Chapter Five
Lucy plodded resolutely up the steep incline of Mountain Road and wondered how, even from a safe distance, she could have thought the road grandly titled. It seemed every inch a pathway up to the summit of a particularly high mountain. Ahead of her, far ahead. Agatha marched indefatigably onwards and upwards. Her head was high and she swung her walking stick nonchalantly. Lucy would not have been surprised to hear the strains of music floating down to her as Agatha whistled or hummed gaily as she progressed effortlessly up the road.
Lucy scowled and gave up the chase, sinking gratefully onto a rock conveniently placed at the roadside. Agatha might wish to do herself an injury, she thought rebelliously as she panted for breath, but she certainly did not intend to follow suit. It did cross her mind that she ought to be ashamed of herself for not being able to keep pace with a woman at least twice her age, but she quickly dismissed the thought. The older woman was, after all, Agatha Westgate.
Behind her, the green face of the Scar reared untidily, while below her the meadow lay peacefully bright in the afternoon sunlight and she could see in the distance the red tiled Valley House nestling in its surrounding greenery. The village was to her right, but hidden now by the dark mass of the woods. And why were they inflicting this torture upon themselves? Or, to be more precise, Why is Agatha inflicting this torture on me? Lucy thought. Surely Agatha was not doing it for pleasure.
“Never been up to the Scar. have you?” Agatha had asked after lunch; Lucy had shaken her head. “Thought not,” Agatha boomed, looking pleased. “I shall take you up there. Now. A brisk walk is just the thing we need to work off that stodge you dished up for lunch.”
While Lucy objected to her disastrous attempt at a quiche being referred to as 'that stodge', she had to admit that the dish did lie uncomfortably heavy, and the walk did not seem an unpleasant suggestion.
“Why the Scar?” Lucy asked. “I prefer to walk along the clifftops.”
“Perhaps you do, m'dear. But the Lodge is not situated on the clifftops.” Agatha pointed out.
“You're not going to barge in upon Doctor Cranling? I shouldn't think that a good idea.” Lucy said doubtfully.
“Nonsense! Why shouldn't I pay my respects to a new member of the community? Neighborly thing to do, I would have thought,” Agatha insisted.
“Judging by the number of patients waiting for him yesterday, if the poor man isn't busy then he will be grateful for a few hours peace and quiet. I don't like the idea of arriving unannounced.”
“You're far too sensitive, m'dear. Doctors expect to be imposed upon. They feel uneasy if you show them too much consideration.” Agatha dismissed Lucy's doubts. “Besides, I may fall ill and I should like to ascertain that the man is competent before the event, not when it is too late and he has me at his mercy. He might be one of those modern medics; very gullible, a permanent air of bewilderment about him as he strives vainly to keep abreast of every new scientific development.”
“There is nothing wrong with advancing medical knowledge.” Lucy said.
“Of course there isn't,” Agatha agreed. “As long as the new is based firmly on the old, natural methods. Good heavens, the man might be young and, like you, city bred and ignorant. Think of the help and advice I could give him on country cures and herbal medicines.”
“I can't see him being as enthusiastic about it as you.”
“Then it is just as well that I find that out immediately, before he starts poisoning my system with synthetic chemicals.” Lucy rose to her feet with resignation and plodded on, trying to ignore her aching calf muscles and comforting herself with the knowledge that the return journey was downhill all the way home. Unless Agatha knew of an alternative, more difficult route.
“Ah, there you are.” Agatha was seated on a small stile and beaming at her when Lucy thankfully reached the summit. “I thought perhaps you had decided to wait for me to return. A bit steep for you, was it?” Agatha asked, grinning wickedly.
“Not at all. A pleasant little stroll.” Lucy said gamely, if slightly breathlessly, as she practically crawled to a standstill. “I stopped to admire the view for a moment or two.”
“And you obviously appreciated the view more than most. Not many people find themselves breathless and red in the face from the sheer pleasure of gazing upon the black treetops of the wood,” Agatha said gleefully.
“I admire nature in all its many forms,” Lucy murmured gallantly.
“I'm glad the climb has not affected you. We shan't waste any more time resting. Shall we press on?”
“Don't be so heartlessly active!” Lucy cried, planting herself firmly next to Agatha on the stile. “My feet are killing me!”
“I'm not surprised.” Agatha glanced disapprovingly at Lucy's footwear. “You should get yourself some sensible walking shoes." She lifted a foot to show a stout, laced brogue that, to Lucy's eyes, weighed at least three pounds. She shuddered at the thought of walking any distance in shoes as heavy as an underseas diver's boots.
The Mountain Road, adequately surfaced to this point, petered out to little more than a farm-cart track, rutted and marked by vehicle wheels and promising to turn into a sea of mud after a moderate shower of rain. The land around was flat and featureless, sloping gently away from the Scar, and was scrubby and wild.
“Bad land,” Agatha said, gazing around. “Unsuitable for grazing because the silly creatures keep leaping over the cliff edge, and the soil is too rocky for farming. Quite good grouse country, though, But that's all it is fit for; except herbs. Have you recovered yet?” Agatha asked impatiently.
With a look of long suffering Lucy pushed herself to her feet, grimacing as her muscles protested against their employment. “How far now?” she asked anxiously.
Agatha's stick pointed to