Into the Blue Read Online Free PDF

paper neatly pushed to one side. Her flowers had gone.
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    Ruby was slowly getting used to service in Oak House. Mrs Caunter was an old dragon, but she cooked lovely meals and already Ruby could feel the waist of her dress getting tighter. Her bedroom wasn’t bad, small and square up in the attic, reached by a flight of wooden stairs which creaked with every step, reaching a tiny space between her and Mrs Caunter’s room. The wallpaper was decorated with cherries, and there was a washbasin and a chest with drawers, one of them a good hiding place for the secret paper. A chair stood beside a window looking out over green trees and a distant view of Dartmoor, all blue and grey in the mist. The iron bedstead had a pillow, clean sheets and a good wool blanket topped by a colourful patchwork counterpane.
    Ruby wondered who had sewn this and where the many squares of cotton had come from. Perhaps someone in the household – a nanny, a governess? – had spent their evenings cutting and pinning and sewing. She quite liked the idea of all that work going into her bedcover. It was a satisfying bit of work which added up to being useful and part of a busy life. She began to dream. She would like to sew something – it would make her feel a real part of the house.
    She thought she would be happy here. Mr and Mrs Redding were old and wrapped up in their own lives. She had to make sure she was polite and bob a curtsey when they expected it, because she needed them to like her. And Hoskins, the groom and gardener, was all right. Not much to say, but he gave her a lovely flower yesterday. ‘Here you are, maid. Buttercup. Put it under yer chin and see if you likes butter... .’
    Remembering, Ruby giggled as she went downstairs, having dusted and polished the bedrooms and cleaned the bathroom and landing. She was taking all the rubbish out to the bin, where Hoskins had a weekly bonfire. This was mostly dust, cobwebs, bits of unwanted paper, hair combings (poor Mrs Redding was thin on top, under her cap) and today there were the weeds that Miss Hester had forgotten to throw away, leaving them on the desk in the room next to her bedroom.

    Ruby tipped the rubbish, then returned to the house and found herself thinking about Miss Hester as she did so. Miss Hester was tall, very upright and pretty, with deep brown hair which she rolled up around her head. A few curls always fell down her neck and sometimes on her cheeks. She had a lovely voice – Ruby thought about trying to imitate the way she spoke – and was polite but seemed to live in a different world.
    â€˜Why isn’t Miss Hester married?’ Ruby asked Mrs Caunter. ‘Hasn’t she got a beau?’
    Mrs Caunter glared. ‘Don’t you say things about Miss Hester, my gal. She’s a lady, different from us. Ladies take as long as they wants to marry. And yes, o’ course she’s got a young man. Mr Hugh Marchant is keen on her and I wouldn’t be surprised... .’ And here Mrs Caunter gave a huge wink and changed the subject. ‘None of our business. Go and get some parsley for these potatoes, Ruby. And don’t stop out there talking to Hoskins.’
    So Miss Hester would soon get married. That meant she would leave here. Good. Ruby, handing over the parsley, started laying the luncheon tray and thought about her secret.
    Always there at the back of her mind, the old paper upstairs, a nice warm glow making the worst household jobs bearable because she knew that in the end everything would work out. Not yet, of course. She had to live here much longer before the plan could start to happen. But then there was Miss Hester.
    â€˜Ruby!’ Mrs Caunter broke into her thoughts. ‘Hurry up, gal, you haven’t laid the table yet – dreamin’ again, I dunno.’
    Ruby pouted, shrugged and got on with the work. She had plenty of time to learn what sort of person Miss Hester was.
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    Hester was ablaze