But this was different; no pleasure in this embrace, just a panicky feeling that she must escape. Until slowly, guiltily, she began to enjoy both his kiss and the closeness of his body. Fear and resistance vanished. This was what she longed for, a man’s love, and if she couldn’t share that love with Nicholas, then Hugh would be the next best thing.
They parted breathlessly, and she said, unsteadily, but knowing what she was saying, ‘I’m fond of you, Hugh, but before I decide to marry you, please let me have a little more time.’ She eased herself away, laughing nervously. ‘I think the champagne has gone to my head – I must be quite sober before I say yes.’
His arms dropped and he said nothing. And then he nodded. ‘Well, I suppose that’s something. All right, I’ll wait – but don’t keep me waiting too long.’ He reached out, stroked her cheek. ‘I want you, Hester. Very badly.’
Her mouth was dry, her cheeks too hot. She needed to go home before he kissed her again. With enormous relief and a feeling of escape, she left him, running back to the house to say good night to her hostess and to collect her cloak.
By the time the trap appeared at the front entrance, and Hugh had also said his farewell to Mrs Wellington and Fanny, Hester had recovered and was in control of herself.
She knew she had been foolish, giving way to the emotional impact of Hugh’s love-making, but her mind was clear now. She had half promised herself to him, but there was still a hope of escape. Surely a few days could go on indefinitely?
During the next week she painted in the newly established summerhouse studio. Thoughts of Hugh’s proposal and of that intimate embrace were still in her mind, but the creative passion had returned, more demanding than ever, and perhaps because Nicholas’s presence lived on in the small, warm room, they were happy hours in that good light, fingers returning to brushes, eyes constantly focused, watching the pictures grow. One afternoon, as teatime neared, she was working on the gentian picture, hoping to finish it before the light failed, when Ruby ran down the path.
‘Miss Redding—’ Ruby, now Stepmother’s companion, spoke with less dialect and paid more attention to manners.
Hester paused, reluctant to stop working, but hearing in her spoken name something disturbing. When the girl came to a halt just inside the doorway, she saw fear in the wide green eyes.
‘What is it?’ Her voice rose.
‘The Master. He – he—’ Ruby’s face was distraught. ‘I don’t know . . . you’d better come... .’
For a second they stared at each other. Hester’s heart jumped and her mouth dried. ‘Yes.’ She dropped the brush, got up, pushing past Ruby, running rapidly back into the house.
He had gone by the time they reached the bedroom, lying seemingly at peace in the white bed. Hester took one look at the grey face and the open, sightless eyes. She knelt by the bed. ‘Send Hoskins for Dr Winters. Quickly, Ruby... .’
‘Starvation, of course, the usual end.’ Dr Winters closed Arthur Redding’s eyes and ushered Hester from the bedroom. ‘Seizures generally end like this, I fear. Of course you and your cook did your best, offering him nutritious food but that restricted breathing, the tensing of the swallowing process, and so on, caused effort, which brought on a second seizure. Were you with him?’
‘No.’ Hester’s voice was cracked. She couldn’t believe that Father had been smiling at her only half an hour ago, when she had told him she would be in the summerhouse, painting, and at teatime she would be with him again. And now – gone.
Dr Winters put an arm around her shoulders and shut the door behind him. ‘We must go and tell Mrs Redding, Miss Hester. I need you to be there. I have some sedatives with me, just in case.’
Through her shock and all the disturbed thoughts churning up her mind, she became aware of Ruby, following them downstairs. The once over-familiar and chatty housemaid was a silent figure, offering unexpected strength and help. It was Ruby who comforted Stepmother when the news of Father’s death was broken; Ruby who, after Dr Winters had left, said quietly, in a sure voice, ‘Leave Mrs Redding to me, Miss Redding. I’ll be with her while you see to everything else. And I’ll send Hoskins with a message to Mr Hugh. He’ll need to know – to help you with the arrangements.’
Hester looked into calm eyes, and after a pause, muttered unsteadily, ‘Yes. Thank you, Ruby. Thank you.’
Ruby put out a hand, very gently touching Hester’s shoulder. ‘He might have been my father, too.’ She sighed. ‘I know that lawyer said he wasn’t, but I shall always wonder.’
