Into the Blue (10 page)

Into the moment of silence that followed, someone asked, ‘And are you planning to search for it, Mr Thorne?' and she saw Nicholas's smile vanish. He replaced the plant on the table, saying crisply, ‘I have no plans for further expeditions. Not at the moment.'

And then it was all over. The visitors rose, came to the table to ask questions about various plants, and then walked out into the garden. Hester went with them, needing peace and time to think about all that had happened today.

She watched her aunt seeing off her visitors, accepting their thanks and good wishes, and then saw Nicholas loading the plants into the nursery gig. He looked about him before climbing into the driving seat and she thought perhaps he wanted to say goodbye, but she stayed where she was. If he really needed to see her, he would come and look, wouldn't he? As the gig drove off down the lane and Aunt Jacks came and sank into the seat beside the summerhouse, Hester told herself to forget Nicholas and his disturbing attraction. He had much to occupy him and those few shared moments between them had been momentary pleasures in a life committed to business and the developments of his beloved plants.

The quick strike of disappointment was banished as she made herself remember all that Emily Watson had said. Yes, now she too had a committed life, one that she would take steps to develop. Tomorrow, she would tell Mr Flynn her plans.

She and Aunt Jacks shared cups of tea and then it was time to go home and join Father and Stepmother, who had left earlier. The pound cake had disappeared, and Hester hoped that Nicholas had enjoyed a slice. Taking a last wander through the garden, she saw with fresh insight and enjoyment all the beauty around her. The flowers, mixing their shades and textures, blues, purples, dusky pink and startling creamy white; the shrubs with their leafy shelter, fragrance and shadow and the trees in the deserted orchard, frothing with blossom and seeming to colour the coming dusk with a pale warmth. A blackbird sang in one of them, its song echoing down the valley like a chorister singing in a cathedral.

Hester went indoors, collected her gentian, and then looked at Aunt Jacks. ‘What a wonderful day, Aunt. You must be so pleased.'

‘I am, my dear. So many people and all keen to improve their gardening knowledge. Emily's talk went well, I thought – and Nicholas gave so much information about his plants.' Aunt Jacks screwed up her mouth into an ironic smile. ‘Fancy him thinking that those old tales about a double gentian might hold any truth – I thought he was far too prosaic a man for that.'

‘No,' Hester said, without thinking what she was saying. ‘He's passionate about gentians, that's all.' She saw her aunt's surprised expression and hurried on. ‘But of course he can't really believe in the
tales. Just a nice idea he likes to amuse himself with, I daresay.'

Aunt Jacks looked at her with discerning eyes. ‘You seem to know a lot about him.'

Hester coloured but kept her voice even. ‘Not really. Just that we got on quite well – for a few moments.' She rose and brushed a rose petal from her skirt. ‘I must go home, now, Aunt. Thank you for a really lovely day. And I'm so glad that Father and Stepmother came.'

‘I don't think they enjoyed themselves very much, but it was good of them to make the effort.' She laughed. ‘Gardening isn't their passion – not like it is for you and me.' She gave Hester a straight look. ‘Keep painting, dear child, and forgive your poor father for not understanding how life is changing. He must find your commitment to your talent very hard to accept.'

‘Yes.' Hester thought for a long moment. Aunt Jacks was right. She must be more understanding with Father. This evening she would talk to him about his own interests – his law books, the paper he was writing about certain fascinating court cases, his health.

Walking home down the lane, she allowed her thoughts to flow more calmly. Beauty lay everywhere, each step showing her new aspects of the countryside. Green and wild, it spread all around her. The seeded farm fields were growing well, the hedges newly sprouted, trees opening their buds and Dartmoor's outline in the purplish blue-grey distance a sharp edge to the spreading fertility.

She was enjoying her walk so much that at first she didn't hear the pony hoofs clattering down the lane towards her. Turning into the hedge for safety, she looked up at the driver of the trap and at once anxious thoughts filled her.

Hugh. What was he doing here? Her serenity fell away.

What did he want?

He reined in the cob beside her and smiled down. ‘Told your parents I'd fetch you from your aunt's cottage. Had a busy day, have you?'

