Free Ruby Flynn by Nadine Dorries

staircases, like this one. They need old houses and castles. Ghosts are a curse to the rich and it’s a blessing to the poor that they don’t have to tolerate them.’
    ‘Are there really ghosts here at Ballyford?’ Ruby looked about her uneasily, as though expecting to see one lounging against a wall watching her, casually examining a fingernail. ‘Surely the heat beating out of that fireplace in the main hall would scare away any ghosts. Wouldn’t the dog bark?’
    ‘The dog?’ Mrs McKinnon raised her eyebrows in exasperation. ‘Rufus?’ He sleeps so much, he would never notice if a ghost were to lie down next to him. Aye, there are ghosts, I am sorry to report and they are ghosts with a taste for wool carpets and fireplaces and big soft chairs and sofas. It is a fussy ghost with a taste for splendour and it lives at Ballyford. Oh, don’t worry you won’t see it in your room. There’s no carpet or chandelier in there.’
    With the help of Betsy and Jane, Mrs McKinnon had lifted Ruby onto a chair to rest, while she caught her breath.
    ‘You do look shockingly pale,’ said Betsy. ‘Are you sure you feel well?’
    Jane, who was still trying to work out how to put the top back on the smelling salts, decided to take a sniff herself, almost fell over backwards and then dropped the bottle on the floor.
    ‘God save us and help us,’ said Betsy, as she picked up the bottle and rolled her eyes.
    To Mrs McKinnon’s relief, the colour flooded back to Ruby’s cheeks.
    ‘Have you ever seen the ghost yourself?’ Ruby asked. ‘Does it have a name?’
    ‘No, not I. It wouldn’t show itself to me or to Mr McKinnon. We shan’t have any nonsense with such a thing. I have been here since I was first married and I never saw any ghost,’ Mrs McKinnon said, ‘but there have been people recently who have reported sightings of a woman on the staircase and on the landing. A guest from London almost screamed the place down when she stayed here a couple of years ago. I thought just then that maybe you had seen her too. Are you sure you didn’t?’
    Ruby wondered if she should tell her what she had really seen, what it was that had taken her breath away and made her head spin. The little girl in the painting had looked just like her own dead mother.
    She thought better of it and merely said, ‘Maybe it was the marble statues,’ trying to be helpful.
    Ruby looked up at the picture again and a shiver ran down her spine.
    ‘I think ’twas Lady Isobel,’ said Betsy as she put her hand down and helped Ruby to her feet. ‘The poor woman looks like a ghost and surely it must have been her they saw wandering along the gallery. Maybe the light was poor. I remember that woman, she was never off the wine. If ye ask me, ’twas the drink, not a ghost.’
    But Mrs McKinnon had had enough talk of ghosts and now said briskly, ‘Right, if you have fully recovered, Ruby, on we go. Back to work, girls.’
    The nursery wing was separate from the castle. Situated down a corridor that led from the main gallery. It stuck out like an appendage. An after thought of a construction erected by ancestors who would rather not have to see or hear their offspring. When they reached the nursery, Ruby thought that if she hadn’t already just fainted, she almost certainly would do now at the sight which greeted them.
    A chill hit her as they opened the nursery door. It was hardly surprising, given that the sun had gone and it had begun to rain. The fire in the grate was almost out, which didn’t help. Lady Isobel was sitting in the nursing chair by the side of the cavernous hearth and staring out through the leaded windows towards the ocean. The rhododendrons, which ran wild along the perimeter of the grounds and lined the drive, obliterated the view of the beach, but on clear days, the ocean could easily be seen. Ballyford sat on the edge of almost two thousand acres and the view from the opposite side of the castle was of immaculately farmed