Read Online Ruby Flynn by Nadine Dorries - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nadine Dorries
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tenants on one of the farms. Betsy has been in and out of the castle kitchen since she was a child. You’ll notice that the staff mostly call Lord and Lady FitzDeane “Lord Charles” and “Lady Isobel”. It’s not strictly correct, but everyone likes it, especially Lord Charles.’
They had reached the central grand flight of stairs and Mrs McKinnon paused at the top.
‘We never use this flight of stairs. The only time you will see a member of staff on these stairs is when cleaning and polishing is taking place. When you are heading back down to the basement, always use the green door.’ She turned and pointed back at the door they had passed through, which had closed almost silently behind them.
Ruby could barely keep herself from gawping at the paintings and the furniture surrounding her. All along the minstrels’ gallery, the walls were lined with tall white marble statues. Twenty of them, one in quite a startling state of undress.
‘Don’t look,’ Mrs McKinnon snapped sharply. ‘I can tell straight away when the girls have as much as laid their eyes on that statue.’ She turned her head and closed her eyes as she spoke, to add effect to the severity of her words. ‘I send Mr McKinnon along to dust and clean it along with the rest of them.’
Ruby obediently kept her head held high and her eyes low while Mrs McKinnon explained that Lord FitzDeane’s ancestor had the statues transported over from Italy when he had spent a year travelling around Europe.
‘Despite it being such a holy country, they appear to have little shame over there,’ she said.
Ruby thought they were the most beautiful things she had ever seen. The marble shone, reflecting the light from the chandelier. Cheekily, she let her hand drift across the knee of one of the statues as they walked past. It felt cold. Later, when she was recounting it all to Betsy, she nearly said, ‘As cold as anything I have ever felt,’ but the words stuck in her throat. It wouldn’t have been true. Ruby had felt the coldest things. She had felt ice like wire in her blood, slipping through her veins and puncturing her heart. Like a wound that never heals, she felt it there still. Ruby told herself that the cold in her heart would leave on the day she escaped and made her way back to Doohoma. She knew her heart would heal on that day. As nice as Mrs McKinnon was, escape she would.
‘It is a shock to the system to see a painting that size if you’ve never seen one before.’ Mrs McKinnon noticed Ruby staring at a large painting of a family taking a picnic. It was six times the height of Mrs McKinnon and Ruby had to tilt her head back to take in the top of the painting.
There were children playing in a field, with the castle in the background and sitting on chairs around a rug were ladies wearing long dresses and men in tall hats. In the forefront of the painting stood a little girl, holding a plate up to the group while looking back at the artist and smiling.
‘Ruby,’ said Mrs McKinnon. There was no reply. ‘Ruby,’ she said slightly louder, ‘are you all right? You look terribly pale.’
Again there was no response and Mrs McKinnon watched in horror as Ruby fainted dead away.
Mrs McKinnon shouted downstairs for Jane to fetch the smelling salts and for Betsy to bring a glass of water. As she came round, Ruby thought that never in her life had she smelt anything so unbearable as those smelling salts.
‘What was it, Ruby?’ Mrs McKinnon asked.
‘I’m not sure.’ Ruby coughed and spluttered into the handkerchief Mrs McKinnon had taken from her apron pocket.
‘You looked as if you had seen a ghost. Had you? Was it a woman?’
‘I have never seen a ghost before, I haven’t got a clue what one looks like,’ Ruby replied.
‘Ah no, well you wouldn’t,’Mrs McKinnon said. ‘Ghosts have no use of the poor. I’ve never heard of one haunting a sod house, or prowling across an earth floor. Ghosts need minstrels’ galleries and oak
They had reached the central grand flight of stairs and Mrs McKinnon paused at the top.
‘We never use this flight of stairs. The only time you will see a member of staff on these stairs is when cleaning and polishing is taking place. When you are heading back down to the basement, always use the green door.’ She turned and pointed back at the door they had passed through, which had closed almost silently behind them.
Ruby could barely keep herself from gawping at the paintings and the furniture surrounding her. All along the minstrels’ gallery, the walls were lined with tall white marble statues. Twenty of them, one in quite a startling state of undress.
‘Don’t look,’ Mrs McKinnon snapped sharply. ‘I can tell straight away when the girls have as much as laid their eyes on that statue.’ She turned her head and closed her eyes as she spoke, to add effect to the severity of her words. ‘I send Mr McKinnon along to dust and clean it along with the rest of them.’
Ruby obediently kept her head held high and her eyes low while Mrs McKinnon explained that Lord FitzDeane’s ancestor had the statues transported over from Italy when he had spent a year travelling around Europe.
‘Despite it being such a holy country, they appear to have little shame over there,’ she said.
Ruby thought they were the most beautiful things she had ever seen. The marble shone, reflecting the light from the chandelier. Cheekily, she let her hand drift across the knee of one of the statues as they walked past. It felt cold. Later, when she was recounting it all to Betsy, she nearly said, ‘As cold as anything I have ever felt,’ but the words stuck in her throat. It wouldn’t have been true. Ruby had felt the coldest things. She had felt ice like wire in her blood, slipping through her veins and puncturing her heart. Like a wound that never heals, she felt it there still. Ruby told herself that the cold in her heart would leave on the day she escaped and made her way back to Doohoma. She knew her heart would heal on that day. As nice as Mrs McKinnon was, escape she would.
‘It is a shock to the system to see a painting that size if you’ve never seen one before.’ Mrs McKinnon noticed Ruby staring at a large painting of a family taking a picnic. It was six times the height of Mrs McKinnon and Ruby had to tilt her head back to take in the top of the painting.
There were children playing in a field, with the castle in the background and sitting on chairs around a rug were ladies wearing long dresses and men in tall hats. In the forefront of the painting stood a little girl, holding a plate up to the group while looking back at the artist and smiling.
‘Ruby,’ said Mrs McKinnon. There was no reply. ‘Ruby,’ she said slightly louder, ‘are you all right? You look terribly pale.’
Again there was no response and Mrs McKinnon watched in horror as Ruby fainted dead away.
Mrs McKinnon shouted downstairs for Jane to fetch the smelling salts and for Betsy to bring a glass of water. As she came round, Ruby thought that never in her life had she smelt anything so unbearable as those smelling salts.
‘What was it, Ruby?’ Mrs McKinnon asked.
‘I’m not sure.’ Ruby coughed and spluttered into the handkerchief Mrs McKinnon had taken from her apron pocket.
‘You looked as if you had seen a ghost. Had you? Was it a woman?’
‘I have never seen a ghost before, I haven’t got a clue what one looks like,’ Ruby replied.
‘Ah no, well you wouldn’t,’Mrs McKinnon said. ‘Ghosts have no use of the poor. I’ve never heard of one haunting a sod house, or prowling across an earth floor. Ghosts need minstrels’ galleries and oak
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