘No offence intended. And, Ada, if you were any slimmer, who would I put my arms around when I came home?’
‘Master
