Into the Blue (6 page)

She turned her mind again to her painting, and then her glance fell on the small carved, sandalwood box which held the few pieces of jewellery left to her by her grandmother and her mother The pearl brooch, a gold bracelet, emerald earbobs, various other brooches and tiepins, a set of matching rubies and the beautiful blue-green Venetian
beads which had been an eighteenth birthday present from Aunt Jacks.

Hester smiled, remembering that day. ‘My dear child, you need to wear something decorative to celebrate. Your Uncle Frank and I found these in a shop in Venice when we were on honeymoon. I hope you like them.'

Her smile died. The box lid was slightly open, sunlight touching the jewels lying inside it. Hester's expression tightened. Ruby had obviously opened the box.

Surely she hadn't taken anything? Had she?

Nothing was missing and Hester sighed with relief. She hadn't wanted to blame Ruby. But even so, as she went downstairs she still felt that small knot inside her that insisted Ruby must be watched.

In the dining room her father stood behind his chair at the head of the table, her stepmother, looking anxious, at the far end, her back to the window.

‘I needed you this morning, Hester. Had you forgotten it's the time for us to look at the household account books together?' His voice was gruff, his expression intimidating.

Yes, she had forgotten. For a second she was back, weeding the border, odd thoughts about Nicholas Thorne filling her mind, but now she banished them. ‘I'm sorry, Father – I did forget. But perhaps we might look at them this afternoon, after your rest?'

‘Morning is the time for accounts, not the afternoon.' He sniffed and sat down, nodding at Emma to do the same.

Hester's mind flurried with thoughts. Father was almost like a gaoler. Surely he could look at the accounts without her? She looked at him. ‘I was visiting Aunt Jacks this morning – only for an hour or so.' Resentment welled up and she added sharply, ‘You treat me almost like a prisoner, Father.'

Silence spread through the room, broken only when Ruby came in and put the tureen of soup on the table. Hester, watching, thought distractedly how well the girl managed the serving of the soup into the bowls placed before them. In a flash of unexpected bitter humour, she wondered what Ruby must think of the Redding family. Silences, raised voices occasionally, words broken off when she appeared. She
must have realized that discontent lurked; and did she know why? Had she worked out that Hester's strong will was the problem? That freedom called to Hester and could not be taken because of the family conventions? A last thought: did the girl, in fact, know anything at all about personal freedom?

As Ruby left the room, Hester said, ‘I will help with the accounts later this afternoon, Father.' She saw his hand shaking as he wiped his whiskers after the first spoonful of soup and felt the usual guilt. Father was old; she was young and didn't understand how he thought. Slowly, her mind simmered down and again she looked at him. ‘I shall be at the Marchants' tomorrow morning, Father. And in the afternoon I will accompany Stepmother on a visit. I know that's what you expect of me and I'll try and be more helpful. Please forgive me for what I said.'

He gave her a long look but made no response. Gathering her courage, she said slowly, picking each word very carefully, ‘But in return I ask for your permission for me to study with Mr Flynn.' She breathed deeply, aware of the disapproval on the two elderly faces. ‘Aunt Jacks is in favour of my doing this, so perhaps you might consider—'

‘Jacks is a meddler!' Arthur Redding's spoon fell with a splash into the bowl, sending soup cascading over the tablecloth. Emma whispered, ‘Oh dear,' as he leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowed, dark with anger. ‘She always has been.
Always
. And she has no right to interfere in our affairs. Kindly keep away from her in future, Hester.'

They stared at each other. Hester rose, went to the fireplace, pulled the bell tie, turned to look back at him. She didn't want another argument, but something inside her was too powerful to resist. ‘I can't do that, Father. Aunt Jacks is helping me with my painting, my flora. She knows about plants, and I need to know, too.'

Ruby came in, saw what had happened and silently went out again, returning with a cloth, a tray and a fresh bowl which she refilled with soup.

Arthur Redding motioned her away. ‘No more,' he said gruffly and rose. ‘Bring my luncheon to my study.' He waited until she had left the room and then glared at Hester. ‘I don't wish to stay in your
company any longer if these unpleasant arguments are to continue. You know my feelings, so give them further thought before you speak to me again. No, Emma—' He frowned. ‘Stay here. I wish to be alone.'

