Into the Blue (13 page)

Use it well.

Thank you, Emily Watson, I will, oh, I will.

New strength came. ‘Father, please forgive me. Please try and understand, because I have to do this.'

The room was warm, stuffy, redolent of winter fires and cigars, and a welcome touch of fragrance from a vase of double white lilac. Hester sat back in her chair, watching her father's face, tight, with inner thoughts chasing across it.

For a moment her own thoughts wandered. This room, full of law books of past court cases, with watercolours of Dartmoor on the walls, was full of memories. Father's study had always been sacrosanct, never entered without permission. Here she had come for lectures on bad behaviour and sometimes, on birthdays, to be given presents, smiles and kind words.

The red patterned carpet was faded; long velvet curtains which had once been the same red and now were pale cherry colour were forever in her memory and always would be.

A shiver pricked her spine. She was leaving here but part of her, that happy, cherished childhood, would remain. She must think more positively.
Forget the memories, see it as it is.

She got up, walked to the window and released a fluttering tortoiseshell butterfly caught in a curtainfold. Pulling down the sash she watched it fly towards the garden and envied it. This is what she must do: fly away.

She turned. ‘Father, I'm not a child any longer. I'm a woman and I need your permission – and love.' The last word slipped out unbidden, and she saw his face soften.

He got to his feet, running a hand down his leg, and came to her side in the sunlit space of the big window. ‘Hester... .'

Something in his voice renewed her hope.

‘Hester, you are my daughter, my only link with your dear mother whom I grew to love. Yes—' He looked at her very intently. ‘Ours was an arranged marriage, but soon we became friends – companions, I might say – and then... .' The pause was a long one. ‘Lovers.' Silence, and then, in almost a whisper, ‘I was lost, I missed her so when she went... .' Another pause while he looked out of the window into what Hester instinctively knew were memories. ‘Yes, I missed her very much.' His voice was soft and he blinked into the sunlight.

Clearing his throat he turned and she thought she saw something warm – loving? – on his face as he looked at her. ‘Come and sit down. Yes, we must talk this thing out.' Taking her hand he led her back to
the chair she had just left and seated himself behind the desk. For a long moment he looked at her.

‘You want me to understand your needs, but I need you to understand mine. Ours, Hester.' He nodded emphatically. ‘Your stepmother is my wife now and I must care for her. So... .'

Hester sat upright, her body stiff, eyes glued to his face. She had no idea what he would say next. Would it be understanding or disapproving judgment? Her hands knotted in her lap.

‘If you leave this house – your home, Hester – you will need to find somewhere else to live. By yourself. No servants, no parents to lay the law down.' A smile flickered briefly. ‘You will earn a wage, which I can assure you will be nothing compared with the allowance I give you. Your accommodation will be poor with none of the comforts you experience here. Are you prepared for all this?'

Her mind racing, she thought hard. His words conjured up facts which she had chosen to ignore. All she had wanted was freedom. But to live alone? Her breathing slowed and she allowed a few moments to pass while the images and thoughts chased around her head. And then, at last, she knew the answer.

‘Yes, Father. Thank you for pointing out to me just how hard it will be. I hadn't considered that. But now I have decided. I shall work and live apart from you and Stepmother. I need to be free.'

Slowly he nodded, eyes fixed on her face. ‘Very well. Then you must go and face whatever trials lay ahead of you, alone and without any help. No good coming back, Hester, when the money runs out, when the rent is due and your commissions are not paying enough. And don't forget that you have to buy food. And clothes. And painting equipment. But you will do it, you say.'

They seemed locked in their closeness, their separate needs. Arthur Redding breathed very deeply and noisily. ‘I cannot give you my blessing because I do not think you should do this. And I would remind you of something you have evidently forgotten: because of my love for you I shall live in fear of what is happening to you, but it is very clear that you have no love for me, your father, who has nurtured you through all the years of our lives together.' A distasteful expression spread across his face. ‘Perhaps not the love you seek – sentimental, overflowing and effusive – but a strong sense of what is
the best thing to do. How to bring up my daughter; care for her; see that she has a safe life ahead of her as I grow older and more infirm. Love that says I must provide for her when I am gone.'

The room was too warm, too stuffy. Hester ordered herself to stay calm, but her thoughts ran too fast, too painfully, and she slumped in her chair.