Hester nodded and wiped the last tears from her eyes. ‘No,’ she said chokingly. ‘We shall never really know.’
The funeral was well attended and Aunt Jacks and Hugh were the twin rocks of support that Hester gratefully accepted. Her father’s death had been a great shock, but there were joyful moments of recalling how their love had freed itself and she was thankful for it. She was glad of Hugh’s help in taking upon himself so many of the necessary arrangements and slowly felt her strength returning.
After the interment in St Mary’s church in Newton Abbot, the mourners – family, friends and colleagues – returned to Oak House. Somehow Hester kept smiling while kindly wishes were given until eventually the last carriage and trap rolled out of the drive, leaving the house sadly empty and almost unnaturally quiet.
At her side, Hugh put his arm around her. ‘You’ve done well, Hester. Your father would be proud of you. You’ve been strong, but I do feel you need to rest now.’
Suddenly she felt the truth of his words. Her body ached, her mind was weary and she longed for the peace of her bedroom where sleep could work wonders. She smiled, seeing the concern on his face, and nodded. ‘Yes, I’ll rest now. I can’t thank you enough for your help, Hugh, for being with me in this difficult time.’
His arms tightened, but his voice was gently undemanding. ‘I’ll call again tomorrow and perhaps by then you’ll feel able to talk about our future. But don’t even think about it now – go and rest.’ He turned her towards the staircase and stood in the hall, watching as she dragged herself up, finally smiling down at him before going into her room and collapsing on the bed.
She slept, dreams forgotten when she awoke several hours later, feeling an insurge of new strength, of more vital thoughts, of fresh physical lightness and the ability to get up, change, and then go downstairs to sit with Stepmother.
After dinner, when Ruby had taken Emma upstairs at bedtime, Hester wandered in the garden, finding the solitude and beauty wonderfully comforting. As she sat in the summerhouse, looking at her painting equipment spread on the table in front of her, she became newly aware of a growth of unexpected commonsense, which helped revitalise her even further. It built on the fact of her father’s passing; of Ruby caring so well for Stepmother. And of her own need for love growing ever more urgent as day followed day.
Walking back to the house, she knew now that she would accept Hugh’s proposal of marriage. What a steadfast friend he had proved himself, offering help and affection. She smiled then, wondering at this new vision of life. Without doubt he would be a good husband. She and Hugh, in that new house, living their new lives. Yes, when he called again, she would take him into the quietness of the garden, and say, ‘Dear Hugh, I would like to marry you. And as soon as you like.’
But next morning that comforting world crashed. Nicholas’s letter came as a disturbing breakdown of her sensible plans of the previous evening. She took the letter upstairs to her bedroom, opening it with trembling hands.
‘Dear Miss Redding.’
For a second she was distraught; what had she expected? Not this formal, cold address. Confusion raced through her mind: she was going to marry Hugh so why should she feel like this because Nicholas had written what was most certainly just a note of condolence, and nothing more?
Trying unsuccessfully to quieten her mind, she read on.
Hester, I write this note to offer you my sympathy on losing your father. I send you my loving thoughts, althou
gh I know they are not acceptable. You will now, doubtless, engage on a new life which I pray will be happy and fruitful. I am leaving shortly on a further expedition which will give me, also, a new direction in life. Because we won’t meet again, I must tell you that I will always remember you, continue to love you and hope you will find success with your God-given talent for painting.
Beloved Hester, you stay in my thoughts and dreams. Your smile, your beauty and the memory of that one precious moment of our coming together. Forgive me for this, but I will always love you. Dear Hester, goodbye.
Nicholas Thorne.
She sat there for a long time, tears falling and then drying on her cheeks as she looked at the strong, slanting handwriting, hearing his resonant voice, feeling again the joy of that intimate embrace, and wondering how life could so suddenly turn on its axis, sending her from comfortable commonsense into emotional chaos.
Only when Ruby appeared at her door was she able to control her thoughts and wearily return to the routine of domestic duties. She looked in the mirror, wiped her face, glanced back at Ruby. ‘Thank you for what you’re doing. I couldn’t have managed the last few weeks without you.’ She watched as Ruby nodded, went to the open window and rearranged the curtains.
