The Girl with the Red Ribbon (7 page)

‘Rowan, you are to wear boots or those patten things your father has kindly bought for you. And, with immediate effect, you will stop wearing that ridiculous rag round your wrist.'

Instinctively, Rowan's hand covered her ribbon. ‘Never,' she cried, jumping to her feet.

‘Sit down, please, Rowan,' her stepmother ordered. ‘You have been without a woman's guidance for too long and it is my duty as your stepmother to see that you grow up in a ladylike manner and not roam the farm like some hoyden.'

‘I s-say, th-there's no n-need for that,' Sab stuttered,
coming back into the room. Fanny held up her hand to silence him.

‘Ah Sab, that brings me to you. If you don't mind me saying, Edward, you give this lad far too much freedom. From what I've seen, he comes and goes as he pleases. I require a path to be built from the farmhouse to the privy and you can make a start on it tomorrow.'

‘B-But we n-need to finish f-fertilizing the soil for the v-v-vegetables. We're already g-getting b-behind and the m-moisture …'

Again Fanny held up her hand. ‘If you wish to speak, then please do so properly.'

Sab shook his head. ‘Uncle T-Ted, you know the m-moon'll be on the w-wane soon. We must get this done if we're to p-plant …'

‘For heaven's sake, boy, whatever's the matter with you?' Fanny cut in. ‘All this talk about the moon is sheer lunacy. It's a farm you're running here.'

‘Yes, my dear, it is,' Edward said, having finally found his voice. ‘But by working with the lunar phases we can ensure maximum results. As Sab was trying to explain, fertilizing when the water table's falling means the nutrients get taken deeper into the soil and …' As Fanny held up her hand again, Edward came to a halt.

‘Edward, my dear, all this is not my concern. You are the farmer around here and it's your job to make the money, preferably lots of it,' she urged, giving a brittle laugh. ‘I shall assist by ensuring your farmhouse runs smoothly, your children behave, and speak in such a manner they become a credit to you,' she said, staring pointedly at Sab.

‘Ex-Excuse me,
Uncle T-Ted,' Sab started, ignoring Fanny. ‘I kn-know what n-needs to be d-done and I'm g-going to see to it right n-now.' Without waiting for an answer, he shot out of the door.

‘Whatever is wrong with that boy? You need to have stern words with him, Edward,' Fanny blustered.

Rowan got to her feet. ‘It's you, Fanny. You've upset him. He's hasn't stammered like that for years. I'm going to help him,' she said to her father.

‘All in good time, Rowan. If that's the way the boy gets attention it's a pretty poor show and needs to be sorted out. Now, I'd appreciate it if you would give me the courtesy of letting me finish what I was saying,' Fanny growled. ‘When I went into your room yesterday, I was dismayed to find it littered with half-used candles. Now, one at a time, I can understand, but that many together pose a fire risk and I must …'

‘How dare you go into my room,' Rowan burst out. ‘We respect people's privacy around here. I knew by that terrible smell you'd been in there.'

‘Now, Rowan, that's no way to speak to your stepmother,' Edward admonished. ‘However, I must agree that we have always respected each other's privacy, Fanny. Not that you were to understand that,' Edward added quickly, when he saw Fanny's lips purse.

‘It is for the girl's own good, Edward. However, when I went to go in there this morning to check on things, the door wouldn't budge, no matter how hard I pushed it. You'll need to take a look at it.'

‘Blessings and thank you, oh mirror,' Rowan muttered under her breath.

‘Now,
my child, I will not have you …' Fanny began, but Rowan had had enough.

‘I am not a child and certainly not yours,' she retorted. ‘I'm going outside to help Sab. Please note I am putting on my boots, but only because I shall be working on the vegetable plot,' she tossed over her shoulder as she fled from the room.

Rowan found Sab by the kitchen garden, furiously forking the seaweed down from the cart.

‘I'll dig it in and pretend it's her,' Rowan raged, stressing the word ‘her'. Working together, anger fuelling their energy, they tackled the pile with a vengeance. The bright moon was shining from a clear sky, making it easier for them to see what they were doing.

‘Who does that woman think she is, coming here and throwing her weight around?' Rowan asked, some moments later. ‘I am not going to listen to a word she says.'

‘I know how you feel, Rowan,' Sab agreed, his stutter completely gone now he'd calmed down. ‘But I've been thinking. Uncle Ted's really smitten with this Fanny and in his eyes she can do no wrong, so it might be easier to go along with what she suggests for the moment. I've just got this feeling it'll be us who come off worse if we don't.'

Rowan considered this in silence. The more she deliberated, the harder she dug. Hadn't her uncle said virtually the same thing earlier? A movement caught her eye and she saw an owl take flight from its perch through a hole in the barn. It hovered over the adjacent field and then swooped. As the pitiful squeaks of its prey broke the silence of the night, Rowan and Sab watched the bird, dinner in its talons, fly off towards the big oak. Fanny was
just like that, she thought. A hunter, only it was Rowan she had set her sights on. She shivered. Thick clouds were now gathering, and she didn't know whether it was those or the dawning comprehension about Fanny that had cooled her blood. She resumed her shovelling with renewed vigour, but moments later, Sab stopped what he was doing and turned to her.