He stared across the desk. ‘No, Hester, it is plain that you are happy to forget all that, and so I have to understand, as you say, and watch you fly off, like that butterfly you've just released, into the blue, which may well cloud over in a day or two, bringing dark clouds and extreme unhappiness.'

She had not expected any of this and the slow delivery of such true and revealing thoughts was a wound to her heart. ‘Father, I-I don't know what to say. Of course I know you love me, as I love you, but I have to go.'

Silence grew. Pain, resentment, frustration, a void of non-understanding, deep and ugly, lay open between them.

Then there was a step outside the door and Emma's voice came between them, splitting the emotional charge filling the room. ‘Arthur, dear, are you ready for luncheon? Ruby is carrying up the trays. I have no idea where Hester is.'

It was done, finished, all over, everything said and final, inescapable boundaries laid out. Arthur Redding nodded at Hester. ‘Time to go,' he said, getting to his feet, and she thought she heard irony in his unsteady, harsh voice.

Luncheon. Ruby grinning at Stepmother and offering assistance whether needed or not. Father grimly silent. Hester felt that the overblown emotional feelings around her were too painful to be borne. She picked at her meal while Stepmother ventured a few vapid remarks about the weather. Father grunted and kept his eyes down. And in the silence, Ruby, Hester felt, was taking it all in: wondering, guessing, hoping for something to her advantage?

Leaving the room when the meal ended, Hester escaped to her bedroom and sat on the bed, her thoughts a confusing mixture of words, ideas, places and people. Eventually she calmed and was able to think sensibly.

Tomorrow was the start of her new life. She must rise early, leaving the house without any terrible goodbyes. Catch the early omnibus in the village, reach Newton Abbot and book a room at The Globe Hotel for a few days. She would soon find more suitable and cheaper accommodation.

Before that she must sell her jewels. The sandalwood box was emptied into a chamois bag. Taking out each piece – three rings, strings of pearls and moonstones, the Venetian glass beads, Grandmother's topaz pendant and matching eardrops, the set of rubies and Mother's cameo brooch – Hester wondered if this bid for liberation would help Father to realize that she knew what she was doing; that she understood the need for careful future undertakings.

Her packing was soon done. Just enough clothes and toilet pieces in the valise, along with the bag of jewellery, to last for a day or two.
Her painting equipment went into a smaller bag, her reticule was filled with purse and more personal things. How would she carry it all? Momentarily she wondered about getting Hoskins to drive her into town, but then decided against it.
I must be independent
. When she had an address she would send a message to Father to instruct Ruby to pack up the rest of her belongings and arrange for the carrier to bring them to her.

And then she thought of what she owed her family. Aunt Jacks should be told, but mustn't be involved in this escape, so just a note of explanation. And a letter to Father. A short, loving note, saying she hoped he would soon change his feelings about her departure. That she would write again. She wrote these letters with great concentration, addressing them and leaving them to be found in her empty bedroom tomorrow.

Dinner time and the same silence. Clearly, Father had told Stepmother about the morning's emotional confrontation. After painting in the afternoon, Hester pleaded a headache and retired early. She felt guilty, but increasingly filled with the passion that told her that it was right to go. To escape, like the butterfly, out into the blue freedom.

She slept badly, awaking with the dawn chorus. As she dressed she heard the blackbird in the pear tree, and realized she would no longer hear it in town.
Stop being sentimental. Painting is more important than birdsong. Hurry up and leave.

Carrying her bags as well as the painting slope was difficult. She crept down the stairs and then paused on the landing, aware of the silence, until a figure stepped out from behind her and she turned quickly.

‘Ruby!'

‘Yes, Miss. I'll help you carry that thing. You've got enough with those bags and your reticule.' The girl took the slope, smiled and gestured Hester to precede her down the stairs.

Disconcerted, Hester reached the hall and then turned to take the slope from the girl's hands, but Ruby shook her head. ‘You can't manage it all by yourself, Miss.' She paused. ‘I dunno where you're going, but if I can help... .'

‘I'm catching the omnibus in the village.' The words came out
unthought. Hester couldn't think straight. Ruby was spoiling all her well-laid plans.

‘Tell you what, Miss, I'll come with you to the bus stop. Carry this ole thing for you. No one'll want me yet. I'll get me coat.' She disappeared, returning with her coat done up, hiding her apron, a scarf over her hair, taking the slope from Hester's hands and unlocking the front door. ‘Lovely morning,' she said. ‘But you've forgotten something, Miss – your blue plant out there in the rockery.'