‘Me and Mr Hugh.’ Ruby’s voice was calm, more mature, and reassuring.
Hester smoothed her hair, sighed and tried to hide the ever-returning expression of grief, but knew Ruby understood. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We mustn’t forget Mr Hugh. He’ll be coming around this evening. We have a lot to talk about.’
They looked at each other, then Ruby nodded. ‘I’ll take Mrs Redding upstairs. You can be alone in the drawing room.’
‘Thank you.’
Ruby stood by the door before turning, smiling and saying very quietly, ‘I hope you’ll be happy with him, Miss Redding.’
A hint of doubt, Hester thought. She was silent, and then she sighed. So Ruby knew about Nicholas, did she? Of course, every young girl always dreamed of romantic love; she and Ruby were of one mind. But it wasn’t to be.
‘If not happy, Ruby, at least I’ll know that I’ve done the right thing. Father would be pleased.’
They went downstairs together and parted in the hall, Ruby heading for the kitchen and Hester going to find Stepmother and continue the seemingly everlasting business of comforting her.
So this was what life was about. Dreams, joys, nightmares, and the ongoing reality of trying to find the right way. One thing sustained her, trying to push aside the pain of Nicholas’s last letter. He loved her. And like him, she would never forget.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Aunt Jacks’ brisk voice soared through the hallway. ‘Hester, are you there? I have a message for you.’
Hester came down from her stepmother’s bedroom, now becoming a cosy boudoir. Ruby had suggested this and so Hoskins and the lift man were arranging the furniture around the new day bed.
‘Wait a minute, Aunt Jacks – I’ll come down.’
‘No, I’ll come up.’
They smiled at each other, meeting on the upstairs landing, and Jacks opened her arms. Hester flew into them. Comfort was very important now, with Father gone, Stepmother in a constant tizzy of tears, Nicholas forever at the back of her mind and the next meeting with Hugh an uneasy shadow. ‘Lovely to see you, Aunt. Come downstairs and we’ll have a cup of coffee. And you must see the new lift – it’s going to be so helpful.’ She laughed. ‘All thanks to Ruby, whose ideas seem to go on for ever. Now she’s suggested we get an invalid carriage for Stepmother so that she can be wheeled around the garden.’
‘A good idea. She’s turning out to be a most unusual girl. And Emma’s companion now? Well, well! But such a blessing to you, I’m sure. Now, never mind that... .’ Jacks set off down the stairs. ‘No coffee, thanks, I can’t stay, dear child. Off to Hayward Nursery to get something colourful for the garden because the slugs have demolished all the delphiniums. Yes, I know we’re in mourning, and I really shouldn’t be out and about like this, but life has to go on. And I’ve got my rose day in a week or so and must have the June borders looking their best. But I have something to tell you.’
Hester took her aunt’s arm. ‘Come into the morning room where it’s sunny.’
Sitting down, she looked at her aunt’s shrewd eyes and sensed excitement. ‘So what is this message?’
‘Well... .’ Jacks produced a folded letter from one pocket and fumbled for her spectacles in the other one. ‘Emily has written. You remember Emily Watson?’
‘Of course I do. The painting lady. She inspired me.’
Jacks chuckled as she opened the letter. ‘Well, it seems that you must have made an impact on her, if not actually inspiring her, dear child! She writes that she is a judge for the Kew Painting Competition and has come across an entry which is a watercolour of a flower, and she thinks it could possibly be yours.’
Hester frowned. ‘But I have never entered a competition. Is there a name on the painting? Surely that would tell her.’
‘This is what she says.’ And Jacks adjusted her spectacles. ‘ “This entry reminds me of your niece’s work because of the true colours, the grace of the composition and the nice touch of the little grub climbing up the stem. Some painters do this, but not many. Please ask your niece about this. I am not writing to her personally as I imagine she has many letters of condolence to answer at this sad time. My sympathies to her, please, Jacks. And let me know as soon as possible.” ’
Silently, they looked at each other. Aunt Jacks put away her spectacles. ‘What do you think, Hester?’
