The Girl with the Red Ribbon

by Linda Finlay

  ‘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.

  ‘You’re a kind girl, Rowan, and pie – well, that would be a feast for a king.’ He rubbed his stomach appreciatively. ‘And if there were baked potatoes, too …’ he added, looking hopeful.

  ‘I think we might still have a few potatoes in the sack,’ she replied, frowning as she remembered how quickly their winter crop store was dwindling. ‘Well, I’d better get back and start preparing it all. I’ve a feeling it’s going to take some time but at least I’ll have made the effort for Father. It’ll mean relighting the bread oven, though,’ she said, gathering up the remains of their impromptu picnic.

  ‘And I’d better get back to the hedging before Uncle Ted reappears. Do you want me to tell him what’s in store for dinner?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ Rowan said. ‘Let’s keep it as a surprise. I think we still have some cider left, so perhaps you could bring in a flagon when you come? We’ll make it a welcome party for Fanny.’

  ‘I just hope she appreciates all the trouble you’re going to. You’ll be needing more faggots for the fire so I’ll bring some in with me as well,’ Sab offered, smiling.

  As they went their separate way, neither of them noticed Fanny watching from her bedroom window.

  CHAPTER 3

  Back at the farmhouse, Rowan found the kitchen empty, apart from the remains of Fanny’s meal strewn across the table. As she kicked off her boots she saw, to her dismay, that her stepmother had cut the tops off the remaining loaves and eaten those, leaving behind the charred bottoms. All her hard work had been wasted, she thought, anger rising in her chest. She had a good mind to go and have it out with the woman. Then she remembered she’d promised her father she’d try to make her stepmother feel welcome. Swallowing down her disappointment and deciding she would soak the remaining crusts in warm milk sprinkled with salt and turn them into brewis for their breakfast, she carried the remaining crusts through to the pantry.

  Taking down the receipt book from the dresser, she settled herself on the floor beside the fire and turned to the relevant page. As always, the sight of her mother’s beautiful flowing writing brought a lump to her throat, and the fact that the receipt for the chicken pie was the last entry made it more poignant. Stroking the ribbon around her wrist, she forced herself to concentrate on the instructions. Although the list of instructions was long, each stage seemed straightforward so Rowan was feeling confident as she stacked the bread oven with the remaining faggots. Then, having set fire to them, she lined up all the ingredients along the table.

  The preparations took Rowan the rest of the afternoon, but to her immense satisfaction she managed to form the pie crust, fill it with the meats and pour in stock without it leaking. Finally, sealing it with its pastry lid, she stood back and admired what, to her, looked like a very passable effort indeed. With the shadows lengthening, she lit the candles and put another log on the fire. Then, after raking out the ashes from the oven for the second time that day, she placed her pie carefully inside, adding a few potatoes to bake at the same time. Magic tangled herself around her feet and, laughing at her antics, Rowan settled herself on the floor beside the fire, stroking her soft black fur.

  After a while, her eyes grew heavy. Shaking herself, she jumped to her feet and began clearing away. Soon the aroma of cooking pie filled the kitchen, and she felt excitement stirring. Wait until her father saw what she’d made from her mother’s book. Carefully she spread the bright cotton cloth they kept for special occasions over the table and set out the utensils they’d need.

  ‘Something smells good,’ Fanny said, gliding down the stairs. Pity she couldn’t say the same, Rowan thought as the pervading scent of rose threatened to overpower the appetizing aroma of her cooking. She noticed her stepmother had changed into yet another fancy dress. How many did the woman have, she wondered, looking down at her own homespun gown. Although she’d dyed it green with leaves from the elder, and had been pleased with the result, beside Fanny’s brightly sprigged material it looked quite drab. Her stepmother had styled her hair, too, clipping it back with an ornate clasp. Hastily, Rowan smoothed back her own mane of copper curls, reminding herself to take off her apron once she’d served the meal.

  ‘Well, aren’t you going to tell me what’s cooking?’ Fanny asked, looking enquiringly at Rowan.

  ‘It’s chicken and bacon pie,’ she said proudly. ‘It’s from a receipt in Mother’s book. I’ve never made a pie before so I hope it tastes as nice as it smells.’

  ‘Did your mother make it often?’ Fanny enquired.

  ‘Yes, it was one of her favourite dishes. She always cooked it on special occasions,’ she whispered, blinking back the tears so that she failed to notice the interest sparking in Fanny’s eyes.

  ‘My goodness, something smells inviting in here,’ her father said, striding into the room and throwing his cap onto the settle. ‘And what a delightful sight to welcome a man home,’ he exclaimed, smiling at his new wife.

  ‘Edward, my dear,’ Fanny simpered in a soft voice, as she went over and kissed his cheek. Although he flushed and turned away, Rowan could tell he was pleased. Then the door swung open
again and Sab clattered in, a flagon under one arm and a bundle of faggots under the other. He sniffed the air appreciatively.

  ‘I heard there’s a bit of a celebration going on, so I brought this in.’ He proudly held up the cider and winked at Rowan.

  ‘How clever of you to know that, Sab,’ Fanny gushed, beaming at him as he carefully set the flagon on the table before tossing the faggots beside the hearth.

  Surprised at the change in the woman’s manner, but putting it down to her afternoon rest, Rowan proudly set the pie on the table.

  ‘Right, Sab, my boy, if you’d like to pour the drinks, I shall dish our dinner,’ Fanny announced nudging Rowan out of the way and picking up the serving spoons. Rowan stared at her in surprise, but her stepmother was making such a performance of placing a generous portion of the pie in front of her new husband, she didn’t notice.

  ‘Now come along, Edward. Tell me what you think of your new wife’s pie crust,’ she said coyly.

  ‘But, Fanny …’ Rowan began.

  ‘Do help yourselves to some pie, my dears, I’ve made plenty,’ Fanny said, cutting Rowan short and regally making a sweeping gesture towards the food. Really, it was as if she were speaking to servants, Rowan thought.

  ‘Why this looks absolutely delightful, my dear,’ Edward murmured, oblivious to what was going on around him as he raised the crust to his mouth.

  ‘But, Father …’

  ‘Now Rowan, let your father enjoy his meal,’ Fanny interrupted quickly. ‘He must be famished after working out in the fields all day,’ she purred, leaning across and patting his hand tenderly.

  ‘Hmm, delicious, Fanny,’ her father enthused. ‘If you are going to cook dinners like this every night, I shall be a very happy man indeed.’

  Rowan stared at Fanny, waiting for her to correct him, but her stepmother just smiled sweetly. ‘Why, Edward, my dear, this is just a little pie I knocked up this afternoon.’

  Sab, who was taking a swig of his cider, almost choked on his drink.