Hester sucked in a breath and let anger unroll itself. This girl knew too much. What was happening? She said sharply, ‘Why do you think I want to take it, Ruby?'

The girl turned, and their eyes met. Ruby smiled. ‘Cos I reckon you're leaving, Miss. Taking your luggage and that painting thing. Going somewhere else. And you'll miss that blue flower, won't you?'

Hester stopped, put her bag on the ground, and stared as a shutter opened in her bewildered mind. ‘Ruby, you've been listening You've eavesdropped. If my father knew he would dismiss you – without a character.'

Ruby laughed, a deep-throated, confident sound that Hester stepped away from. ‘He won't never do that, Miss. I'm too useful to be put off. No, I'm here now and I'm gonna stay. When you've gone I'll see to the house, give the orders, see it runs all right. And I'll look after the old folks. They can't do without me, see?'

‘What do you mean? What are you saying? You're a wicked girl, I always knew it.'

Ruby's smile vanished, her little cat-face fiercely determined. ‘I won't tell you why now, Hester, cos you've got enough troubles in front of you, I reckon, leaving home like this. But when you come back – if you come back – then I'll tell you. It's a secret I've kept ever since my ma died, so won't hurt to keep it a bit longer, but tell you what, Hester, you oughta be grateful I'm here to take over now you're goin' off and leaving them.'

She's calling me Hester. She's behaving as if she were a girl of my own class. I don't understand.
She had no words; only jumbled thoughts which she couldn't express.

In silence they continued, reaching the village and the main road.
Hooves in the distance approached. ‘Jest in time,' said Ruby brightly. ‘Hope you get on all right. Send me a message if I can help.' When the bus halted beside them, she waited for Hester to climb aboard and then handed up the painting slope.

Her smile was friendly and bemused, Hester thought the words carried a loving message. How ridiculous: Ruby was a servant. But, even so, she had helped, carrying the wretched slope up that long hill. ‘Goodbye,' Hester said faintly. ‘And – thank you... .'

The omnibus rumbled away and Hester saw Ruby waiting, waving farewell before she turned, running down the lane, back to Oak House.

She's going home. And I've just left it
. Hester sat in thought as the omnibus jolted along, soon reaching Newton Abbot and depositing her by the market. The Globe Hotel had a room to let, so she paid a deposit, leaving her baggage before ordering coffee and toast in the dining room. Realism hit her. This breakfast might well be a meal that must last – where would she find her luncheon? The money in her purse would not last long and Father would, of course, stop her allowance. So the jewels must be sold. But first she must start painting Mr Hayward's flowers.

Thinking bravely, clutching the painting slope and her reticule, she headed for the Hayward Nursery. Walking along, she banished the temptation to feel nervous, to wonder if she was doing the right thing after all. She must remember Emily Watson's words, grab this opportunity, and greet Mr Hayward and – she caught her breath – Nicholas with a confident smile.

Behave like Emily and I'll be successful. I will – I will.

 

Ruby took morning tea up to Mrs Redding's room and then hot water to Mr Redding's dressing room with a huge smile on her face. ‘Good morning, Madam,' she said, and then, less exuberantly, ‘Good morning, Sir.' Oh, what a shock they were going to have!

Back in the kitchen she told Mrs Caunter that Miss Hester had left home.

‘No!' shrieked Mrs Caunter, almost dropping her mug of tea. ‘You're making it up!'

‘No, I'm not. I helped her carry her stuff up the hill to the bus.
She's gone, all right. But the Mistress and Master don't know – not yet. I dessay she left a note or something – I'll go up and look.' Ruby preened herself, thinking of the new responsibilities which were bound to be offered her now. ‘If she didn't then I s'pose I shall have to tell them meself... .' She flounced out of the room and ran up the stairs and into Hester's bedroom.

‘Well, I never.' Mrs Caunter's ageing mind tried to work out why Miss Hester had gone. And then she wondered about Ruby, getting so much above herself, almost like trying to run the household. ‘Somethin's up,' Mrs Caunter muttered. ‘Always thought she were a bad lot.' But it was time to start the breakfast, so she creaked to her feet and reached for pans and pots.

Ruby felt the emptiness of Hester's room hit her as she came to an abrupt stop just inside the door. The bed was crumpled, as if last night had been a restless one. No painting things inside the studio. She looked around. The jewel box was open and empty, but on the dressing table were two envelopes, sealed and addressed.

