by Linda Finlay
‘Hard luck,’ Sab commiserated, as he went outside to settle the livestock. Rowan settled down beside the fire, cuddling the lambs close.
‘Suddenly I wish I was an orphan, too,’ she whispered.
CHAPTER 9
It was several weeks before the weather warmed and the snow had thawed sufficiently for Rowan to take her produce to the market in Sudbury. She’d spent the time she’d been confined indoors experimenting with different herbs, and now had good stocks of flavoured soft cheeses and butter to sell along with her home-baked bread. She’d also perfected her latest curative for pains in the joints caused by wet and cold weather and was hopeful it would prove popular after the prolonged wintry conditions. Although she’d managed to avoid Fanny for most of the time, the strain of being cooped up was beginning to tell and she welcomed the chance to get away from the farm for a day.
Dawn was breaking as the cart slowly crept its way down the Devonshire lanes, the white blanket across the fields deadening the creaking of the axles and the soft plod of Blackthorn’s hooves. As they turned to head down the valley, the rising sun bathed the wakening countryside in soft rosy tones. Still hardened snowdrifts were banked up against the hedges, their crystals glistening like stars so that Rowan felt she was in fairyland. Knowing Fanny would still be tucked up in her bed, Rowan and Sab relaxed for the first time in weeks.
‘There’ll be hell when she wakes up and finds we’ve gone without her,’ Sab laughed. ‘I’m in need of new clothes and modern household goods,’ he mimicked in a fair imitation of the woman.
‘I’ve never known anyone lie in until the middle of the day before,’ Rowan said. ‘If we’d waited for her to rise the market would have packed up and gone. I’m surprised she didn’t appear, though, after asking me all those questions about where and when it was held. I even had to explain exactly where my stall was located.’
‘Maybe she was just being plain nosy. Anyway, she lies abed to avoid doing any household duties. It’s a long time since I’ve not been fed good food regular, like,’ he said, looking hopefully at Rowan. Taking pity on him, she took two freshly baked bread rolls from her basket.
‘Just one each then or there’ll not be enough to sell to make a decent profit,’ she said.
He grinned, and then bit into his with relish.
‘Gosh, I’ve missed your baking,’ he sighed, munching contentedly. ‘Since when did we have to live on porridge and pottage anyway? The pigs get better variety in their swill.’
‘I know, but Fanny insisted that as lady of the farm she’s in charge of the housekeeping. Thankfully, she never ventures into the dairy so I’ve been able to get on with the churning, as you well know from your regular forays, Sab Clode,’ Rowan admonished.
‘Well, a fellow’s got to keep his strength up,’ he said.
‘Needless to say Fanny was still sleeping when I made the bread, so I was able to use the table beside the fire, otherwise I’d still be waiting for it to rise.’
‘Uncle Ted looks right miserable these days, doesn’t he?’ Sab remarked, frowning.
‘I know. Father’s taken to keeping out of her way during the day. Although she insists he joins her in the parlour of an evening, it being their room now. I must admit I’ve enjoyed curling up in front of the fire in the kitchen and getting on with my knitting. Oh, that reminds me,’ she said, delving into her basket once again and taking out a pair of mittens. ‘Here you are, Sab. I’ve made them with the pop-over tops you like.’
His face lit up in delight and, taking a hand off the reins, he slipped one on, holding it out for her to see.
‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘Thanks ever so much, Rowan.’
‘You’re welcome, Sab, but I must admit I’ve missed your company of an evening.’
‘Sorry, Rowan, but I’ve been hiding meself up in the hayloft. I need to keep out of that woman’s way. She makes me so wild it’s been affecting my speech,’ he said, changing the reins over so that he could wriggle his other hand into its mitten. ‘These are grand. Have you made any to sell?’
‘Yes, and some hats, too. Thought there might be a market for them this weather and I hope to make some extra money. There’s nothing wrong with your speech today, Sab.’
‘No, I can relax with you. It’s Fanny; she says I’m so stupid it’s not surprising my mother abandoned me, especially if I stuttered like a starling.’