‘Oh dear.' Emma clutched her napkin and watched as he walked out of the room. ‘Oh Hester, upsetting your poor dear father like this! It's so unkind when you must surely know he's only doing what he thinks is the best for you. And I can't stay here, either.' Painfully, she rose, walking towards the door, turning at the last moment to say, ‘I couldn't eat a thing. But I might manage a cup of tea – in the drawing room.'

Hester's heartbeat quietened as again she summoned Ruby. Her father's anger had hurt her, made her question her reason for being so defiant. Feeling exhausted and confused, she told Ruby to take a tray of tea to Mrs Redding and then to serve her own luncheon here. Standing by the fireplace, she tried to control her thoughts.

The room had never seemed so silent. Walking to the window, she looked out into the walled garden below. The pear trees were full of blossom and the first green leaves. Yes, there would be a good harvest this year. And those iris in the little rockery beds were just showing rich purple buds. All so lovely, and yet here, in this house, there would never be peace unless she and Father could agree.

Ruby's voice fell into her chaotic thoughts. ‘Here's your fish, Miss Hester. And the veg. Anything else you want?'

Turning slowly, Hester brought herself back to the present. She said wearily, ‘No, thank you.' She thought she saw condemnation on the girl's face, and abruptly her mind leaped. Even Ruby is against me.
Am I really so selfish and cruel? I must be concerned about other people's feelings, but what about my own? Does no one think about how I feel? About what I want so desperately?

Pulling her feelings into tight control, she nodded at the maid. ‘Tell Mrs Caunter, please, that we mustn't waste what isn't eaten today. Perhaps she can use it tomorrow.' She returned to the table, sitting down and looking from Father's abandoned chair to that of Stepmother. A desolate feeling of loneliness hit her, and it was almost impossible to eat her luncheon, wondering what would happen next.

Ruby couldn't wait to tell Mrs Caunter. ‘Soup all over the tablecloth – have to soak and boil it to get the stain out, you know what egg yolks is. And Master and Madam going off and Miss Hester staying there alone. What a carry on! They're all goin' to eat in different rooms. Wonder why?'

Mrs Caunter turned down her mouth. ‘Never you mind. Nothin' to do with us.' She looked over her shoulder at Ruby, saw her grin, and frowned. ‘So get on and do it. An' take that grin off yer face. Remember, there's no accountin' for what the gentry gets up to.'

Ruby carried the master's tray to the study, returning to the kitchen to prepare the tea tray which she took to the drawing room, knocking and then entering. Poor ole souls, she thought, even as she kept her eyes down; Master had been red in the face and staring out of the window, and now Madam was in tears, dabbing at her face and making funny little moans.

As she put down the tea tray, Ruby's thoughts wandered into the future. If she had her way, she'd tell Master not to worry about that unkind daughter of his, and then comfort poor Madam with an arm round her shoulder, even adding a drop of something strong to her teacup. But of course the future wasn't here, not yet. So today all she could do was offer Madam a smile, asking quietly, ‘Can I get you anything else, Madam?'

A watery look and a shake of the head was her only answer. Ruby returned to the kitchen, grinning, but carefully removing it before Mrs Caunter could notice. Things were moving. And in the right direction. How exciting it was.

 

In her studio, Hester forced herself to concentrate on painting rather than going over the unpleasant lunchtime upset. The bastard balm flower was delightful to paint and she felt it was going right: a pale wash to colour the paper, leaving space to provide white where necessary, the stem curving at an angle that showed off the open flower and the leaves delicately framing the whole picture. She looked intently at her work, trying to see what Mr Flynn might see, should she manage to attend his private class. Shape, texture, colour, the whole picture on the page: so many details to bring the painting to life. But she was pleased with what she saw, and it drifted into her
mind that she wished Nicholas Thorne could see this painting of the flower he had given her.

