Into the Blue (7 page)

‘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.

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.

 

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.'

No shock? Hester knew he was being untruthful from the moment he came up behind her, putting his arm around her to take her right hand, swinging her arm back over her head. She felt a flush spread through her and pulled away.

But Hugh was intent on the lesson. ‘See?' he said. ‘That's the movement – easy. Try it on your own.'

His arm dropped away and she knew at once that he was teasing her; it didn't matter whether she could serve overarm. It simply meant that he was enjoying her nearness – hand touching her body, feeling her pulling away from him.

She wouldn't let him see her disturbance. Throwing up a ball, she copied the movement he had shown her and felt a thrill of satisfaction as the racquet connected, sending the ball sailing over the net, to land just within the double lines of the court.

Turning, she smiled proudly at the girls sitting by the summerhouse. ‘Why don't you clap? I'm a champion in the making!' But, returning to the chair and another glass of lemonade, she still felt Hugh's touch and she knew she was looking forward to their promised trip to Dartmoor.

Excuses made for not staying for luncheon, they were soon on the road heading for the moor. As they drove up the hilly track over Trendlebere Down towards Manaton, she felt the wind on her face,
slipped her shawl down and took off her hat, giving herself to this new, refreshing world.

Outings to the moor had been childhood treats. If Father had been away on business, Mother and Aunt Jacks had made the day into something wonderful to savour. Hester's feel of the short stubby turf under her boots had been memorable. And the fact that it was studded with yellow flowers was equally exciting.

‘Tormentil.' Aunt Jacks had picked one small specimen and put it carefully inside the brown paper bag she always carried in her pocket on these outings. ‘Hester, at home you must look up the Latin name and repeat it to me tomorrow.'

‘I will, Aunt Jacks. I will.' And so she had.
Potentilla erecta
. Now the name flashed through Hester's mind and she repeated it silently, feeling again the urge to learn, to paint, to create her flora – to live her life far beyond the domestic cage of her home.

Those outings and Aunt Jacks' encouragement had been the start of her passion for wild flowers, and Aunt Jacks was still helping her in the development of that passion. She realized how lucky she was to have such loving help. And then she had a fleeting image of Nicholas Thorne, holding out the single flower he had brought her.

Hugh halted the trap outside the farm at the bottom of the hill leading up to Hay Tor and, suddenly confused at the pleasure that the unexpected image brought, she was glad when his voice cut into her thoughts.

‘Hold the reins, Hester – I'll go and find Daniel and ask him to stable Prince here for a while. I thought you'd like a walk?'

‘I'd love it. Shall we go up to the tors?'

He nodded, disappeared into the house and then came out accompanied by an elderly man with beard and whiskers who took off his hat and bowed politely to Hester. ‘Pony'll be all right here, Miss Redding. Enjoy your walk – good views today. 'Tis clear and lovely.'

She smiled and watched the old man leading the pony into a shed beside the house. Hugh said, ‘Daniel was our groom, he's retired now. Prince will be fine for a while. Come on, Hester. I only hope you're wearing sensible shoes.'

She watched, surprised, as he took a covered basket from the trap, and latched it over his arm. ‘Luncheon. Not at an inn, but somewhere
up there, in the sun. Yes?'

‘Wonderful! What a marvellous thought.'

They began the uphill walk over the heather-dotted turf leading to the huge tors ahead of them. The shadows faded from Hester's mind as she paused, looking around her. The boundless landscape made her heart leap. Golden sunshine, and in the distance indigo shadows, grey, fresh green and many blues.

If only she'd brought her sketchbook. She longed to pin it down on paper. ‘I can see for miles. There's Teignmouth – and oh, ponies!' A small herd of brown ponies came trotting across the track; mares with last year's foals still at heel, all long legs and awkward gangling movements, and the stallion, rough, wild eyed and possessive, rushing his family along.

‘Want a ride?' Hugh was laughing.

‘No thanks – and anyway we're supposed to be walking, not riding. Come on, let's get to the top.'

He pulled at her arm, drawing her to a halt. ‘Not while this basket is so full, thank you. Let's find a comfortable rock and sit down and eat – that one over there.'