Rowan gasped. ‘That’s a terrible thing for Fanny to have said. Surely you don’t believe such nonsense? After all, you were only a baby when she gave you up, weren’t you?’ He nodded. ‘Well, babies can’t speak, can they? So she wouldn’t have known how you talked. Anyway, Mother said it was the rough treatment you got in the foundling hospital that made you stutter.’
Immediately he brightened. ‘You’re right, Rowan. Gosh, that’s a weight off me mind. It’s bad enough knowing my mother abandoned me without my thinking it was because I was stupid.’
‘You are not stupid, Sab. You are bright, cheeky and my best friend,’ she declared stoutly, giving him a reassuring smile. As he turned towards her and grinned back, the cart lurched. ‘Look, we’ve reached the outskirts of Sudbury already, so watch what you’re doing.’
Carefully, he guided Blackthorn over the narrow old stone packhorse bridge, then they steadily climbed past the low limewashed thatched cottages up towards the tall square church tower in the centre of town. Opposite the imposing three-storey hostelry, the market square was already bustling with life. Stall-holders called out in greeting as Rowan clambered from the cart.
‘I’ve errands to do for Uncle,’ Sab declared, handing her down her baskets. ‘I’ll be back to collect you midday so make sure you sell everything, then we can treat ourselves to one of Hannah’s tasty meat pies.’ His eyes lit up at the thought.
Rowan set out her wares, listening to the banter of the other stall-holders. She was pleased she’d managed to produce enough to fill her stall, and was just standing back to admire her handiwork when Timon came over with a mug of tea.
‘Here you are, girl; something to warm your insides this raw day.’
‘Thanks, Timon, you’re a life-saver,’ she said gratefully. He gave her his toothless, gummy grin, but before he could answer a matronly woman was asking the price of his candles and he turned away.
‘Mornan, Rowan. Get a load of these beauties,’ Mabel shouted from her stall opposite. Unable to resist taking a peek, Rowan went over, exclaiming in delight at the pretty emerald ribbon the woman was holding up. ‘It’ll go beautiful with that copper hair of yours.’ Remembering the money her aunt had insisted she take for the socks she’d made, Rowan hesitated. Then, a picture of her wearing muted-coloured homespun alongside Fanny in her finery flitted into her mind, and before she could change her mind, she nodded.
‘ ’Ere you are, ducks,’ Mabel said, cutting off a generous length and giving her a wink. ‘Don’t tell no one, mind, or they’ll all expect extra measures.’
‘Gosh, thank you, Mabel. I’ll be able to trim my hat for Easter as well as have some to sew round the neck of my frock. Come over later and I’ll let you sample my new chive and nettle cheeses,’ she said, handing over her money and making her way back to her own stall.
Business was brisk and Rowan was kept busy dealing with a steady stream of customers, which was just as well, as she didn’t have to stand still in the freezing cold. She was just counting her takings when a shadow fell over her nearly empty stall. Looking up, she saw a smartly dressed gentleman with beady brown eyes and slicked-back dark hair under his top hat. He looked quite out of place amongst the market traders and customers with their warm, comfortable woollen coats and cloth caps.
‘I see you have just one loaf left, so I’ll take it,’ he said, pointing to the small cob Rowan had put by for old Aggie.
‘I’m sorry, sir, but that one is reserved.’
He peered around. ‘I don’t see anyone else waiting, young lady, so perhaps you would be so kind as to wrap it for me,’ he said
, smiling and patting his trouser pocket so that she could hear the coins jangling.
‘As I told you, I’ve put that by for someone,’ Rowan said, steadily returning his weasel-like gaze.
‘Ah, a girl with a mind of her own, and a pretty one at that,’ he said smoothly. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Rowan, sir,’ she answered politely.
‘Well, Rowan, this is no weather for a young girl like you to be working outside. I could find you more lucrative work in far more comfortable surroundings than this,’ he said, gesturing around the market square in disdain. He gave her another of his smarmy grins. ‘It looks as if you’re finished here so why don’t you let me treat you to a hot meal at the hostelry. We could discuss the matter further,’ he cajoled, eyeing her in the same speculative way her father used when inspecting livestock at the sales. She shuddered, her hand instinctively going to the red ribbon. Remembering he was a customer, she endeavoured to remain polite.
