The Girl with the Red Ribbon (2 page)

‘Indeed? Which reminds me, what on earth were you doing dancing outside in the dark last night? And, heaven forbid, in your nightgown too. Muttering away to yourself, you were. Are you mad or something?' Fanny asked.

Rowan laughed.

‘I don't happen to think that's funny, young lady,' her stepmother admonished, pursing her lips.

‘No, of course not, it was just the way you said what on earth I was doing. Last night was Imbolc, you see.' Then seeing Fanny's puzzled look, she added. ‘It marks the retreat of winter and the approach of spring. Before we can sow the crops we need to ask for the earth to warm, and you asked what on earth I was doing,' Rowan said, grinning.

‘Oh, for heaven's sake, I've never heard such nonsense,' Fanny retorted. ‘And talking of warmth, it's perishing in here. Doesn't this fire ever get lit?'

Rowan stared at the empty grate, her stomach churning
as she remembered the last time a fire had blazed there. It had been seven years ago, when her mother's life had been ebbing away. She could remember sitting by the side of this very bed, stroking her tawny hair and holding her birdlike hand. Her mother's usually olive skin had been quite white, her touch light as, with trembling hands, she'd removed the ribbon from around her wrist and handed it to Rowan. Then, in a voice soft as a summer breeze, she'd clutched Rowan's hand and whispered the words she would treasure forever.
I was blessed with the greatest of fortunes the day you were born, my darling daughter. This red ribbon symbolizes the circle of life. Wear it as I have and know I'll be with you always.
Those were the last words her mother had ever uttered. As the memory faded back into the mists of time, Rowan felt a lump rise in her throat and her hand went to her wrist, where the ribbon had tightened its grip.

As memories of that terrible day replayed themselves in her head, Rowan felt as though her heart was being pierced with a shard of broken glass. Hot tears pricked the back of her eyelids and, determined not to lose control in front of her stepmother, she muttered an excuse and fled back to the kitchen.

Slumping down on the bacon settle, she struggled to bring her emotions under control. Even after all this time, she missed her mother so much it physically hurt, she thought, absently stroking the red ribbon, which seemed to have eased its grip and felt comfortable once more. They'd been such a happy family. Her father had called his wife and daughter his two blossoms, and whilst her mother's real name had been Hazel, he'd always referred to her as Catkin because of the graceful way she moved. Unlike Fanny, she'd been softly spoken. It might have been years since her passing, but the recollection of her tiny form lying in the bed beside the fire was once again vividly brought to mind.

A wet nose snuffled her arm and looking up, Rowan saw Magic gazing at her with those all-knowing, all-seeing eyes. Smiling through her tears, she stroked the cat's velvety ears, drawing comfort from the warmth of the soft black fur. As the gentle purring soothed her spirits,
another memory surfaced. That of her mother saying self-pity was only for fools.

‘Right, this won't do at all,' Rowan announced, startling Magic, who, with a baleful glare, jumped from her lap. Wiping her eyes, Rowan got to her feet. Then seeing the dough still waiting on the table she shook her head. Really, she was so behind with the chores this morning, she thought. Knowing how important a strict routine was to the good running of the farm, she vigorously swept the ashes from the oven before sliding the loaves inside. She was just sealing the edges of the door with flour paste when Fanny appeared, the heavy aroma of rose drifting in her wake.

‘Oh, you smell of roses, Fanny,' Rowan exclaimed.

‘Since no warm water was forthcoming, I gave up waiting and used some of the precious rose scent I brought with me from London,' her stepmother announced in a martyred voice.

‘Sorry, Fanny, I'll make sure you have some tomorrow morning,' Rowan assured her, comparing the cloying smell with the gentle fragrance her mother had worn. How they'd enjoyed collecting the fresh petals from the bushes and putting them in jars. Her mother would cover them in clear water from the stream and, after giving them a vigorous shake, they'd leave them in the well house to steep. ‘I didn't know you lived in London,' she said.

‘Yes, well, I'm here now and so far all I've seen is the parlour and my bedchamber. I'd like you to show me around the rest of the farmhouse,' she instructed, her eyes darting around the room. Rowan sighed again. She really had so much to do.

‘Right,
this is the kitchen, of course. Then there's the scullery, the dairy and the well house,' Rowan, said hurrying to the door.

‘You can't go outside like that. Where are your boots, girl?' her stepmother asked, frowning down at Rowan's bare feet.

