by Linda Finlay
‘Are you all right, Sab, dear?’ Fanny asked solicitously.
‘No, Fanny, I’m not. Something I just heard stuck in my throat and made the cider go down the wrong way,’ he grunted, his clear eyes challenging.
‘Oh?’ Fanny said sweetly, her face a picture of innocence, but Rowan saw those pebble eyes hardening.
Oblivious, Sab continued, ‘Yes, you see I understood it was Rowan who …’
But Fanny shrugged dismissively. ‘Do eat your meal, Sab. I hate to see good food wasted,’ she ordered, then promptly turned back to Edward and began regaling him with a story about eating out in London. Rowan raised her eyebrows, thinking about the remains of bread she’d left strewn over the table earlier.
Sab’s mouth tightened, a sure sign he wasn’t going to let the matter drop, but Rowan could see how her father was lapping up her stepmother’s attention and shook her head. As she passed Sab his meal, she whispered, ‘Don’t forget about the crust, will you?’
‘I’m no fool, and I don’t like seeing you being taken for one either. It must have taken you ages to put this together,’ he said, taking a mouthful of meat and sighing. ‘This is right tasty. I don’t see why she should get away with taking the credit for it, though.’
Rowan looked down the table.
‘Come along, Edward, I insist you have another portion of my pie,’ Fanny was saying, heaping another helping onto his plate. Then she saw Rowan watching and shot her a triumphant look. Why, she’s gloating, Rowan thought. As her hand went instinctively to the red ribbon around her wrist, she found herself remembering one of her mother’s favourite sayings.
‘Don’t worry, Sab, what goes around comes around,’ Rowan replied, turning back to him and winking.
‘That was a fine meal, Fanny, my dear,’ Edward said, downing the rest of his drink. ‘You must be quite worn out after all that work.’
‘I must admit I am rather fatigued,’ Fanny agreed, smiling at him apologetically as she made a half-hearted effort to collect their plates together.
Edward put a restraining hand on her arm. ‘After making us a lovely meal like that, I’m sure Rowan will be only too happy to clear away, won’t you?’ he asked, turning towards her. Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded. ‘We’ll take ourselves up and have an early night, shall we, Fanny, my dear?’ he said, smiling at her.
‘Oh, Edward, you are so kind and thoughtful,’ she simpered.
‘Well, we can’t have you wearing yourself out, Fanny, now can we?’
‘Good night, Rowan. Good night, Sab. You’ll see the livestock’s settled?’ Edward called over his shoulder as he led his new wife up the stairs.
‘I want to do my best by you, Edward, but I can’t deny that it’s hard work cooking for you all. Now, my friend was telling me about these new open ranges you can get. Apparently, they really make a woman’s life much easier.’
As their voices faded away, Rowan turned to Sab. ‘Father can’t afford things like that.’
‘That’s as may be, but I somehow think she’ll get her own way,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘That one’s perfected the art of looking like an innocent child when underneath she’s cunning as a serpent. Her eyes give her away, though. Bet she’s already got her plans worked out for this place. Uncle Edward won’t stand a chance.’
Remembering the earlier conversation with her stepmother by the shippon, Rowan couldn’t help thinking he was right.
‘Well, I’m too tired to clear this lot away tonight so I’m off to the privy while I can still get in there,’ she said, grinning mischievously.
‘I’ll guide you and then see to the animals,’ replied Sab, lighting the lantern. He opened the door and the dogs seemed to appear at his side from nowhere. ‘Can’t believe the old dragon’s banned them from the kitchen, poor things. They enjoy a laze by the fire after a day’s work, just as we do,’ he said, bending and fussing them.
It was a crisp night with the full moon shining, the countryside peaceful. Sab looked up at the sky and shook his head.
‘Uncle Edward will need to come back down to earth soon if we’re to sow the first of the crops when the water table next rises.’
‘Perhaps the novelty of early nights will have worn off by then,’ Rowan said.
‘I certainly hope so. It’s him who insisted on this lunar lark in the first place,’ Sab reminded her.
‘Father says it’s scientific and it always seems to work, along with a little help from my rituals, of course. We certainly had a better crop than our neighbours last year, didn’t we? Well, I can manage now, thanks, Sab,’ she said, as they reached the privy.
‘Night, Rowan, and thanks again for a truly delicious meal. I’m just sorry Uncle Edward didn’t realize you made it.’
‘Don’t worry, Sab. I’ve a feeling that come tomorrow Fanny will be wishing she’d told him I had,’ and, laughing, she dived inside the wooden hut.
After washing her hands in the crystal waters of the stream, Rowan slowly made her way back to the farmhouse, the quietude of the night restoring her equilibrium. She could hear Sab’s gentle voice coming from the shippon as he settled the animals for the night. It was as if they were his children, she thought smiling. He’d been at one with the animals ever since he’d arrived, insisting on sleeping in the hayloft above them, even though her parents had offered him the small room next to her own.
Candle in hand, she crept up the stairs but the sounds of muffled laughter and creaking of the bed coming from her father’s room wiped the smile from her face. She knew what they were doing, of course. Mrs Stokes had taught her about such things the day she’d found Rowan shivering with fright having seen her first blood nearly two years back. The kindly woman had made her a hot drink and explained to Rowan how her body was developing and preparing itself for motherhood. She’d gone on to outline what happened between a man and a woman, likening it to sheep at tupping, but Rowan had grimaced, not wanting to dwell on such details.
Now, hearing Fanny giggle, she hurried into her own room, shutting the door firmly behind her. But as she placed her candle on the chest, the overwhelming scent of rose hit her. Fanny had been in her room! A quick inspection revealed her things had been disturbed. Nothing had been taken as far as she could see, but it was obvious her possessions had been searched and she had a terrible sense of her privacy having been invaded.
Then a thought struck her and, hurrying over to the bed, she felt beneath the mattress. As her hand closed over her precious mirror, she breathed a sigh of relief. Carefully, she drew it from its covering and sat there tracing the trumpet scroll design decorating the grip that held the handle to the mirror. She remembered how excited her mother had been the day she’d found it. She’d been digging over their vegetable plot when her spade had hit a hard object. Fascinated, Rowan had watched her carefully wipe away the earth to reveal the find. Her father had deduced from the layer of rich clay in which it had been encrusted that it must have lain there undisturbed for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years. It had become her mother’s most treasured possession and she’d used it often. After she’d died Rowan’s father had given it to her. Smiling at the memory, she turned the mirror so that, with the handle at the top, it looked like the face of a cat grinning back at her, and she sighed at the recollections of happier times.
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.
CHAPTER 4
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. ‘G
uess 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.’