‘Thank you, but I am meeting someone shortly. I’m sorry about the loaf but perhaps I could interest you in some chive cheese instead? I’ve just the one remaining.’ He leaned closer so that she caught a whiff of his cologne. It smelled musky and musty, and involuntarily she took a step back.
‘Here, I’ll take that cheese,’ a young woman said, pushing past him. She fumbled in her bag for her money and although Rowan took her time serving her, the man still hovered. She was just beginning to feel uncomfortable when Timon appeared at her side.
‘Is everything all right, Rowan?’ he asked, leaning over the stall. As Rowan turned to answer him, she noticed the gentleman sidling off into the crowd.
‘You want to watch gents like him,’ Timon said.
‘Why, who was he?’ Rowan asked.
‘Happen he’s a rum un. City gents like him don’t come here for nothing. Heed a man who knows his sort and steer clear,’ he warned. Rowan shivered. ‘Don’t fret, though. Old Timon will keep his eye out next time you’re here.’
‘Thank you, Timon, and thank you for the tea,’ she said, handing him back his mug. Then quickly placing the cob loaf in one of her baskets, she bade him goodbye.
Trudging through the slush along the cobbled street towards the almshouses, she couldn’t help wondering who the slimy gent had been and what he’d really wanted. She was certain that it hadn’t been her bread.
Lost in thought, she found herself outside Aggie’s front door before she knew it. Carefully, she cleaned her boots on the scraper, for the woman might be old and her eyesight failing but she was as house-proud as ever. Setting down her baskets, Rowan knocked briskly on the door.
‘Come on through, Rowan,’ a voice called, making her smile. Although she never announced who she was, old Aggie always knew it was her before she’d even stepped inside her low-beamed living room.
As usual, the woman was sitting in her rocking chair beside the fire, a woollen rug over her knees, knitting needles clacking like the clappers.
‘Hello, Aggie. How are you? I’ve brought your loaf,’ Rowan said, placing it carefully on the table. Then shrugging off her shawl, she placed it over the back of a chair.
‘That’s kind, Rowan,’ she said, barely looking up from her work. ‘Take the money out of my purse, won’t you?’
‘Now you know there’s no need for that, Aggie. I’d die for a cup of tea, though. It’s cold and miserable out there. Shall I make us some?’ she asked, automatically lifting the kettle from its trivet in front of the fire and pouring hot water into the waiting pot. It was their custom to share a drink and chat whenever Rowan came to market. She knew the old woman had no family, although to look at all the garments she knitted, you’d think she had an army of grandchildren. It was well known that, not having been blessed with her own, she spent what little money she had on buying wool to make clothes for the poor.
‘Now come and tell me all the gossip, young Rowan. How’s that new stepmother of yours?’
Rowan knew she shouldn’t be surprised that Aggie knew of her father’s marriage, for talk travelled quicker than time around these parts. Cup in hand, she settled in the other chair and passed the next half-hour exchanging the local news, which was sparser than usual owing to the fact that neither of them had ventured out during the snow. Somehow, though, she didn’t feel able to confide in her friend about ‘Slimy’ as she now thought of the strange man. It was cosy beside the fire but eventually, knowing Sab would be waiting, she reluctantly got to her feet, threw on her shawl, picked up her baskets and bent to kiss Aggie goodbye. Curiously, the woman gripped hold of Rowan’s hand and gazed intently into her eyes for a long moment. A shiver stole up the girl’s spine and she could feel the red ribbon tightening around her wrist.
‘You’re a good girl, Rowan, but too trusting, especially for a sensitive. ’Tis a blessing and a curse, so you must treat the gift wisely,’ Aggie whispered. ‘You can see and hear things for others, but not for yourself. But Aggie sees for ye. Take great care, for I see trouble ahead. Beware she with the forked tongue.’ Then, as if she’d exhausted herself, Aggie slumped back in her chair. Before Rowan could ask what she’d meant, the old woman was gently snoring, her knitting falling to the floor.
