The Girl with the Red Ribbon (4 page)

Then she caught another whiff of rose and anger whirled up inside her like a snake uncoiling. Privacy had always been an important part of their lives. Her mother had taught her that. Privacy of thought, privacy of deed, privacy of space, and now her stepmother had invaded all three. Rowan could not and would not allow that to
happen again. Instinctively her hand went to her wrist and as her fingers stroked the soft red ribbon they were charged with energy. She knew then what she had to do and the mirror would be her ally.

Quickly snuffing out the candle, she went over to the window and laid her claim, acknowledging the full moon as mistress of truth and illusion. Then, relighting her candle, she cleansed her space with water and salt and carefully cast her circle. After lighting more candles and placing them to the north, south, east and west, she sat cross-legged in the centre of them. Pointing in the direction of sunrise, she drew energy upward from her feet and made her declaration. Snuffing out all but one of the candles, she held the mirror in front of the flame and concentrated on the rhyme. Visualizing the bad energy being returned to its sender, she intoned the final words aloud.

Confusion to the enemy,

As I have spoken,

So mote it be.

Placing the mirror on the door for it to continue its work, she snuffed out the candle and climbed into bed.

Lying in the moonlight, she thought back over her day. And what a day it had been. Did Fanny really think her father would move the animals to make more space in the farmhouse for her to entertain her friends? Was he really going to buy her a range? If so, then where would he get the money? Rowan knew to the last farthing how much the farm had in its kitty. Since her mother had died she'd kept the accounts, going through them with her father at
the end of each month. Although, thinking about it, she realized since he'd met Fanny he hadn't had time to do that. She must ensure they went through the figures very soon. Her final thought before she went to sleep was that it was a shame her father hadn't listened when she'd tried to explain about the pie.

Finally she drifted off to sleep, only to be woken some time later by the sounds of groaning coming from the next room, followed by the chink of the chamber pot and then footsteps running outside to the privy. Oh, well, there was nothing she could do, she thought, turning over and going back to sleep.

The first thing Rowan noticed when she entered the kitchen the next morning was that the remains of the previous night's meal had been cleared away. Good old Sab. He knew showing Fanny around the farmhouse and making the pie had put her behind with her chores, and had obviously wanted to help. Today, she decided, she would prepare a simple broth for their evening meal and leave it simmering over the fire, whilst she caught up. First, though, she needed to get some water on to heat for breakfast. How much more time she'd have if they didn't have to eat, she thought, lifting the empty pot from its arm beside the fire and making her way outside to the well house. Her mother had always seemed to take cooking in her stride but Rowan would much rather be mixing ingredients for her potions and salves than for stews.

As soon as she opened the door to the passage, she could hear insistent lowing coming from the shippon. Peering round the open door, she saw Sab milking Daisy, whilst the other cows restlessly pulled at their tethers.

‘Need a hand?' she called, setting down her pot.

Sab looked up and nodded gratefully. ‘That would be grand, Rowan. We're running late this morning and these beasts are impatient to let down their milk.'

Placing a pail beneath the cow in the next stall, Rowan perched on a stool.

‘Come
along, Dolly, give unto me your richest, creamiest milk,' she crooned encouragingly, leaning against the animal's warm flanks and breathing in her hot grassy breath. ‘No Father this morning?' she asked.

‘He came down first thing, but was doubled over with stomach gripes before he'd even finished milking the first one.'

‘Poor Father; still, it'll soon pass,' she said philosophically.

‘Bet her majesty's making a fine tap and tune, though. I can see she's going to lead Uncle a right jig,' Sab commented, pulling vigorously on the cow's udders so that she kicked out in protest.

‘Steady on, Sab. That's not like you,' Rowan admonished.

‘Yes, sorry, Daisy old thing,' he apologized, patting the animal's rump. ‘I was musing last night. If Fanny's from London, then happen her fancy friends are too. Are they really going to come all this way to visit? Doesn't make sense to me.'

But Rowan had no answer and they carried on milking in silence, both lost in their own thoughts.

‘Quite like old times, this,' she commented after a while. The rhythmic pulling and soft rush of sweet, warm liquid filling the pail soothed her senses, reminding her how they'd used to milk the cows together, before the domestic duties of the farmhouse had claimed her time. ‘Thanks for clearing up the kitchen, Sab. I hate starting the day with a dirty table.'

‘I just stacked everything in the scullery. After that fine meal, it was the least I could do. I'll help you wash the dishes later,' he said, moving his stool over to milk the next fidgeting animal.

