by Linda Finlay
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.’
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.
CHAPTER 5
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 w
eren’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.’