Hurrying as fast as she could through the slushy streets, Rowan couldn’t help pondering on what Aggie had said. Was it connected to her mother’s warning that day of the storm? More to the point, was it a warning about Fanny and if it was, what could she do? She shivered and found herself peering down every alleyway she passed. Once she was back in the still-bustling marketplace, where everyone was going about their business, she chided herself for her fanciful thoughts. The appetizing aroma of pie and onions wafted her way and she saw Sab waiting impatiently beside Hannah’s stall. As he looked at her hopefully all thoughts of Aggie and her warning went out of her head.
‘Fear not, Sab, I sold every single thing so we shall eat today,’ she said, pleased to be back in his company.
Grinning, he joined the queue and then, armed with their pies, they took shelter in the shambles.
‘That were scrumptious,’ Sab declared, licking his fingers. He peered up at the lowering sky. ‘But we’d best be getting back before the weather closes in again.’
Fortified by their feast they made their way over to the stables behind the hostelry. Excusing herself to make use of the facilities, Rowan left Sab collecting Blackthorn and made her way carefully along the side of the building. The sounds of revelry coming from inside reminded her of ‘Slimy’ and his invitation, and she made a note to relay her encounter to Sab. By the time she returned, though, he was laughing with the ostlers and the moment was lost.
Steadily they trundled homewards through the gathering gloom. Weary from her early start and busy day, Rowan fell into a doze. She was woken some time later by Sab cursing as the cart lurched to one side of the track.
‘What’s up?’ she muttered, peering into the darkness. ‘Why aren’t we home yet?’
‘I think Blackthorn must have cast a shoe back along. I’ve let her go at her own pace but now she’s lame,’ he said. ‘We’re nearly there now, but it’ll help if I lead her and whisper encouragement.’
‘Oh, the poor thing,’ Rowan murmured, jumping down from the cart and walking alongside Sab.
‘Yes, and poor Uncle Ted. We’ll have to call the farrier out and that’ll cost.’
Rowan thought of the money she’d made at market. No sooner did she make a profit than it was swallowed up by bills. Sab was right: Blackthorn couldn’t go anywhere or do anything until the farrier had seen to her. Remembering the bright green ribbon she’d bought, she sighed. What had she been thinking, frittering money away like that?
By the time they turned into the entrance of Orchard Farm the moon was shining from an inky sky.
‘The shippon’s in darkness so it looks like Uncle’s finished the milking. You go in and get warm while I see to Blackthorn,’ Sab said, leading the limping creature away. Rowan sighed. ‘Don’t look so worried, Fanny will be in her
parlour by now, look.’ He pointed to the spiral of smoke rising from the chimney.
Quietly letting herself indoors, Rowan threw off her shawl and went over to the fire.
Suddenly the parlour door flew open and Fanny stood there staring at her wide-eyed.
‘Whatever are you doing here?’ she exclaimed.
CHAPTER 10
‘What do you mean?’ Rowan said, staring at her stepmother in surprise.
Her father appeared in the doorway behind Fanny, looking anxious.
‘There you are, my dear. Is everything all right? Only it’s late and we were quite worried about you.’
‘Yes, that’s what I meant, of course. Where have you been?’ Fanny said quickly. ‘We were worried you’d got lost or something.’
‘Got lost? We’ve only been to Sudbury, Fanny. Blackthorn cast a shoe and we had to walk the last half-mile home. Sab’s in the stables seeing to her, but I’m afraid we’ll have to get the farrier out, Father.’
‘Not to worry, my dear, can’t be helped. The animal’s welfare must come first, you know that. Now come and sit down by the fire; you must be exhausted.’
‘But it’ll cost extra to have him come here, and I had hoped the money I’d made on the stall would help with the farm’s finances.’
‘Do you have to pay this man to come out, then?’ Fanny cut in.
Rowan nodded and turned back to her father. ‘If I’d known Blackthorn was going to need the farrier, I wouldn’t have spent the money Aunt Sal gave me on this,’ she said, taking the emerald ribbon from her pocket.
‘Why, you darling girl, that’s just perfect for trimming my lilac blouse,’ Fanny gushed, snatching the ribbon from her fingers. Before Rowan could protest, she turned to Edward. ‘Didn’t I say earlier that you had a delightful daughter, Edward? It’s so important that I look my best when you take me out, Teddy,’ she crooned, fluttering her lashes at him.