The Girl with the Red Ribbon (5 page)

Knowing she was beaten, Rowan slumped down on the floor beside the fire, idly toying with the ribbon on her wrist. But as Fanny crossed the room, Magic jumped down from the bacon settle, arched her back and spat at her.

‘That creature will have to go,' she declared, aiming her foot in the cat's direction.

‘Magic's never done that before, Fanny,' Rowan said, watching Magic shoot up the stairs. However, her stepmother had perched herself on the edge of the chair and
was making a show of arranging the skirts of her dress. Yet another one, Rowan noted. She saw Fanny frowning down at her bare feet and quickly tucked them beneath her skirt.

‘Right, young lady, just what do you think you were doing trying to poison me last night?'

‘Poison you?' Rowan spluttered. ‘I never did any such thing and if you hadn't been so busy making a performance of dishing the pie that you professed to have made, you'd have heard me warn you about the crust.'

‘Ah, so you admit there was something wrong with it?' her stepmother said triumphantly.

‘There was absolutely nothing wrong at all. The crust is only used as a container for baking the meat in, as any cook knows,' Rowan said, watching Fanny's reaction closely. Sure enough, the woman's cheeks began to redden.

‘Yes, well, where I come from we have dishes for that,' she said quickly. Then her voice changed, becoming sweet as honey. ‘Anyway, let's forget that for now. The real reason I want us to have this little chat, Rowan, is because I feel, as your stepmother, it is my duty to take on the role of lady of the house. I was saying to Edward that you are too young to have so much responsibility. The way you have looked after your father and the farmhouse is admirable, of course. However, you should be out having fun,' she said, leaning forward and patted Rowan's arm. Immediately the ribbon around her wrist tightened.

‘Does that mean you will be taking over all the housekeeping and cooking duties?' she asked, smiling innocently up at Fanny.

‘I
shall assist, of course,' her stepmother said quickly. ‘However, as I explained to your father, I can't possibly venture outside in all that dirt. My nicest shoes are already ruined, and as for that awful smell from the animals …' She shuddered so theatrically that Rowan had to bite her tongue to stop herself from laughing out loud. As far as she was concerned, the smell from the farmyard was like new-mown hay compared to the all-pervading reek of artificial rose that wafted in her stepmother's wake.

‘Now in order for me to oversee things, Rowan, you need to tell me more about the daily duties of the hired hands.'

Rowan stared at her stepmother. ‘But, I've already explained, Fanny. We don't have help every day. As a family, we pitch in with the chores around the farm. And then at harvest time, we all lend a hand on each other's land.'

Fanny shuddered. ‘I mean in the house, Rowan. You truly don't expect me to believe one person sees to everything around here.'

Rowan nodded. ‘Mostly, I do.'

‘Then that will have to change. I shall discuss finances with Edward this evening and make the necessary arrangements.'

As Fanny sat back in her chair with a self-satisfied air, Rowan couldn't help it. She burst out laughing.

‘Oh, Fanny, you make it sound as if this is some grand manor, not a modest farmhouse,' she gasped, tears of mirth running down her cheeks.

‘Don't think you can deceive me, Rowan. When Edward proposed, he assured me Orchard Farm was a lucrative business, and that I would be lady of it. Now I'm sure you
don't wish to upset your father, so from now on you will do as I say. Do I make myself clear?' Fanny barked, shooting each word out like shot from a musket. ‘Things are going to be very different around here and, for a start, you can stop wearing that filthy ribbon round your wrist.'

‘Never,' Rowan cried, and before her stepmother could say another word, she fled to the sanctuary of her room.