‘Remember what your mother used to say about the oak standing proud against the wind only to break in the end, while the sapling that sways along with the storm weathers it?' he asked, his breath rising like mist in the plummeting temperature. ‘Happen we should be like the saplings here.'

Of course, the storm! That's what her mother had been trying to tell her.

‘I think you're right, Sab,' she agreed eventually. ‘It's not going to be easy, though, is it?'

‘No, but I guess for Uncle's sake we'll have to try to go along with what Fanny suggests,' he sighed, returning to his work.

Well, she might go along with some of Fanny's suggestions but that woman was never going to enter her room again. Her mirror would see to that, she thought, digging furiously.

It was another hour before the job was finished. Stretching to ease her back, Rowan saw the clouds had completely covered the moon. She sniffed the air. Snow was on the way. Sab had noticed too.

‘Come along, Rowan, I reckon we can call it a night now. Thanks for helping. I'd never have got this lot dug in on my own before the weather breaks. If it hadn't been
done tonight we'd have missed the opportunity of the nutrients being taken down into the soil with the falling water table. This ground will be white and frozen come morning,' he said.

‘It's unlike Father to leave it all to you, Sab. I'm going to speak to him. It's all right saying he's besotted with that besom, but that doesn't mean he can neglect things around here.'

‘Sleep on it, Rowan,' he advised, looking serious. ‘Come on, let's go inside. We'd better take some wood with us if we want a hot breakfast and tea in the morning,' he added, grinning, and Rowan was pleased to see he was back to his usual cheeky self.

‘Oh, you and your stomach, Sab,' she teased as they made their way over to the faggot rick by the light of his candle lantern.

They were just stacking the wood beside the grate when Fanny, candle in hand, emerged from the parlour.

‘About time,' she snapped. ‘The fire has burned low in the other room so you'd better take some of that in there, Sab,' she ordered, nodding to the wood he was carrying. Silently, he continued what he was doing. Fanny pursed her lips, but before she could say anything, Rowan, mindful of her earlier promise to be helpful, explained.

‘We reckon we're in for some late snow, Fanny, so we need to conserve our stocks. I did tell you, we only light the fire in the parlour for special occasions. I'm surprised Father allowed it,' she added.

‘Your father wishes me to be happy here, young lady, which is more than can be said for you,' she snapped. Going over to the window, she pulled back the curtain
and peered into the darkness, her reflection making a sinister picture in the light of the flickering candle. ‘Snow indeed! It's all cloudy out there,' she scoffed.

Sab snorted. ‘I'm going to check on the stock and then turn in. Good night,' he said, snatching up his lantern and hurrying out.

‘Night, Sab,' Rowan called. ‘Where's Father?' she asked, turning to Fanny.

‘Sprucing himself up, if he's got any sense,' the woman answered briskly. Rowan waited but her stepmother didn't elaborate.

‘It's been a long day, so I'll take myself up to bed,' she said, not wishing to be alone with her stepmother, who seemed even more belligerent than usual.

Rowan opened her eyes the next morning to find a pearlescent brightness flooding the room. Worried she'd slept in, she sat bolt upright but could hear no sound coming from outside. In fact, everything was ominously silent. The silence of snow, she thought, jumping out of bed. Sure enough, the yard below and the fields beyond were glistening with stark whiteness. Not much could be done outside today after her father and Sab had seen to the stock.

Recalling her discussion with Fanny yesterday, she decided she'd leave the cooking to her. She would use the time to catch up on her mending, which had been sadly neglected recently. Then she'd start knitting some new pop-over mittens for Sab, for she'd noticed last night that his were more hole than wool, and quite beyond darning. Feeling brighter than she had for some time, she dressed and made her way downstairs.

Her
father was sitting at the scrubbed table, dejectedly rubbing his chin.

‘Morning, Father. Is something wrong?' Rowan asked, frowning as she took in his reddened, blotchy skin. ‘Whatever's happened to your face?'

‘Had to shave off my beard and shape these,' he answered, tugging at the wiry tufts of hair that now sprang around his ears like tussocks.

‘That skin looks really raw. I'll get you some of my lavender salve,' she offered, hurrying over to the dresser. She'd just finished rubbing some into the areas around his newly clipped moustache when Sab appeared in the doorway. He shook the snowflakes from his jacket and then rubbed his hands together.

‘It's a cold un and still snowing. Good job we got that weed dug in last night,' he said, looking pointedly at Edward.

‘Sorry I didn't help. Hurry up and come in, boy. You're letting all the heat out,' Edward snapped.

‘Blimey, what's happened to you, Uncle Ted?'

‘I had to spruce myself up,' Edward muttered, looking wretched as he gingerly touched his chin. ‘That feels better already, Rowan. The pot's heating for our breakfast.'

‘Good, I'm starving,' Sab said. ‘I've seen to the livestock and old Davey called by with a couple of rabbits he'd snared. I've put them in the scullery. He reckoned this snow will continue for some time so he's taken the dogs to drive the sheep down the hill while the track's still passable.' Sab took a seat beside Edward. ‘Did someone mention breakfast?'