‘I have no idea. It’s a mystery. No one has any of my paintings.’ She thought. ‘Except Ruby, and that’s in her new bedroom.’ She laughed. ‘The dandelion – she took it with her when she moved down. No, it’s not that one. And no one else has one.’
A memory touched her indistinctly, slowly growing in reality. The art room in Newton Abbot. The tutor with his black coat and outlandish hat. ‘But yes, I offered Mr Flynn one of my paintings because he’d so kindly arranged for me to meet Mr Hayward. I let him choose it from my portfolio.’
Aunt Jacks tutted. ‘Did you sign it?’
‘No, should I have done?’ Hester looked askance at her aunt, who was getting to her feet.
‘If the painting really is yours, then clearly he’s played a disgusting trick on you, entering it as his own. Go and see him immediately and demand an explanation.’
‘But—’
‘My dear girl, be sensible. It’s possible that this man is cheating you, so you must do something about it. When I’m in town I’ll telegraph to Emily, tell her that you will see this man and then be going to London to sort it all out.’ Aunt Jacks walked briskly to the door, turning to look back at Hester who sat on, eyes wide with surprise.
‘But I can’t just go to London—’
‘Whyever not? The train only takes three or four hours to reach Paddington and then you can get a cab to Emily’s house in Kensington. Here’s her letter so that you can see her address. I’m sure she would be delighted to give you a bed for the night. Go to the bank when you’re seeing this Flynn man and make sure you have enough money.’
‘Yes, of course, I suppose I could, but... .’
Aunt Jacks heaved a sigh. ‘Hester, really! Do you need a nursemaid to help you live your life? Surely you understand that women can do anything these days?’ She threw the letter onto the table. ‘Dear child, just go. Sort out this muddle and then come home again. It’s as simple as that. Now I must dash. Let me know when you come back, won’t you?’
Hester followed her aunt out of the room. ‘Yes, of course, Aunt.’
‘Goodbye, then.’
‘Goodbye.’
The front door opened, Aunt Jacks climbed into the trap and Hester began to laugh as excitement raced through her.
Yes, she would go to London. But first she must find Mr Flynn. Her shock had gone now, and she felt a heated anger rising in its place. If he really had stol
en her painting, then how dare he? And if Emily Watson, one of the judges of the competition, thought her entry was good – surely that meant her talent might be recognized.
Passion mounted. So she was back to painting. Colours – cerulean blue, smoky ochre, all the crimsons – and flowers; the slow build-up of form on white paper; the instinctive knowledge of how to do it. Those timeless moments of creativity when she was in a different world. It was all coming back. This was what she was meant to do. Never mind Hugh and his imminent proposal, never mind worrying about Stepmother and how to run dreary Oak House, her muse was calling her, demanding full attention now. She must sort out her dreams and ambitions and take this new, wonderful step forward.
And then, out of the blue, came another thought, sharp and joyous even though it was tinged with sadness: she wished Nicholas could know about her return to painting.
Upstairs, she put on her veiled black hat, flung on a black coat, picked up her reticule and went down into the hall, calling for Ruby as she went.
‘What is it, Miss Redding?’ Ruby, also in black, but with her brilliant hair lightening the sombre dress, came out of the glass pantry, a list in her hand.
‘Please ask Hoskins to get the trap ready, I have to go into town.’
Ruby’s eyes widened. ‘Of course. I’ll tell him straightaway.’ At the top of the kitchen stairs she paused and looked back to where Hester was standing by the hall mirror, adjusting her hat. ‘Is there anything I can do, Miss Redding? What’s happened?’
The familiar curiosity made Hester smile. ‘Yes, something has come up. And I may have to go away for a night—’ She stopped, thoughts whirling. ‘A few days – I don’t know, it all depends.’ She met Ruby’s eyes. ‘I can’t tell you what all this is about, but I will, when I know myself.’ Conscience struck then and her voice grew tight. ‘One other thing, Ruby. If Mr Hugh calls this evening, please just tell him that I’ve been called away urgently.’ They looked at each other. ‘On business. That’s all he needs to know.’
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