It was large enough to shelter them from the fresh wind that sneaked around the tors, and provided a good picnic place. Hester sat down after inspecting the turf for sheep droppings and adders. ‘Why didn't you tell me you were planning this?' She looked at him, opening the basket and spreading its contents on a ledge in the rock beside them.

‘As a conventionally well-brought-up young lady, I knew you would have looked shocked and said no. Alone, with a handsome male?' He laughed. ‘Of course I didn't tell you. That would have spoilt everything.' He looked into her amused eyes, then held out a sandwich. ‘Salmon and cucumber.'

Such pleasure in eating in the open air. Hester's appetite had never been so good. A pair of ravens croaked overhead and the landscape opened wide before her. She thought about his words, and then said, ‘But I'm not really conventional, Hugh.'

‘No?'

She saw his eyes narrow, looking at her intently.

Gathering her courage, she said slowly, ‘I want to be free. I hate
those fussy old conventions. I can't live my life like that.'

He frowned. ‘You're not one of those suffragist women, are you, Hester? Such nuisances, decrying all the virtues of decent womanhood.'

‘No, I'm just a girl who wants to live a freer life.'

She couldn't stop the laughter bubbling up at his mystified expression and then tried to explain. ‘I'm planning to have a career. I'm going to leave home and take my ability to paint flowers into a situation where I can earn my own living.'

Hugh put down his half-eaten sandwich and sat back against the rock. He stared, thoughtful eyes intent on hers, his face suddenly touched with what she sensed was unexpected deep feeling.

She held her breath. Was he going to rant like Father? Or had he the freedom of thought that, even in their brief meeting last week, she had sensed Nicholas Thorne possessed? Then, suddenly, the ponies appeared again, on their way to new feeding grounds, and the moment lengthened.

He put out his hand and took hers. ‘Hester—' His voice was low, his lips beneath the tawny moustache lifting into the hint of a smile. ‘You never cease to amaze me. Overarm serves, no feminine twitterings about this damned wind, and now you're off to make a living from painting. I can't believe it.'

She smiled triumphantly. ‘But you must. Because it's what I'm going to do. Somehow.'

His thumb stroked her hand and curiosity spread over his face. ‘Somehow? That sounds as if difficulties are already appearing. Tell me.'

She breathed deeply and turned away, looking into the distance, searching for the right words. ‘I accept my responsibilities to my parents.' She looked back at him and her voice rose. ‘But surely I have some of my own? To live my life as fully as I can? To step out into the world which is so exciting and full of extraordinary opportunities.' She met his steady gaze. ‘Hugh, don't blame me for wanting this one thing. After all, it's so little – not fame, or riches, but just a chance to see what I can do with the talent I've been given.'

He said nothing but kept looking at her and she felt her cheeks colouring, a sense of unease spreading through her. ‘Well,' she said
sharply, ‘tell me what you think.' Slowly he finished the half-eaten sandwich, offered her another, and she shook her head impatiently. ‘Of course you don't think I can do it. So come on, tell me.'

His voice was quiet. ‘We've been friends for so long, Hester, and, to be honest, I've always hoped we might go deeper.'

She caught her breath, but he was leaning towards her, his face suddenly tightened by what she saw was a new seriousness.

‘Well, you've got your plans, foolish as they sound and I've got mine. But I want you to change your mind. You see, now that I've got my degree I am going into the family firm – a junior partnership to start with. Believe me' – his eyes widened, grew brighter – ‘with younger blood the old business will soon develop. This is a potentially prosperous time and the old firm is already well established.' He laughed. ‘So I see myself as an up-and-coming tycoon! What do you think of that?'

She hesitated, reaching out to the open basket and taking another sandwich. ‘I didn't realize you were so ambitious, Hugh. Are you quite sure that this is what you really want to do? And do you truly think that a small law firm will catapult you to the top?' Biting into the sandwich, she gave him a mocking smile. ‘And what if you're not tycoon material? You like to have fun in life. Are you serious enough to become a businessman?'

He leaned towards her, drawing back her hand as she raised it, and said, with a new sober note in his voice, ‘I'm serious enough about one thing, Hester, and that's you.'