Mrs Jacquetta Hirst.

Arthur Redding, Esquire.

Ruby's uneasy sense of something painful left her. She was right – here were the notes. She picked them up, turned them over, felt the seals but realized she couldn't open them.
Don't matter, I'll be there when Master opens his – I'll see what she says.

She waited until Master and Mistress were in the dining room, safely sitting down, opening the newspaper, unfolding napkins, before she produced the two envelopes. Didn't want them to fall down with shock, did she?

‘Found these in Miss Hester's room, Master,' she said, her face expressionless.

‘What?' He took them, looking up at her. ‘Where is Miss Hester? She's late coming down.'

‘Don't know, sir,' lied Ruby, close to his elbow.

His eyes were narrow, mouth tightly pursed. With his knife, he ripped open the envelope addressed to him, pulled out a sheet of paper and read it.

Ruby heard his breathing quicken as she edged nearer. She made out the first words,
Dear Father
, but suddenly Arthur Redding threw
down the letter, tried to stand up, and then sank back in his chair. ‘Gone,' he muttered. And then, louder and explosive, ‘Gone! My daughter, my Hester. I didn't think... .'

‘What, dear?' Mrs Redding stared down the table. ‘What has Hester done? I don't understand... .'

Ruby looked at the pale, disturbed face and wanted to comfort her mistress, but there was no time. Master drooped in his chair, face suddenly grey and twisted, left hand collapsing by his side, one leg outstretched but seemingly lifeless. He tried to speak but she couldn't make out the words, although they sounded like ‘my fault ... too late . . . Hester – Hest—' and then his head fell to one side, body crumpling like a rag doll.

Mistress screamed and wept but Ruby had no time to help her. She raced from the room, down the stairs and into the garden. ‘Hoskins! Hoskins! Come 'ere!'

He appeared, giving her his usual surly frown. ‘No need to shout – what d'you want?'

Ruby's heart raced. She didn't know she cared so much. ‘Master's ill. Go and get the doctor – quick, quick... .'

 

Hester walked through the town, reaching Hayward Nursery a few minutes before the clock in St Leonard's Tower, a quarter of a mile away, struck nine. The painting slope was heavy and she paused at the entrance, smoothing her crumpled sleeve where it had lain, straightening her shoulders, and taking a long, deep breath.

The door to the house was open but she stopped, uncertain. ‘Good morning,' she said hesitantly, hoping someone inside would hear her. Nicholas, perhaps? Or his father? Or was there a housekeeper? No answer. She repeated the words, louder this time and took a step over the threshold. There was the office, straight ahead of her. Should she go in, uninvited? Thoughts raced. Abruptly she realized she had no idea of how working women behaved, or of the relationship between employer and employee. This was harder than she thought, and she'd only just started.

‘Miss Redding.'

Twisting around, she let the slope fall to the floor. Confused, she looked into Nicholas Thorne's face and knew a blissful second of
reassurance as he smiled, his straightforward gaze friendly.

‘You keep dropping things, Hester.' Bending, he picked up the slope.

His amusement helped to banish the shyness. ‘I do, don't I? So silly of me.' And then she heard herself add, ‘A good thing you're always near to retrieve them, Nicholas.' No – what was she saying? He must think her flirtatious, shallow. Why couldn't she behave properly?

‘Come into the office and see your table. I've cleared things up a bit. Will this do? You said you wanted to be near the window.' Gesturing her to go ahead, he followed her into the little room.

She looked around, suddenly grateful to be here, to see where she would work, to know that in a minute the familiar painting things would be around her, the feel of the brush in her hands, the dividers open and measuring, variations of colours running around her mind, Mr Hayward's flowers calling out to be painted. She looked at him and smiled, allowing her feelings to show. ‘Thank you, Nicholas. It's lovely. I shall be happy here.' She felt herself again, Hester Redding, on her way to becoming a botanical artist, no longer the foolish young woman, so nervous and unsure of the new world around her.

His eyes were as bright as the gentian she had left at home as he returned her smile, and his deep voice a touch lighter when he said quietly, ‘And we're happy to have you, Hester. Now—' He paused at the door, a tall, powerful figure, a gardener dressed in a brown suit with patches on the elbows of the jacket and stains darkening the creased trousers. ‘If it's not too personal a question, have you had any breakfast? I don't want you to work on an empty stomach and Mrs Kent can always produce something if necessary.'