‘I only ever wear them when I go to the market or up to the fields,' Rowan explained.

‘For heaven's sakes! Why don't you wear them all the time like normal people?'

‘I like to feel the earth beneath my feet. It makes me feel grounded. Mother always said …'

‘Yes, well, come along then,' Fanny said, cutting her short. Rowan looked down at her stepmother's dainty shoes and thought they seemed even less suitable for tramping around in the dirty yard than bare feet, but deemed it better not to say so.

The wind was whistling through the passageway as they made their way outside, and Fanny shivered, pulling her shawl tighter around her. Rowan headed towards the scullery, little realizing her stepmother had gone the other way, until she heard her scream.

‘What's the matter, Fanny?' she asked, hurrying back.

‘There's a beast,' Fanny squeaked, pointing to the head that was peering through the open shippon door.

Rowan smiled at the docile cow that was eyeing them curiously, but before she could say anything, it turned, lifted its tail and deposited a steaming pat right in front of her stepmother.

Fanny's eyes widened in horror as she snatched a lacy hanky from her pocket and held it to her nose. ‘That's
quite the most disgusting thing I have ever seen,' she exclaimed. Then, as the sounds of munching and mooing emanated from the stalls behind, her hand went to her heart.

‘What on earth's going on in there?'

‘That's where the livestock are housed over winter.'

‘You mean those animals actually live inside the house?' Fanny exclaimed, wrinkling her nose.

Rowan laughed. ‘Oh, you are funny. Of course, we share the accommodation with the livestock. They are literally that, after all: our livelihood,' she elaborated, having been schooled on the importance of animal welfare since she was a young child. Seeing the perplexed look on her stepmother's face, she shook her head. ‘Come on, I'll show you the dairy and well house.'

Rowan led her stepmother round to the back of the farmhouse, explaining what everything was used for. She then pointed out the linhay and stables off the cobbled farmyard to the front, but could see the woman was more concerned with keeping her fine skirts out of the dirt than hearing about the farm.

‘You mean that was it?' Fanny exclaimed as they made their way back into the warmth of the kitchen. She glared down at the muck on her shoes and kicked them off in disgust. Then as Rowan took a handful of straw and wiped her feet, she wrinkled her nose. ‘I shall have to speak with Edward about moving those wild beasts out. Really, I can't have animals living in my house. Whatever will my friends think when they visit, and where will I entertain them?'

‘But that's what the parlour's for,' Rowan said. Then as
the aroma of cooked bread wafted towards her, she hurried to the oven, peeled away the dough sealing the door and carefully lifted out the loaves. As she turned them out on the table to cool Fanny watched, frowning.

‘Why are you doing that?'

‘Because I always bake every second day –'

‘No, I mean, why are you doing the cooking? Who keeps house here?'

‘I do,' Rowan began, then seeing the woman's set face she added, ‘although, of course, I expect you'll want to now.'

‘Me? I hardly think so,' Fanny exclaimed. ‘No, I'm certain Edward said you had hired help.'

‘Well, it's quite a small place really, and we do most things ourselves. Of course, we do have some help on the farm itself, especially at harvest. Sally comes in to see to the dairy when there's hard cheese to be made, and Mrs Stokes does most of the laundry. Which reminds me, when you empty your chamber pot there's a jar by the copper where we store the urine for ammonia …'

‘Empty my chamber pot! Store the urine! My dear child, I hardly think I shall be concerning myself with such trifles,' Fanny said shrilly, putting her nose high in the air as if it was fresher up there.

‘But then, how …' Rowan began, but her stepmother cut her short.

‘I've had quite enough of this disgusting conversation. You might live with animals but there's no reason to act like them. Please tell Edward I wish to see him immediately.'

‘Father will be up in Five Acre Field by now. He said he'd see you at supper time,' Rowan replied.

‘Supper
time! And what am I meant to do until then?' the woman demanded, looking around the room with distaste.

Rowan thought of everything that needed to be done before their evening meal could be put on the table. ‘Well, there always seems to be more work to do than time to do it in. The men have been up in the field since breakfast and will be getting hungry so why don't we start preparing their noon pieces?' she suggested, but Fanny was already heading towards the parlour.

Rowan breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps she could get on now, otherwise her father and Sab would be wondering where she'd got to. Quickly she cut into a cooling loaf, then spread it liberally with soft cheese flavoured with chives, which she'd picked from her garden. She was just adding pickled gherkins and a flagon of small beer to her basket when Fanny reappeared.