Hester was confused. What had he been doing at home? She stood beside the trap and said coldly, ‘Yes, it all went very well. But Hugh, why are you here? I thought you were busy organizing yourself ready to join the family firm?'

Holding the reins, he got down to stand beside her, his smile easy and amused. ‘So you remembered all that! And I hope you've remembered everything else I said to you that day.' He paused, looked into her unsmiling eyes. ‘Have you, Hester? Have you thought about my plans? Have you been sensible and changed your mind?'

Hester saw determination in the jut of his chin and his intense expression. Alarm filled her, until something new swept through her mind. She was liberated, on the way to a career. No one should bully her and certainly not her old friend Hugh Marchant. So treat all that he said lightly; let him see that she had a mind and a life of her own, and that nothing he could say or do would change that.

Confidence rose. She smiled, walked around the trap, then climbed up onto the seat, twitching her skirt away from the dusty floor. ‘How you do go on, Hugh. Honestly, I'm too full of thoughts of flowers and gardens and painting to have the time to consider marriage at the moment. Yes, drive me home, please – and I'm sure Father will offer you a glass of sherry if you behave properly and stop ordering me about.'

With a look of amazement he stared up at her, then slowly climbed up, sat beside her, told the cob to walk on, and they continued down the lane.

Neither of them spoke until Hester pointed out, ‘You're going the wrong way.' But she wasn't really worried. Perhaps he was continuing to the next field gate where he would turn around.

‘I'm taking you for a drive.' He didn't look at her, simply snapped the reins and encouraged the cob to trot.

Hester frowned and held the gentian more firmly on her lap. ‘I want to go home, Hugh. Please turn around.'

No answer. They drove along the lane, finally coming into the village and the main road. She was getting a little anxious now. Why was he behaving in this unfriendly way?

‘Hugh, tell me where we're going. And why. Turn around, please – I really do want to go home.'

At last he turned and looked at her, his face set and unsmiling. ‘We need to talk, Hester, and we can't do that with your parents pretending they don't hear us. Give me a chance to find a secluded place and I'll stop. Don't worry, I'll get you home in time for dinner.'

Gripping the gentian, she realized that this was male domination and the very thing she was opposed to. She would not give in.

Putting a hand on his arm, she kept her voice very calm. ‘Hugh, please take me home. We can talk – if you insist – another day. I need to get ready for dinner with my parents. You'll make me late and I don't want that. So please, turn around.'

He smiled then, an amused expression that exasperated her even further. ‘I like it when you get cross, Hester. What spirit! It's charming.'

She tensed, somehow keeping her temper under control, knowing that anger would get her nowhere. Hugh must be persuaded.

‘Yes, I have lots of spirit, Hugh. Surely you haven't forgotten all my childhood furies when you wouldn't let me win at snap or said it was your turn to ride the pony when I knew that it was mine?' She gave him what she hoped was a winning smile as he looked at her. Was that the beginning of a reluctant grin she saw? ‘You were always trying to get the better of me,' she said wryly, ‘but it didn't always work. And you won't do so now. Come on, Hugh, take me home and let's forget
these hard words.'

Slowly he drew the trap to a halt, turning to look at her properly, and she saw she had won the day. His mouth twitched. ‘Hester, you're too much for me. I can't refuse you when I remember all that – was I really such a brat?' He turned the cob in the road. ‘No, don't answer. All right, we'll leave the big discussion for another day. I'll take you home, but don't expect me to stay. Your father's probably seen enough of me today. Well, here we go.' He cracked the whip and the trap rattled down the lane.

Hester sat back, congratulating herself on her firmness. But he still wanted to talk – what had he said, the big discussion? It was only as the trap turned into the drive of Oak House and he reined in the cob at the bottom of the entrance steps that an uneasy question flew into her mind.

She climbed down and looked up at him. ‘Hugh, what did you want to see Father about?'

His smile as he clicked the trap forward and raised an arm to wave goodbye was hardly reassuring. ‘He'll tell you.' The cob reached the gate, paused and then disappeared.

Her hand on the door-bell, Hester frowned. She had a feeling that Hugh, after all, had won something.