Suddenly, noises downstairs and Aunt Jacks' clear voice echoing up the stairwell. Hester put away her paints and went onto the landing, wondering if she should go down.

‘Well, Arthur, I'm glad that you've seen sense.' Aunt Jacks and Father had come out of the study and were in the hall. ‘So I shall call for Hester next Wednesday morning and after we leave the botany class at the Reading Room she can do some shopping – or something – while I attend the meeting of the Flower Society. We'll be back in time for luncheon. Don't change your mind about the class, will you? Hester will be a great help to me once her knowledge of botany improves. No, I can't stay for tea, thank you – I am meeting someone who is interested in my gardening school. I know you think that's rubbish, but to me it's my
raison d'être
. I can't stop. Goodbye, Arthur.'

Hester saw her aunt wave as she left the house, and then heard the trap clatter down the drive. She felt inexpressible relief as the meaning of all that she had overheard started to make sense.

Botany class – yes, she and Aunt Jacks had discussed attending that – and presumably the so-called ‘shopping or something' – could be spent at Mr Flynn's studio. It was deceitful, but she must seize the opportunity. Still at the top of the stairs, her body relaxed. She knew that this was the moment to see Father and apologize; to thank him for meeting her halfway and, she hoped fervently, to resume the old fond relationship which had split so painfully earlier today.

He was crossing the hall as she ran down the stairs. ‘Father?'

He stopped, standing beside the drawing-room door. ‘Hester.'

She thought his voice was softer, and saw a lift to his lips heralding a smile. It was all right. Things would be back to normal, and he had agreed to her wish to paint and study. ‘Father,' she said again, at his side, smiling, putting out a hand and hoping that he would respond in the same loving way.

‘I apologize for everything, Father. I was rude, unkind, and I'm sorry.' She paused, looking into the eyes that met hers with an unfamiliar show of affection. ‘I heard what Aunt Jacks said – that I can go with her and attend the botany class.'

Arthur Redding sighed and looked at the longcase clock in the hallway. ‘Teatime. Your stepmother will be down in a minute. Ruby will be coming up with the tray.' He took her hand in his and looked deeply into her eyes. ‘So we have this moment together. You are my beloved daughter, and I was hurt – offended – by your unthinking words. But time has made me consider the truth of what you said, and I understand that you are of an age when you need to venture out into the world. So I agreed when your aunt suggested this plan of studying botany together.'

Clasping his hand, Hester felt tears behind her eyes. ‘Thank you, Father. Dear Father.' Her voice was unsteady. ‘You know I love you.'

‘As I love you.' But the familiar harsh note was back in his voice and he pulled his hand away. ‘Of course I do. But I expect you to behave as a young lady should do. Don't press me further, Hester – you have upset your stepmother, and I wish to forget the whole unpleasant incident.' He opened the drawing-room door and she went in, knowing that although this was a small victory, it did not open the way to unconditional freedom, the dream of which still filled her mind, even as she smiled and prepared the table for tea.

 

The next morning was fresh and sweet scented and Hester found herself looking forward enormously to meeting Hugh and some old friends. Tennis, conversation and laughter would be enjoyable, the last few days having been so unhappy. She found her racquet, dusted it down and felt for sagging strings, hopeful that it would last just one more summer. A disturbing thought struck: would she still be here next year, playing tennis, immersed in mind-searing domesticity and still hating every moment of it?

At breakfast the atmosphere was sober and quiet, and she did not engage either Father or Stepmother in conversation. Enough that they both looked happier than yesterday, she thought.

Stepmother, finishing her toast, looked up and said, ‘I suppose Hugh will be here soon. And will you stay at the Marchants' for luncheon?' Her pale face managed a smile and Hester returned it.

‘I don't know, Stepmother. It might be best not to expect me.'

Emma blinked. ‘I see. But you'll be back in time to come with me when we go to tea with Vicar's wife, of course?'

Hester sucked in a breath. ‘Yes, Stepmother. I'll be here.'

Hester's faded blue linen dress was then carefully inspected by Emma, who murmured, ‘It must be difficult to play with a bustle bouncing up and down at your back. And have you pinned your hat on securely?'