‘It's so cold in there, I shall catch my death. Why hasn't the fire been lit?' she asked, looking at Rowan with the pebble-like eyes the girl was beginning to find unnerving. They reminded her of the ones on the beach at Salterton, cold, flat and grey.

‘We only light the fire in the parlour on high days and holidays, Fanny,' she explained.

Her stepmother pursed her lips in a gesture Rowan was coming to recognize. ‘Edward had a nice fire blazing in there when he brought me back after our wedding,' she said, shivering and glaring at Rowan as if it were her fault.

‘We usually gather around the fire in here at the end of the working day,' Rowan pointed out, emphasizing the
word ‘working', but Fanny was eyeing the food spread out on the table.

‘What's that?' she asked, picking up the dish of cheese and sniffing it.

‘It's just some soft cheese I made yesterday.'

‘Well, I've never seen cheese like that. You say you made it?'

‘Yes, it's from a receipt in Mother's book. She used to write down all the food my father really liked in it. She said, feed a man his favourite foods and he'll love you for ever,' Rowan continued.

A spark of interest flashed in Fanny's eyes. ‘Is that a fact? Perhaps you'd care to show me this famous book some time,' she said, smiling at Rowan for the first time that morning.

Surprised at the change in the woman's demeanour and relieved something had pleased her stepmother, Rowan replied, ‘Of course.'

‘For now, though, I'll sample some of your bread and cheese,' Fanny said magnanimously. ‘It actually looks quite appetizing.'

‘You help yourself whilst I take the men their noon pieces,' Rowan said, bending to put on her boots, grabbing her shawl and placing the basket over her arm.

Thankful to be outside, she noticed the wind had dropped and a watery sun was making a brave attempt to warm the frozen ground. Feeling her mood lighten, Rowan made her way along the track towards Five Acre Field. As she passed the privy she couldn't help grinning at Fanny's reaction to the word ‘urine'. Did they not use chamber pots in London, she wondered. Chickens
strutted and flapped around her feet, hopeful of extra feed, and she could hear the sheep bleating from the hills high above. Her father would be bringing them down soon to check how many ewes were in lamb, she thought. Then her attention was caught by a clump of snowdrops and she couldn't resist bending to stroke their creamy petals. The first harbingers of spring, her mother had always said.

‘Hey, Rowan,' she heard Sab call. Looking up, she smiled as she saw him hurrying towards her.

‘Sorry, I'm late with your piece, Sab. Fanny wanted a grand tour of the farmhouse,' she said.

‘And did it meet with madam's approval?' he enquired, and although his voice was light, his eyes showed concern.

‘No, I don't think it did, Sab, especially the animals in the shippon. She wanted me to go and get Father.'

‘Well, he's had to go to Sudbury. He went on Blackthorn. Said he'd get a bite there. Thought I'd come and see if you were all right,' he grinned, peering eagerly into the basket.

‘Fresh bread, chive cheese and gherkins,' Rowan laughed.

‘Have you eaten?' Sab asked. She shook her head. ‘Come on then,' he said, taking her arm and leading her back towards the barn; feral cats scattering in their wake. ‘You can have Uncle Ted's share and tell me more about what's been going on.'

Rowan glanced back towards the farmhouse but she'd had enough of Fanny for one morning.

Settled on bales of straw, they tucked into the food as
if they'd not eaten for weeks. Then, as they shared the bottle of small beer, Rowan told Sab about her morning. ‘You should have seen her face when Daisy dumped one in front of her; it was a right steamer, too,' she said, giggling. ‘Then she insisted the animals would have to be moved out of the shippon so that she would have the whole farmhouse for entertaining her friends.'

Sab shook his head in disbelief. ‘That one's going to be trouble and no mistake. Can't think what Uncle Ted was doing bringing someone like that here,' he grimaced, turning up his nose.

‘Apparently, she comes from London,' Rowan explained. ‘Father thinks she's wonderful and he did say we were to make her welcome. Perhaps I'd better cook something special for dinner.'

‘What did you have in mind?' Sab asked, licking his lips.

‘I was looking through Mother's cookbook the other day and found a receipt for chicken and ham pie. I know it's a bit extravagant, but we've got some of the chicken left from the roast and there was gammon in the settle, which I've put to soak. Not that I've attempted pie crust before, but I could at least try something different in her honour, couldn't I?' she asked.