 

She rang the bell twice, heard it echoing through the house, wondered where Ruby was and why she was taking so long to open the door. When it finally opened it was Mrs Caunter who stood there, something smeared on one cheek, cap slightly awry, and wearing an expression of doom. ‘Thank goodness you're back, Miss Hester. I dunno how we'll get the dinner on the table, really I don't.'

Hester entered, put the gentian on the bench inside the door, and turned. ‘What's wrong, Mrs Caunter?'

‘It's that Ruby, slipped on the stairs, said her heel caught on spilt candle grease, she thinks, and now she's in her bed and says as 'ow she can't move. An' I've got the veg to do and the meat to roast, an'... .'

Hester breathed deeply, removed her hat and said quietly, ‘Where is Mrs Redding?'

‘In the drawing room with Master. Sherry time, see. What'll we do 'bout bringing up the trays, Miss Hester? Me legs aren't so good these days.'

‘I'll help, Mrs Caunter.' Hester put an arm on the cook's shoulder and smiled. ‘Stop worrying. We'll manage between us.' Wryly she thought, heading for the drawing room, It's back to trays, is it? And that wretched Ruby in her bed.

The drawing room was airless and shadowy, the curtains on the curving bay window half drawn to keep the sun out of Arthur Redding's eyes.

‘So there you are, Hester. You've been a long time coming home.' His voice was cool, his expression hardly welcoming.

‘I came as fast as I could, Father. I met Hugh in the lane and we talked for a little while.'

‘Ah. Yes.' Arthur Redding sipped the last of his sherry, looking at her over the rim. ‘Hugh called here this afternoon. We also talked. But I'll come to that later. What is all this fuss in the kitchen? Mrs Caunter has some story of the maid – Ruby, isn't it? – having had an accident.' He looked across the room at Emma, sitting in a tense bundle in her usual chair, and shook his head. ‘My dear, I don't want you trying to get up to see the girl, you couldn't manage all those stairs. Wait until she's better.'

‘Yes, of course.' Emma Redding was clearly in a state of nerves. Her thin hands fidgeted with her spectacle case, and her expression was one of terrible expectation. Hester crossed the room, pulled up a stool and sat beside her, smiling reassuringly.

‘Don't worry, Stepmother. I'll help Mrs Caunter with dinner and I'll see Ruby. Everything will work out. Now, shall I refill your glass?'

Dinner was twenty minutes late, and Hester carried the trays up from the kitchen and then down again when the meal was over. The uneven wooden staircase was longer than she had thought, and she began to understand how servants always complained about their legs. Which brought her back to Ruby.

After seeing that both her parents were comfortably drinking coffee, and even looking slightly drowsy, she returned to the kitchen where Mrs Caunter was making a business of having to wash all the dishes on her own.

‘Jest hope as 'ow she'll be better tomorrer, I can't go on like this for ever, Miss Hester.'

‘No, Mrs Caunter, and I don't expect you to. If Ruby is really indisposed I will find a replacement. But for the moment, did you put her supper in the oven to keep warm?'

Grumbling to herself, Mrs Caunter set a plate of rather dried-up roast beef on a tray. ‘Ses she doesn't like my Yorkshire pudding, hmm, she's lucky to have any.'

‘I'll come back and help put the dishes away, Mrs Caunter. I won't be long.'

Hester carried the tray up the three flights of stairs, having to slow down as she started up the final narrow wooden staircase leading to the two attic bedrooms. Her shoes resounded on the wood, and she wondered if Ruby heard her coming.

 

Ruby sat up quickly. Footsteps. Miss Hester probably, to see if she really was took bad. She shoved the battered envelope, and its precious content, under the pillow and put a weak smile on her face. Miss Hester would expect her to be helpless and sorry for herself. That shouldn't be hard to do. Even though she hadn't actually fallen down the stairs, she had misjudged the first step and yes, her heel had slipped on something greasy, and her ankle did hurt – just a bit. But to be really bad was part of the plan, so she must act it out.

‘Have you brought my dinner all the way up? Oh, Miss Hester, you are good – but I don't think I can eat anything. I feel so sick. It's the pain... .'

She watched Miss Hester put the tray – Ruby's stomach began to rumble, she hadn't eaten since an early luncheon – on the small table, then step back, standing by the window, looking at her.