Rowan slammed the door behind her then cautiously sniffed the air. To her relief there was no smell of rose in her room. Blessings, wondrous mirror, she intoned mentally, tracing the outline of the trumpet scrolls on its handle and thinking that her need to have a safe haven from the horrible Fanny was even greater now. Throwing herself onto the bed, she stared up at the ceiling. How dare that woman tell her what she could and couldn't wear she thought, her fingers automatically going to the red ribbon. Who the devil did she think she was? And where did those delusions of grandeur come from? Surely her father, ever a truthful man, would never have exaggerated how prosperous their farm was? Although they got by quite well, there was never much left over at the end of the year and certainly not for fancy goods. Lady of the farm indeed! Well, if Fanny wanted to be in charge then she could and that included seeing to today's meals.

Jumping up, she threw her shawl around her shoulders and crept downstairs. In the kitchen she stepped into her boots, snatched the last of the bread from the table then quietly lifted the latch and fled out of the door. Ignoring the chickens that flapped around her feet, she hurried off in search of Sab.

The air was brisk, but with anger fuelling her steps, Rowan reached Five Acre field before she'd even noticed.
Leaning against the five-bar gate, her breath rising in steamy clouds, she looked around but could see no sign of Sab. Inroads had been made into the repair of the hedges but there was still much left to do. It wasn't like him to leave a job half finished, and she fervently hoped Fanny hadn't upset him too much.

Feeling an overwhelming need to be near her mother, Rowan picked her way up the steep track until she came to the copse and her mother's final resting place beneath the hazel. A profusion of snowdrops were blooming on her grave and Rowan couldn't help smiling through her tears. Never one for show, her mother had insisted they shouldn't waste money on a fancy cairn, but were to leave it to nature to mark where she lay. ‘When the blossoms show, remember me,' she'd said that final day, her voice coming in ragged, raspy breaths.

‘Oh, I do, Mother,' Rowan cried now as, heedless of the damp ground, she threw herself down beside the flowers. ‘How I wish you were still here,' she whispered, burying her head in the soft creamy petals. And then all the pent-up anger burst out of her. ‘This woman Father's married is horrible, really nasty. I made a pie and she claimed it was hers. She even insisted Father ate it all, including the crust. They had bad stomachs this morning. Come to think of it, though, Fanny seems to have recovered very quickly. She must have a system of steel. Just like her smile, which never reaches her eyes. She wants to change things around the house. But don't worry, I won't let her, Mother. I shall make sure everything stays just as you left it …'

Finally her ranting came to a halt, leaving her drained
and spent. As she sat in the ensuing silence, staring down at the bell-shaped flowers, the ribbon around her wrist tightened and she knew her mother was trying to tell her something. But what?

Suddenly, seemingly from nowhere, a breeze blew up. It gathered in strength, swirling Rowan's copper curls around her face and lifting her skirts. She shivered, pulling her shawl tighter round her.

‘Goodbye, Mother,' she whispered, jumping to her feet. As if in answer, the wind gusted around her, rippling the snowdrops into what looked, just for a second, like the shape of a heart. She gasped, but then another gust swirled, returning the flowers to their upright state.

Her mother had been listening! With warmth flooding her insides, Rowan flew back down the hill as if she'd grown wings. Passing the mighty oak, its branches creaking and cracking in the increasingly strong wind, she saw rich green moss growing to the north of its trunk. Knowing it would make a wonderful rich dye, she hesitated, but the wind gusted powerfully again and she knew it would be foolish to stop. Resolving to return when the storm had passed, she continued on past the saplings, which were swaying and bending to the will of the wind.

Then, as she regained the path, as quickly as the wind had blown up, it dropped, returning to a gentle breeze. Not wanting to confront Fanny any sooner than she had to, Rowan slowed her steps. Maybe she could hide away in the dairy and busy herself preparing for butter making the next day? As she stood there deliberating, she heard the sound of a cart and horse making its way towards the
farmhouse. It must be her Uncle Silas and Auntie Sal, and, spirits lifting, she tore down the hillside.

By the time she reached the farmhouse, even the gentle breeze had died. To her surprise, she saw her aunt and uncle were standing on the step with Fanny, arms folded, presiding in the doorway.

