and adaptable worker, and you need to be able to react to situations and accept them. Above all, you need a strong constitution. Do you have a strong constitution?"
Sam nods.
"And do you still want this job? Even after you've seen what it entails?"
"Totally," the girl says. "I'm here and I'm ready to work. All I want is a chance to prove myself. I swear, by the end of this trial period, you'll wonder how you ever managed without me. I'll be better than your last ten gardeners put together."
The mayor eyes her suspiciously for a moment. "Perhaps," he says eventually, turning and making his way over to the small, dilapidated building in the center of the cemetery. It takes him a moment to force the door open, and finally he leads Sam into a dark, rundown little room with an old stove and a few tables scattered about. Rather improbably, given the derelict nature of the hut-like structure, there's a large chandelier hanging from the ceiling, but everything else about the place speaks of total squalor: there are old plates piled high in front of cracked windows, while dirt is spread across the floor and there's an upturned wheelbarrow in the corner.
"What do you think?" the mayor asks, running a finger through the dirt on the counter.
"I can work here," Sam replies, forcing herself to remain optimistic.
"Come and see the rest of the place," the mayor continues, walking slowly through to the next room. A small single bed has been pushed against the far wall, and a wardrobe stands slightly askew next to the door. "This is the bedroom," he says after a moment, using his cane to push some old cans off a nearby chair. "You can put your bag down there."
"That's okay, thanks," Sam says. "I'll just wait until we get to the apartment."
"Apartment?" the mayor replies, turning to her. "I never said there was an apartment!"
"You said it's a live-in job," Sam says, looking panicked. "You said that's why the basic wage is so low!"
"It's a live-in job, alright," the mayor continues, "but there's no apartment. You'll be living in this very room! I know it's probably not up to the standards you're used to in a fancy city like Leeds, but needs must as the Devil drives. It's perfectly comfortable, and it can even get quite hot if you've got enough wood in the stove."
Stepping over to the middle of the room, Sam turns and looks around. The entire place is covered, from floor to ceiling and from wall to wall, in dust and dirt, while the windows are grimy and - in places - cracked and broken. It's like someone just shut the door to this place several years ago and left it to fall into disrepair, never thinking to open it up or give the place a clean.
After a moment, Sam spots a mouse – perhaps even the same mouse as before – peering in through one of the cracked windows, as if to keep track of her progress.
"I suppose it's useful, you being a woman," the mayor says eventually. "That's what this place needs. A woman's touch."
"Are you sure there's not somewhere else I can live?" Sam asks, turning to him.
"You don't like the cottage?"
"It's not that," Sam continues, walking over to the window and looking out at the cemetery. The thought of spending her nights in this rattly little building, surrounded on all sides by a pitch-black cemetery, sends a shiver down her spine. "It's just not quite what I expected," she says quietly.
"Well, I can't help that," the mayor replies. "It's the best we can do, and I'm sure you can fix it up if you just use your imagination. The last gardener, Faraday, wasn't much for creature comforts. I swear, he spent more time with his nose in a book than actually working on the place. He rather let his duties fall by the wayside, as you can see, but there's no reason it has to stay like this. There are some old glass panes somewhere in the shed, so you can fix the windows, and there might even be some paint around. You've got your basic electricity and running water, so all the conveniences of home are here,
Sam nods.
"And do you still want this job? Even after you've seen what it entails?"
"Totally," the girl says. "I'm here and I'm ready to work. All I want is a chance to prove myself. I swear, by the end of this trial period, you'll wonder how you ever managed without me. I'll be better than your last ten gardeners put together."
The mayor eyes her suspiciously for a moment. "Perhaps," he says eventually, turning and making his way over to the small, dilapidated building in the center of the cemetery. It takes him a moment to force the door open, and finally he leads Sam into a dark, rundown little room with an old stove and a few tables scattered about. Rather improbably, given the derelict nature of the hut-like structure, there's a large chandelier hanging from the ceiling, but everything else about the place speaks of total squalor: there are old plates piled high in front of cracked windows, while dirt is spread across the floor and there's an upturned wheelbarrow in the corner.
"What do you think?" the mayor asks, running a finger through the dirt on the counter.
"I can work here," Sam replies, forcing herself to remain optimistic.
"Come and see the rest of the place," the mayor continues, walking slowly through to the next room. A small single bed has been pushed against the far wall, and a wardrobe stands slightly askew next to the door. "This is the bedroom," he says after a moment, using his cane to push some old cans off a nearby chair. "You can put your bag down there."
"That's okay, thanks," Sam says. "I'll just wait until we get to the apartment."
"Apartment?" the mayor replies, turning to her. "I never said there was an apartment!"
"You said it's a live-in job," Sam says, looking panicked. "You said that's why the basic wage is so low!"
"It's a live-in job, alright," the mayor continues, "but there's no apartment. You'll be living in this very room! I know it's probably not up to the standards you're used to in a fancy city like Leeds, but needs must as the Devil drives. It's perfectly comfortable, and it can even get quite hot if you've got enough wood in the stove."
Stepping over to the middle of the room, Sam turns and looks around. The entire place is covered, from floor to ceiling and from wall to wall, in dust and dirt, while the windows are grimy and - in places - cracked and broken. It's like someone just shut the door to this place several years ago and left it to fall into disrepair, never thinking to open it up or give the place a clean.
After a moment, Sam spots a mouse – perhaps even the same mouse as before – peering in through one of the cracked windows, as if to keep track of her progress.
"I suppose it's useful, you being a woman," the mayor says eventually. "That's what this place needs. A woman's touch."
"Are you sure there's not somewhere else I can live?" Sam asks, turning to him.
"You don't like the cottage?"
"It's not that," Sam continues, walking over to the window and looking out at the cemetery. The thought of spending her nights in this rattly little building, surrounded on all sides by a pitch-black cemetery, sends a shiver down her spine. "It's just not quite what I expected," she says quietly.
"Well, I can't help that," the mayor replies. "It's the best we can do, and I'm sure you can fix it up if you just use your imagination. The last gardener, Faraday, wasn't much for creature comforts. I swear, he spent more time with his nose in a book than actually working on the place. He rather let his duties fall by the wayside, as you can see, but there's no reason it has to stay like this. There are some old glass panes somewhere in the shed, so you can fix the windows, and there might even be some paint around. You've got your basic electricity and running water, so all the conveniences of home are here,
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