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?’
‘Yes, Stepmother.’ Hester adjusted the small, brimmed straw hat and ran a hand down her tightly waisted dress. She wished that the modern decision to remove corsets from feminine fashion would soon have results: in the exciting future that lay ahead women must throw out such tight and uncomfortable manifestations of men’s dictatorship. With Nicholas Thorne’s words about the amazing lady adventurers echoing in her head, she wondered whether they wore something easier and looser as they travelled, and she had to hide the laughter bubbling up as she remembered. Corsets in the jungle would surely be very restrictive indeed.
At ten o’clock precisely there was a knock at the door and Hugh stood there, his smile broadening as he looked at her. ‘Good morning, Hester. My word, you look ready for anything. I predict we shall win all our matches this morning.’ Taking her racquet, he held out a hand to lead her into the pony trap at the bottom of the steps. ‘Up you get. And now – where would you like to go for luncheon?’ The pony moved down the drive and then, as Hugh flicked the whip over its back, trotted up the lane and away from Oak House.
Away from home. Hester took a long, deep, enjoyable breath, realizing that life was blooming all around her. Away from home, a meeting with old friends and some exciting games of tennis. She smiled at Hugh. ‘What a good idea. All of us, going off on the spree?’
‘No.’ He sounded authoritative, and his expression was intense enough to make something flicker inside her. ‘Just you and me. I think we’re old enough friends to allow our families to accept we need to be alone sometimes. Your parents don’t expect you back too soon, do they?’
She shook her head. ‘I said I might be back at lunchtime, but they won’t worry if I’m not.’
‘Well done.’ His grin was approving. ‘So think about where you’d like to go.’
As they turned into the main road, Hester looked around her, saw the inviting blue-grey hazy outline of Dartmoor a few miles away and said impulsively, ‘Let’s go up on the moor. We’ll find an inn. Oh, what fun!’ And then she heard the ambiguous sound of her words and knew she was perhaps encouraging him to imagine more than she really meant. Alone, together on the moor, he would think she was taking one step nearer in their courtship.
The worrying thoughts stayed in her mind until they turned in at the large gateway of Court Hill House on the outskirts of Bovey Tracey, and then she switched them off. She was free to enjoy herself, to savour a suddenly fresh life, and she would make the most of it. So she took Hugh’s hand as he helped her off the trap and, walking beside him, smiled across the stretching lawn at the group of people waiting for them by the tennis court, racquets in hand, voices chattering and laughing.
Yes, life was suddenly very good.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ruby, after making the beds and dusting around, heard the knock at the front door, and then a man’s voice. Was this Miss Hester’s beau? What was he called, Hugh somebody? Hidden as she leant against the landing banisters, she listened intently; Miss Hester sounding happy for once. She scurried into Miss Hester’s room as the front door closed and the trap began crunching the gravel. Leaning out of the window, she could just see it moving. Miss Hester wore a blue dress, carried a racquet and was clearly enjoying going out with Mr Hugh. How lucky to have such a nice, handsome man beside her. For a second envy hit Ruby hard, but not for long. After all, her future was here, a path in front of her. And she was making steps every day.
She loitered in Miss Hester’s bedroom, opening the wardrobe and looking at the clothes inside it. Nothing very interesting, no satin ballgowns like she’d seen once in a magazine. Ordinary clothes, she thought, until she looked at them closely and realized they were made with expensive cloth – silk, velvet, gabardine, tweed – and sewn with tiny stitches, trimmed stylishly, all looking elegant and gentrified. This was what made Miss Hester look so attractive. Something clicked in Ruby’s mind. One day she would have clothes like these.
She closed the wardrobe and went to the dressing table, fingers reaching out to stroke the sandalwood jewel box. The top was carved with dragons and flowers and inside were all Miss Hester’s jewels. Ruby paused; no one about. Cook was cutting up a rabbit, Mr Redding in the garden with Hoskins, and Mrs Redding writing letters at her desk. Ruby smiled. What would she look like, decked out with jewels? She took out the brooches and pendants, put aside the rope of pale moonstones, tried on the gold bracelet, and then, with an intake of delighted breath, picked up the green-blue glass beads and fastened them around her small, warm neck. Probably not precious like the other stuff but, oh, didn’t they suit her? A lovely shining bluey green, making her own green eyes all the brighter. Ruby swallowed the lump forming in her throat and suddenly knew the heat and force of desire.
‘Ruby? Are you upstairs? Come down, please.’
Mrs Redding. Hurriedly Ruby took off the necklace, pushed everything back into the box and closed the lid. She left the room and made sure she was heard running down the stairs. ‘Coming, Madam. Just giving the windows an extra shine – this sun shows up all the dust, it does.’
Mrs Redding stood by her desk in the dining room, holding out two letters. ‘For Hoskins to post, please, Ruby. And you’ve done the windows? Well done – you think of everything.’ She smiled approvingly.
Ruby took the letters, bobbed a curtsey, and said meekly, ‘It’s the least I can do, Madam, living here in this nice house, with nice employers.’ She left the room, smiling to herself. Madam was a real old softie. No problem in making a friend out of her. But when the time came, would Master be so easy?
‘Ruby!’
Mrs Caunter’s voice was loud and Ruby’s smile died as she went down to the kitchen.
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br /> The sun shone on the immaculate lawn at Court Hill House and the sagging tennis net had been adjusted. Fanny and Norah Wellington, in cotton muslin dresses with floaty flounces and with small hats perched on their half-hidden rebelliously curly hair, decided they would play together. Fanny, always the speaker, giggled. ‘We haven’t practised since last year, so don’t expect too much, will you, Hester?’
‘I’m just as rusty as you are, Fanny. Anyway, this isn’t Wimbledon, so let’s just enjoy playing, shall we?’ She and Hugh walked to the far end of the court and Hugh grinned at her, taking his place behind the line. ‘Stay by the net, Hester, you play well there. We’ll show those two how tennis should be played.’
Love all, deuce, ’van in, ’van out, and then, ‘Oh dear, Hester, you and Hugh have won – Norah and I are so slow. I knew you would!’
All the activity made a rest necessary. Deckchairs were arranged beside the summerhouse and Hugh said, as Hester sat down beside the two puffing and giggling sisters, ‘Like me to teach you how to serve overarm? It makes a much stronger game.’
Fanny blew out her breath, rubbed her ankle, adjusted her misplaced hat and looked at Hester mischievously. ‘Doesn’t sound very feminine,’ she murmured, while, beside her, Norah laughed aloud. ‘But let’s see you try, Hester.’
After they had drunk glasses of lemonade and nibbled at ratafia biscuits, Hugh got up, took Hester’s hand and said, with a sideways grin at the two chattering sisters, ‘I think Fanny is challenging you, Hester – let’s show her, shall we? Believe me, there’s nothing about serving overarm that should shock anyone. Come on, over here, where your audience can enjoy the performance.’
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