Rowan shook her head, laughing as she went over to
the fire and gave the pot of oats a good stir. ‘Good, nearly ready,' she said, and minutes later they were eating their thick, creamy porridge. ‘Honestly, Father, there's double the amount of milk I normally use in here,' she teased. ‘But it is delicious,' she added quickly, seeing his crestfallen look. She guessed his pride was hurting as much as his face.

‘What are you going to do today then, Rowan?' her father asked.

‘I intend making the most of this cold weather by catching up on all the jobs that have been neglected lately,' she said. ‘I shall enjoy the luxury of sitting by the fire and doing some mending. Your shirt sleeves need darning as well as your socks, Father.'

‘I'll skin and draw those rabbits. They'll make a tasty stew.' Sab looked at Rowan hopefully.

‘Well, you'll have to ask Fanny about that, Sab,' said Rowan. Edward stared at her in surprise. ‘It wouldn't do to interfere with the lady of the farm's housekeeping, Father,' she continued, quoting her aunt's words.

‘When did you get so wise, daughter?' he asked, grinning at her.

‘Or you could say so foolish,' Sab groaned. ‘I'd hate to see good meat ruined.'

‘Now, Sab, it's only fair to give Fanny a chance,' Rowan said, tongue in cheek. Then felt guilty when her father brightened.

‘It's good that you two are getting on. I told Fanny you were a sensible girl and everything would soon shake down. Although perhaps she could do with some guidance when it comes to dishing up sponge puddings,' he
said, grimacing at the memory. ‘Well, I'm off to prepare the pens in the barn for those sheep.'

Watching as he shrugged into his heavy coat and tugged his woollen cap over his curls, Rowan couldn't help thinking he looked strangely out of balance without his beard. That wispy moustache and burly sideburns didn't look right on him and although she had seen only one picture of Prince Albert, she didn't think her father resembled him in any way. Sab raised his eyebrows, catching her train of thought as usual.

‘Come along, lad,' Edward said. ‘Oh, by the way, Rowan, I took a look at your door last evening and it opened easily enough.' She smiled at her father, thinking that it would have done for him, thanks to her trusty mirror.

She cleared away their dishes. Then, peering out of the window and seeing the large white flakes still falling from a leaden sky, she decided to leave venturing out to the well until later. Tossing more wood onto the fire, she settled beside the blaze with her mending on her lap. Magic padded over and settled her weight on Rowan's feet.

‘That's wonderful,' Rowan sighed to the purring animal, her skin warming beneath the animal's soft fur. As her fingers nimbly sewed and darned, she relaxed, enjoying the opportunity of being indoors on such a bitter day. The crackle of logs made the room feel cosy and she couldn't help reminiscing how, on snowy days like this, she'd sat beside her mother while she taught her to sew to her own exacting standard. Putting her mending down, she stroked the red ribbon, not for the first time wishing things could have stayed the same.

As footsteps sounded on the stairs, Magic leaped to her
feet, fur standing on end so that Rowan was reminded of her father's dishevelled appearance earlier.

‘Hush, Magic,' she murmured, bending to stroke the agitated animal. But as Fanny entered the room she hissed and bolted beneath the table.

‘Good morning, Rowan, my dear,' Fanny gushed in her false fashion. ‘What are you doing?' she asked coming over and looking quizzically at neatly folded garments.

‘Just catching up on some mending, while it's snowing.'

‘Goodness, why don't you just get new clothes?' Fanny asked. Without waiting for an answer, she peered into the pot and then pouted. ‘There's no hot water for tea! I haven't had a thing to eat this morning either,' she exclaimed.

‘I expect Sab will bring some water in with him when he comes. Of course, if you don't want to wait, you could always go out to the well yourself,' Rowan pointed out. ‘It's a pity you weren't up when we had breakfast. The porridge was extra creamy this morning,' she couldn't resist adding. Her stepmother gave her a martyred look.

‘I'm not going out in this awful weather,' she said, shivering dramatically even though she was standing right in front of the fire. ‘Sab will need to empty my chamber pot soon, though.'

Not trusting herself to speak, Rowan continued stitching furiously. Oblivious to the atmosphere, Fanny perched elegantly on the chair beside her, drawing the folds of yet another dress Rowan hadn't seen before around her ankles.

‘Are the men outside?' she asked. Rowan nodded, trying not to wrinkle her nose as the all-pervading scent
of roses wafted her way. ‘Good. We can use the opportunity to have a chat,' her stepmother said. Had she forgotten their words of the previous day already, Rowan wondered.

As her stepmother prattled on about inconsequential matters, Rowan found herself becoming increasingly uncomfortable. When she'd pricked her finger for the third time, she admitted defeat and put her sewing to one side.

‘That's better, dear,' her stepmother said. ‘Now we can really get to know one another. Why don't you tell me more about life around here? You must find it very quiet. What do you do for fun?'

‘Well, the fair visits sometimes, and we ride into Sudbury on market day. If we sell all our wares we treat ourselves to a pie to eat on the way home. If it continues snowing, we won't be able to go this week.'