‘All
right in here, you two?' Rowan's father called from the doorway. ‘I'm afraid my visit to the privy took longer than I thought, and then Fanny needed me urgently,' he explained, looking sheepish.

‘Are you feeling better now?' Rowan asked, taking in his pale face and dishevelled appearance.

Her father nodded. ‘Better than I was earlier, that's for sure,' he said, grinning ruefully.

‘Don't worry, Father. Sab and I have almost finished here,' Rowan said, indicating the pails foaming with their creamy contents.

‘You two haven't suffered any ill effects then?' he asked.

Rowan and Sab exchanged knowing looks before shaking their heads.

‘Well, I'm pleased, of course, but it does seem strange when we all ate the same meal,' he muttered, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

Rowan opened her mouth, but before she could say anything to her father, the querulous voice of Fanny had him scuttling back inside.

‘Poor Uncle Ted,' Sab said.

‘Yes, it's a shame he's been ailing,' Rowan answered.

‘That wasn't what I meant. If that's married life, then I'm staying well clear,' he said with feeling. ‘Look, thanks for helping, Rowan, but I can manage now. I'll drive this lot out into the yard then swill down the shippon. That'll leave you free to get on with breakfast. I'm starving,' he declared, his usual cheeky grin replacing his sombre look.

‘You and your stomach,' Rowan said, laughing. As she reached down to retrieve the pot, she saw her feet were covered in muck and straw. Remembering Fanny's
disparaging look the previous day, she thought she'd better rinse them before going back indoors. Hurrying over to the brook, she hitched up her skirts and waded in, gasping as the icy waters took her breath away. Then she noticed the sun peaking up from behind the treetops on the upper pastures. Even as she watched, the rosy glow spread ever wider and she felt excitement bubbling up inside her. Spring was just around the corner, bringing with it new growth and longer hours of daylight. She couldn't wait to be out harvesting herbs for healing and flower heads for her dyes and potions. Remembering Fanny's brightly coloured dresses, she had a sudden yen to experiment with the bright blue juice of cornflowers. She would show her stepmother that living in the country didn't mean being drab.

Before then, she would need to sow her vegetables. Growing food for the kitchen was one of her most important tasks, and she began working out the moon's phases and the best time for planting. It was some moments before she spotted the empty pot by the side of the bank. Gosh, here she was dreaming away the time when there was work to be done. Climbing out of the waters and drying her feet on the grass, she hurried to the well house.

Having set the water to heat, she let out the chickens and began collecting their eggs, humming happily as she revelled in the familiarity of her routine. However, when she returned to the farmhouse to make their breakfast, her happy mood quickly turned to one of dismay for the pot of water was all but empty. As she stood there shaking her head in disbelief, her father hurried down the stairs.

‘Sorry,
Rowan, Fanny was complaining she needed a wash so I took her up some hot water,' he explained. ‘She intends going back to bed for a lie-down after her disturbed night and says not to worry about taking her any breakfast up until later.'

Take her up breakfast again? Rowan bit down the angry words that sprang to her lips.

Her father noticed her frowning and he shrugged. ‘Guess I'd better go and see how Sab's getting on,' he said ruefully.

Rowan opened her mouth to say something, then, seeing how pale he still looked, her mood softened.

‘You can't go outside without something to line your stomach, Father. You sit down and I'll fry you an egg with a rasher.'

Edward grimaced. ‘Thanks Rowan, but I don't think I could face it.'

‘Well, at least have some bread and milk. I made some brewis yesterday; that'll settle you. Haven't you always told us we can't work effectively on an empty stomach?' she asked, repeating his well-worn mantra.

‘A man knows when he's beaten,' he said, grinning as he seated himself at the now tidy table. Rowan hurried to the pantry and was just pouring their milk, still warm from the cows, into mugs, when the door clattered open. Sab, true to form, stood there, his face splitting into a wide grin when he saw the food set out on the table.

‘Good timing, eh?' he quipped, settling himself alongside her father.

They ate in companionable silence, no one seeming to mind they only had the brewis. As Rowan sat there,
listening to the crackle of logs on the fire and the now contented lowing of the cattle in the shippon on the other side of the passage, she began to relax. Then she glanced over to the fireplace where the dogs had always sprawled on the hearth, and felt a pang. When she turned to her father, intending to ask if they could be allowed in again, she saw he was frowning.

‘Is something wrong, Father? You're not feeling ill again, are you?'