Not very friendly, Miss Hester's eyes. Neither was her voice; tighter than usual. ‘What happened, Ruby? I understand you fell and hurt your leg. Which leg? Show me, please.'

Ruby's scowl swiftly became a pathetic smile. ‘Yes, Miss Hester.' Pushing aside the covers she slid out a slim, unblemished leg. ‘It hurts here.' She rubbed the ankle and flinched as the supposed pain stabbed. ‘Oh, it doesn't half hurt... .'

Miss Hester ran her hands – not very large, but strong and
beautifully pale pink, Ruby saw, enviously – over the afflicted joint while Ruby moaned and twisted.

‘I can't feel anything out of place, Ruby. But if you're not better in the morning, Hoskins can fetch Dr Winters from Chudleigh. For now, swallow these two pills – my stepmother takes them for her insomnia when she can't sleep – to help you through the night. And eat your supper – you need to keep your strength up.'

They looked at each other, then Hester moved towards the door. ‘Hoskins must scrub down the stairs. We don't want any more accidents, do we?'

Was that a suspicious note in her voice? wondered Ruby uneasily. Things hadn't gone quite as she had planned. Covering her leg, she slumped down in the bed, saying grumpily, ‘It's those bloomin' kitchen stairs that's the problem, Miss. Up and down, up and down – goodness knows how many times a day. Ought to be a lift or something, you know, put the meals on it in the kitchen, pull a rope and up it goes to the dining room. Like a dumb waiter, on'y without the waiter.' A grin replaced the scowl. ‘Girl I knew once worked in a grand house with one of them, said it was ever so nice.'

Staring at Miss Hester, her thoughts plummeted. All that planning, but now Miss Hester wasn't reacting as she'd hoped. Then a new idea struck her. ‘I s'pecs Madam's worried about me. Will you tell her that I'm trying to sit up and get on with my sewing, even though me ankle hurts so bad, an' I'll be down to show it to her on Tuesday?'

At the door Hester looked back at the petulant face with its sly expression. The green eyes were veiled but hid a gleam of excitement: something was going on, but her mind was too full of personal thoughts to understand exactly what. Her hand on the door latch, she breathed deeply, felt weariness slide through her. It had been a busy, emotional day and she could do without all this. And why this message to Stepmother about the sewing?

A lift? A dumb waiter? Whatever would the girl suggest next? Her lips tightened. Now she must go down and help Mrs Caunter put away the dishes. And then she must talk to Father. She sighed.

‘I'll give Mrs Redding your message, Ruby. Now eat your supper and then try and sleep.'

Their eyes met. A wind rattled the window and Ruby shivered,
sliding down beneath the covers.

‘Good night,' said Hester closing the door behind her, looking carefully at the shadowy stairs before going down.

‘Good riddance,' muttered Ruby. Damn everything. It wasn't going right. And then she realized that her dreams wouldn't come true unless she worked at them. She knew it was important to be like Miss Hester, walk like her, sound like her, because that would impress Madam and Master and make them think well of her. Sitting up again she pouted her lips and smiled, hearing Miss Hester in her mind, and trying to make her own voice sound the same.
Go-o-o-d n-i-i-i-ght.

That was good. She repeated it, then delved beneath the pillow for the envelope and the creased document inside it. She read it yet again, her smile growing into a chuckle. It was time to get things moving now; why wait any longer? When she was up on her feet again, and Master and Mistress realized how much they had missed her, that's when she would go and show them what she held in her hand.

 

Hester put the last meat dish on the top shelf of the big dresser lining the kitchen wall and said wearily, ‘If you can manage the breakfast, Mrs Caunter, I'll help during the day. But let's hope Ruby will be better in the morning.' She looked at the cook, sinking down into the cane chair by the hearth, and remembered Ruby's impudent suggestion. Thoughtfully she said, ‘These stairs must be very tiring for you both. Perhaps my father might consider a lift. Would there be enough space for it here and in the dining room?'

‘A lift? Oh, Miss Hester, now that would be lovely. Put the meals in and then pull on the ropes and up it goes. Oh yes, we could fit it in, I'm sure.' The cook's aged face lit up with a huge smile and she sat straighter in the creaking chair.