‘Auntie Sal, Uncle Silas,' Rowan called. ‘Why are you standing out here? Come on in and have a warm. I've been to see Mother and there was a fine old wind blowing …' She stopped as she saw their serious faces. ‘Is something wrong?'

‘We came to visit, Rowan, but it seems we've chosen the wrong time,' her uncle said, and although he spoke in his usual gentle West Country burr, Rowan saw the glint in his eyes.

‘Don't be silly, there can never be a wrong time for coming to see us, can there?' she questioned, turning to Fanny, who was pursing her lips.

‘Now don't you go worrying, dearie. We can call another time,' her aunt said, smiling awkwardly as she held out a basket covered with a muslin cloth. ‘I was baking earlier and thought you might find these useful. You know how I always make too much.'

Rowan grinned wryly, knowing her aunt, a thrifty housewife, would never cook more than she intended.

‘But you must come in. Father will be returning soon and he'll be sorry if he doesn't see you,' Rowan insisted.

‘Well, if you're sure …' her aunt said doubtfully, but followed her in anyway.

‘I am. If we can't offer our family refreshment when they come to visit, then it's a sorry day for the Clodes,'
Rowan said, and although she didn't look in Fanny's direction, she could feel the woman's hatred emanating her way. Pushing past her stepmother, she caught a waft of overpowering scent, and noticed her aunt wrinkling her nose.

Belatedly remembering her manners, Fanny turned towards Silas and Sal and forced her lips into a smile.

‘Now that Rowan has returned, of course you must come in,' she said graciously.

In the kitchen Rowan shivered and, going over to the fire, she saw that it had burned right down. Riddling the embers and adding more wood, she noticed with dismay that yet again the pot was empty.

‘I'll just go out to the well,' she said, lifting the pot and fighting down the urge to comment on her stepmother's lack of housekeeping skills. ‘You'll be wanting a hot drink after riding through that storm.'

Her aunt and uncle stared at her in surprise.

‘We never passed no storm,' her aunt said, shaking her head as she picked up her basket. ‘I'll come with you and unpack these,' she added, frowning at Fanny, who was now sitting in front of the fire, holding her hands in front of the kindled flames.

‘Whilst they do that, you can come and sit by me, Silas,' Fanny gushed, smiling and patting the seat beside her. ‘You'll have to forgive me if I seemed inhospitable earlier, but in London we never let anyone we don't know over the threshold. One can't be too careful,' she added.

‘Well, if we'd been invited to the wedding, she would have known who we were,' Aunt Sal muttered as she followed Rowan through the cross passage.

‘I
know, Auntie. Even Sab and I weren't invited,' Rowan said. ‘It wasn't like Father not to include us all, but he says everything happened so quickly.'

‘Hmm,' her aunt growled, and Rowan could remember her mother saying Aunt Sal had a way of expressing everything she meant without using words. Now she understood. ‘Is everything all right here, Rowan?' she asked. Her voice was so soft and caring, Rowan wanted to tell her everything was far from all right, but knew that would be disloyal to her father. Smiling brightly, she nodded. Her aunt wasn't fooled, though. ‘Just remember you can tell me anything, dearie. Your mother was the sister I never had, God rest her soul, and she'd never forgive me if I didn't look out for you.'

‘Oh, Auntie, you've looked after us so well since Mother died, and still are, by the look of things,' she said, nodding down at the basket her aunt was still holding.

‘Dearie me, here's me forgetting my manners. Now, I've brought some bread, butter, cream and cheese. There's cold meat and pease pudding, some of my Devon splitties, oh, and an apple pudding, too. I know how your father's partial to that,' she said, unpacking everything and placing them on the shelf in the pantry. ‘Of course, if you think I'll be impinging on Fanny's housekeeping, then you must tell me, dearie. It doesn't do to interfere with another woman's cooking,' she murmured, suddenly looking unsure.