He shook his head. ‘I've upset Fanny,' he burst out. ‘I was saying earlier how strange it was that you two haven't felt any ill effects after our meal last night when we all ate the same thing, and she flew into a rage. Reckoned you must have added something to it,' Edward said.

‘What?' Rowan exclaimed.

‘Just to the part you and she ate? How stupid is that?' Sab spluttered. ‘Rowan didn't even know Fanny was going to dish up the pie, which she made, by the way.'

Edward stared at Rowan. ‘Is that right, Rowan? You mean it wasn't Fanny's cooking at all?' he asked.

Taken aback, Rowan said quickly, ‘Look, Father, it was the pie crust that upset you both. It's only used to contain the meat while it cooks, remember?' She watched as understanding dawned. ‘Neither Sab nor I ate it. I did try to warn you, but you were busy listening to Fanny,' she said gently.

Her father looked shame-faced. ‘Well, I've gone and put my hoof in it good and proper,' he said, stroking his wiry beard.

‘Why, Father?' Rowan asked.

‘When I told her you wouldn't have done anything like
that, she got right cross and accused me of taking your side against her. Now she's refusing to do anything until I promise to buy her one of those newfangled open ranges. Where am I going to get money for something like that?' he groaned.

‘I don't mean to be funny, Uncle, but can Fanny actually cook?' Sab asked.

Edward frowned. ‘Of course; she told me she used to host supper parties in London,' he said.

‘Ah, but did she do the cooking for them?' Sab persisted.

The furrows on Edward's brow deepened.

‘What did Fanny actually do in London, Father? You never did say,' Rowan asked.

‘Well, I'm not rightly sure,' he said, scratching his head. ‘We spent more time discussing life at Orchard Farm. She was so interested and wanted to know everything about it. I do remember her telling me she was used to dealing with children and that running the farmhouse here would be a simple affair.'

Sab raised his eyebrows at Rowan.

‘Anyway, talking of Fanny reminds me, I have to go to Honiton this morning. It seems there are some things she needs to help her settle in, so as it's quiet at the moment, I'll head off,' Edward said, getting to his feet and snatching up his cap.

Remembering her thoughts of the previous night, Rowan frowned.

‘You're not going out to buy a range, are you, Father? Only we need to go through the farm accounts.'

‘Stop worrying, Rowan. I'm not one for spending
money we don't have, you know that,' assured her father, patting her shoulder. ‘You carry on with the hedging whilst I'm gone, Sab, and I'll be back some time after noon.'

As the door clattered shut behind him, Rowan and Sab stared at each other.

‘Twice in two days Uncle Edward's left the farm during working time,' Sab said, shaking his head. ‘It's not like him at all. I'd like to know what it is she needs so urgently.'

‘Shouldn't you be about your work?' The sharp voice made them jump. Fanny was standing in the doorway, hands on hips, an unfathomable look on her face. ‘I don't think a servant should take advantage just because his master isn't here,' she snarled, her pebble eyes boring into Sab.

‘Sab is no servant, Fanny,' Rowan retorted, jumping to her feet. ‘He's part of our family.'

‘It – it's all right, Rowan. I – I'm off to finish the hedging, anyway,' Sab said, his cheeks glowing red as the fire. Rowan looked at him in dismay.

‘Fanny …' she began, but her stepmother cut across her.

‘Before you go, Sab, you can empty my chamber pot. It's full to overflowing,' Fanny declared, wrinkling her nose.

Rowan stared at her aghast. ‘We all see to our own here, Fanny,' she said. ‘Besides, Sab has enough to do around the farm, especially with Father having to go out shopping for you.' Although Rowan felt her legs trembling, she wasn't about to let Fanny order Sab around like that.

Her
stepmother shot her a look of pure loathing. ‘Now, you two, let's get one thing straight. I am now the lady of Orchard Farm,' she stated, giving them each a hard stare. ‘Sab, you will do as I say, right this minute,' she ordered. Sab opened his mouth, closed it again quickly and hurried up the stairs. When he returned moments later with the pot held at arm's length, Fanny was waiting.

‘When you've emptied that, you can leave it on the doorstep, cleaned mind and then be about your business.'

Rowan saw Sab clench his jaw, but he said nothing and disappeared outside.

‘Well now, Rowan, let us go and sit by the fire. I think you and I need to have a little chat,' Fanny said smiling graciously, but Rowan noticed the smile didn't reach her eyes.

‘Perhaps we could have a chat later, Fanny. I really don't have time …'

‘When I say we need to talk, I mean now,' her stepmother said, standing up so that she towered over Rowan's diminutive form. ‘There are certain things we have to get straight.'