The House by Princes Park by Maureen Lee Page B

with half the sleeves cut off. His arms and face were very brown and his unlaced boots were planted in the straw, as if he’d grown there likea tree. He didn’t look up from the task of pulling expertly at the teats of a black and white cow, each teat squirting a thin stream of creamy milk into a metal bucket.
    ‘Hello,’ he said, in a voice that wasn’t exactly friendly, but wasn’t unfriendly, either.
    ‘It’s a nice morning.’
    ‘Known few better,’ he grunted.
    Ruby searched her mind for something to say. Jacob never started a conversation, only speaking when he was spoken to. ‘Do you ever listen to the wireless?’ she enquired.
    ‘Haven’t got one,’ Jacob replied.
    ‘We’ve got one in the house. And a gramophone, too.’
    ‘Have you, now.’
    ‘They play music. Do you like music?’
    ‘Music’s all right,’ Jacob conceded.
    ‘You can come and listen, if you like. Come on Saturday, after six o’clock. Emily’s going to the theatre – that’s a place that puts on plays,’ she added, in case Jacob didn’t know.
    Jacob showed no sign of having known or not. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said.
    Mrs Humble came in with a ladle, scooped milk from the bucket and poured it into Ruby’s jug. ‘The eggs are ready,’ she said dully.
    ‘Ta.’ Ruby looked anxiously at Jacob. ‘See you Saturday?’
    ‘You might.’ He still didn’t look up.
    Ruby sighed and made her way slowly back to Brambles, where Mrs Arkwright, the cook, was just hoisting her stout, perspiring body off her bike.
    ‘Got the eggs and milk,’ Ruby announced.
    ‘Have you, now,’ Mrs Arkwright replied, tight-lipped, before wheeling the bike round to the back. Ruby followed. The two didn’t get on. Months ago, on Ruby’s first visit to the kitchen, she had helpfully pointed out theham currently boiling on the stove would taste better with the addition of a bay leaf – something she had learnt in the convent – and Mrs Arkwright immediately saw her as a threat, intent on taking over her job if she wasn’t careful. From thereon, Ruby was discouraged from entering the kitchen.
    The cleaner, Mrs Roberts, was just as discouraging. She was old and weary and made it obvious that Ruby’s constant chatter got on her nerves.
    At least Ernest, the gardener, was friendly, even if he couldn’t hear a word she said, being totally deaf. He’d thrown a rope over one of the apple trees to make a swing.
    Ruby was badly in need of a friend. She found the countryside very dull. There was plenty to do, but she would have liked someone to do it with – she got no satisfaction from playing in the orchard by herself. Tennis was frustrating when there was no one to hit the ball back. She wondered if it was too late to agree to school, though she’d like to bet it was full of posh girls whom she wouldn’t like and she’d regret it straight away. If only Emily would
make
her go. There was a world of difference between being made to do something you didn’t want, and taking the decision yourself. If it turned out horrid you had someone else to blame.
    She went through the kitchen, deposited the eggs and milk on the table and made a face at Mrs Arkwright’s disapproving back.
    For the next half hour, she studied the dictionary in Emily’s late husband’s study. Edwin Dangerfield had been a solicitor specialising in conveyancing which meant transferring things, usually property – Ruby had looked it up. The dictionary was her favourite book and every day she learnt six useful words. Last week, she’d reached ‘B’. She was wondering if there was any point in remembering ‘bacterium’, when she heard Mrs Arkwright make her heavy way upstairs with her employer’s morning coffee.She put the book away and, as soon as the cook came down, she flew up the stairs to see Emily.
    ‘Oh, Gawd!’ Emily groaned when Ruby put her smiling face around the door. ‘You look inordinately cheerful and so bloody
young!
You make me feel at least a