Rowan burst out laughing. ‘There's no chance of that, Auntie,' she said. Then seeing her aunt's look of surprise, she quickly told her about the pie crust. ‘So you see, Auntie, Sab and I don't think she can even cook,' she finished up.

Her
aunt stared at Rowan as if she'd taken leave of her senses. ‘That can't be true, Rowan. Why, if there's one thing we all know about your father it's his fondness for his stomach. You've been looking after him for many years now, and a right good job you've done of it. Perhaps Fanny's just afraid of stepping on your toes, so to speak.'

Rowan shrugged. ‘I don't think so, Auntie.'

‘Well, we'd best be getting back inside, dearie. Your uncle will be wanting to leave before it gets too late. This cold, wet winter's made his joints play up something rotten.'

Rowan turned and picked up a bottle from the shelf.

‘Take this sage oil, Auntie, and get him to rub it on his joints every morning and night. I'm sure it will help.'

‘Why, thank you, dearie. You really are a clever girl with all your lotions and potions. If this works as well as that elder salve you made for his sore foot, he'll be better in no time.'

As they went back indoors, her uncle jumped to his feet, looking relieved to see them. Taking the pot from Rowan, he carefully placed it over the now blazing fire.

‘I'll prepare some of your tasty splitties whilst the water's heating, Auntie,' Rowan said. Then, she turned to her stepmother. ‘That is, unless you've already baked today, Fanny. I'd hate to interfere with your housekeeping,' she added innocently, keeping her face deadpan.

Her stepmother looked startled but, as ever, quickly recovered her composure.

‘Of course we must have your splitties, Sal. I may call you Sal?' she asked, her voice rising in that false way Rowan had come to recognize. ‘It's most kind of you to
bring them.' Although her aunt smiled politely, Rowan noticed she was giving her stepmother one of her long level looks. She smiled inwardly. Aunt Sal was a shrewd woman and Fanny would be hard pressed to fool her.

By the time she'd spread the little sponges with cream and jam and arranged them on a platter, her father had returned. His enthusiastic welcome put paid to any doubt Rowan's aunt and uncle had about staying for refreshments and they all gathered around the scrubbed table catching up on their news.

‘Do tell us about your life in London,' said Aunt Sal, turning to Fanny. ‘What did you do there?'

There was a moment's silence and Rowan watched as her stepmother painted on her bright smile, the one that didn't reach her eyes.

‘It's kind of you to ask, Sal. However, as I am now living here in beautiful Devonshire, I'm much more interested in finding out about you all.'

To give her aunt her due, she answered all of Fanny's questions but Rowan could see she was biding her time. Sure enough, when there was a lull in the conversation, her aunt turned towards Fanny, smiling brightly.

‘Now that really is enough about us, except to say that we are really proud of the way Rowan has coped these past years. It will be good for her to have the company of another female. There's always so much that needs to be done in a farmhouse.'

Fanny looked around the room and frowned. ‘Well, of course, there are a lot of changes to be made. We've already spoken about getting a range, haven't we, Edward?' she said, smiling at her husband. ‘And then, of course,
there will be other additions,' she said, pausing and lifting her cup to her lips.

‘Perhaps the patter of tiny feet will be heard again at Orchard Farm in the not-too-distant future, then,' Aunt Sal suggested, winking at her brother.

Fanny burst into a fit of coughing, spraying her tea in an unladylike manner whilst Edward sat there beaming. Clearly her father liked that idea, Rowan thought. She'd never given any thought to the fact that she might one day have a stepsibling. Her mother, being so petite, had suffered badly when she'd been born and had been told there could be no more children. It had come as a great disappointment to her parents, for they'd hoped to have a large family. In time, of course, they'd come to terms with the fact and adopted Sab. Sab, where was he? It wasn't like him to miss out on a meal. But Fanny, having recovered her composure, was already preparing to show her guests out.