Juniper put her trunks down in the vestibule and fumbled for the keys in the pocket of her winter coat. The law firm had kept her waiting an hour without even a cup of tea and had then brusquely handed over the keys and a small packet of papers for her to review and sign. It was almost five o'clock, and the winter daylight was rapidly fading under a heavy blanket of cloud. The footpath was inches deep in snow and more threatened to fall.With a jingle, the keys fell out of her ungloved hand and onto the step. Cursing softly, she put down her bag and the bundle of papers to better fumble for them. As she stood up, the vestibule door opened, letting out a gust of warm, slightly smoky air. A small, elderly man in a neat dark suit waved her inside as she grabbed the keys and stood up.
"Good evening Miss,'how can I 'elp you?"
Juniper reached into her stuffed satchel and found the lawyer's letter. She handed it to the man.
"I'm here to take over my great-aunt's flat - Iris Shea? She died in the New Year."
He adjusted a delicate pair of spectacles on his nose and peered at the letter. Iris looked around the foyer. It was a medium-size room, carpeted in a dull brown with a decent Persian on the floor next to the counter. A coal fire in the marble fireplace lent a cosy warmth to the space. There were a few indifferent hunting and floral prints on the walls, which were papered in a pleasant pale green. A corridor led off to what she assumed were the flats. On a mat next to the fire, an enormous gray cat was stretched out enjoying the heat. Juniper crossed to the fireplace and stroked the cat gently. It opened brilliant amber eyes and yawned prodigiously before going back to sleep.
"Funny that", remarked the man, "'e don't usually take to the ladies - bit of a temper on him if he 'asn't 'ad 'is supper. Perhaps you caught 'im in a tender moment, so to speak."
"Cromwell, after the Prime Minister that was, but as far as I know he 'arbours no plans to do away with 'is Majesty as yet." He looked closely at her.
"So you would be the great-niece, then, Miss Paget? I'm Mr Drown, the 'ead concierge. That useless young man in there is Mr Providence."
He waved a negligent hand toward the small office behind the counter. Juniper could just see an enormous young man leaning back in a chair with his feet on the desk.
"Providence, you layabout", shouted Mr Drown, "Get your filthy boots off the desk and show Miss Paget to Number 23A."
The young man started and his chair landed back on all four of its legs with a crash. He got to his feet and came into the foyer, blinking sleepily. His shirt was coming untucked from his trousers, his black suit was rumpled, and his hair was mussed and stood up in places, but his mild brown eyes were friendly and intelligent. He smiled shyly. Drown looked apologetically at Juniper.
"I'm afraid you won't find it too cheery - the water and electricity and the gas are on because we were expecting you, but not a soul 'as been in there the last two months. Worse, old Mrs Shea wasn't the best housekeeper - bit too fond of the drink if you know what I mean." He tapped his nose confidingly.
"Anyways, if you find it all a bit too dreary, bring yourself back down here and have a cup of tea with me and the lads."
"The lads?"
"Young Providence and Cromwell here".
Juniper smiled. "Well, no point in putting it off - can you help me with my trunks?"
Providence nodded and effortlessly lifted the larger of the two steamer trunks. Juniper followed with the smaller. No doubt Mr Drown would have been happy to assist, but Juniper valued these small triumphs of independence.
The flat was on the second floor facing the street. Juniper unlocked the door, fumbled the light switch on and stepped inside. Providence put her trunk down gently on the floor, nodded to Juniper and left silently.
