by Linda Finlay
‘Oh my, oh my,’ he roared. ‘Now, Rowan, do think logically. If you were turned to stone – and I say if – the wolves wouldn’t be in the least bit interested in you. As far as I’m aware they don’t have a penchant for granite.’
Rowan bowed her head. How stupid of her. Clearly her time in the asylum had addled her brain.
‘Besides, you haven’t escaped; I released you.’
Happiness surging through her, she sat up in her seat again.
‘May I ask where you are taking me?’ she asked eagerly.
‘Indeed you may. I am taking you to my house.’
‘What!’ she exclaimed, her eyes widening in disbelief. And she’d thought he was a respectable man.
‘Don’t look so alarmed. I promise you I am an honourable man,’ he said, echoing her thoughts. ‘You are right to be wary. However, when I say my house, I really mean the family home. My mother is an agreeable woman and never happier than when she is involved in charitable works.’
‘I can assure you, Mr Superintendent, sir, that I am not a charity case. I can earn my living as good as the next person. In fact, I would prefer to,’ she declared indignantly.
‘I’m sorry, Rowan. In no way did I mean to imply you were a charity case. My choice of words was clumsy. I meant that my mother will be happy to have a bright young woman like you for company. My father’s business interests take him away for weeks at a time and my sister, a mantua maker and milliner in Saltmouth, is very busy, so poor Mother doesn’t see as much of any of us as she would like. Now, as we are away from the asylum, I think it would be better if you addressed me as Mr Acland. Mr Superintendent, sir, is such a mouthful and much too formal, don’t you think?’ he asked, with a twinkle in his eye.
‘Yes, Mr Acland,’ she said, the words sounding strange on her tongue.
‘There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?’ he said, his blue eyes sparkling. ‘You will at least be comfortable whilst we seek a suitable position for you. Meanwhile I shall make enquiries about how you came to be admitted to the asylum. There appear to have been irregularities, which I intend to get to the bottom of,’ he said, settling back in his seat.
Rowan looked out of the window and sighed. Obviously, neither her father nor Sab had come looking for her.
‘Is something wrong, Rowan?’ the superintendent asked.
‘I had hoped my father would have come for me,’ she answered.
‘Even if he had wanted to find you, Hell Tor is situated on the most remote part of the moors, Rowan. It is highly unlikely he would think to look there, isn’t it?’
‘But Fanny would have known where I was being taken,’ she protested.
‘Ah, but we’ve already established she was the one who arranged for you to be admitted to the asylum so …’ He shrugged. ‘Still, don’t worry, I promise you will be looked after from now on,’ he said, giving her a smile. ‘And maybe in time, when the dust has settled, you can pay your father a visit. Now, why don’t you settle back and enjoy the scenery? The moors are a glorious riot of colour in the spring and, as we are well into April, who knows, we might even be lucky enough to hear the cuckoo.’ Rowan looked out of the window and saw they’d left the black forbidding bogs behind; the dark clouds had given way to sunshine and once again they were passing through open moorland. She guessed her father wouldn’t have even tried to look for her, any more than Susan’s Charlie was likely to go after her. Susan! She did hope her friend was all right.
‘Super … , I mean, Mr Acland?’
‘Yes, Rowan,’ the superintendent said, peering over his newspaper.
‘Do you know how Simple Susan is?’
‘Simple Susan? What kind of a name is that?’
‘Well, she’s not simple, of course, but that’s the name she had in the asylum. We were all given them. Sharp called me “loon”.’ Rowan saw a flicker of annoyance flash across his face and a tic twitch in his right cheek. ‘That’s not the important thing, though,’ she said quickly, not wishing to upset him. ‘Susan was kind to me and was the only friend I made in there. The guards were horrible to her because she’s carrying a baby but doesn’t have a husband. She was poorly recently and had a false alarm. As I didn’t see her before I left, I would like to know she’s all right,’ she explained.
‘I see,’ he said. ‘When I return there tomorrow, I will ascertain how she is,’ he promised.
‘Thank you, Mr Acland,’ she said, stifling a yawn as the events of the day caught up with her.
‘Why don’t you lie back and close your eyes?’ he asked, disappearing behind the pages of his paper again.
As exhaustion settled over her like a heavy blanket, Rowan did as he suggested …
She could hear voices; see a light flickering above her, someone was shaking her.
‘Don’t touch me,’ she screamed, sitting bolt upright.
‘Hush now,’ she heard a male voice say. Snapping her eyes open, she saw she wasn’t in her bed in the dormitory. Disorientated, she looked up to find herself staring into the superintendent’s worried face, a lantern swinging from his hand.
‘Sorry, I thought I was back in the asylum and Sharp …’ she muttered groggily.
‘You are safe now, Rowan,’ he soothed. Although his voice was soft and reassuring, Rowan could see he was frowning. ‘Come along, let’s go inside and I’ll introduce you to Mother.’ He helped her down from the carriage.
‘Put the horses in the stable, Jenson, but have them ready first thing tomorrow,’ he called to the driver.
Rowan became aware of her surroundings. They were standing in front of a large square, red-brick house with bay windows. Shiny green ivy trailed the walls, and the evening air was fragranced with the sweet smell of honeysuckle and lavender. As she felt her spirits rise, the gravel carriage sweep was suddenly bathed in a soft glow. A stylish woman dressed in a pale blue dress, soft tendrils of white hair escaping her bun, was standing in the open doorway.
‘Alexander, what a wonderful surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.’
As the superintendent bent to kiss the woman’s cheek, Rowan smiled. So his name was Alexander. It quite suited the distinguished man, who, judging from the age of his mother, must be around forty, much younger than she’d originally thought.
‘And you have brought someone to see me,’ the woman said, stepping back from her son’s embrace.
‘Mother, I’d like you to meet Rowan. She has suffered a wretched experience at the asylum and I’ve brought her home for some of your loving, tender care.’ The woman turned towards Rowan, taking in her ill-fitting clothes and uneasy countenance.
‘Welcome, Rowan. It is nice to meet you,’ she said, with a warm smile. If she was surprised at her son showing up with a former asylum patient in tow, she was too polite to show it. ‘Now come inside, both of you, before we all catch a night chill.’ She turned and led the way along the grand hallway, with its floor of highly polished black and white tiles, and myriad candles flickering from their golden sconces on the walls.
Rowan followed her into an elegant, high-ceilinged room, her eyes widening in amazement. She’d never been inside anywhere so grand. The walls were lined with what seemed to her like burgundy velvet, and hung with gilt-framed pictures of wild flowers. Imagine having walls big enough to hang ornamental pieces, she thought, remembering the basic dresser and bacon settle back at the farm. She felt a pang as she thought of her home but Mrs Acland was bidding her to take a seat beside the blazing log fire. Startled, she glanced from the plush upholstery to her dirty black dress and shook her head.
‘I think I’d better have a wash first,’ she said, fearful of marking the fine tapestry cushions.
‘We don’t stand on ceremony here at Haldon House. However, I’m sure you would like to freshen up after your journey. Travelling makes one so dusty, I always find,’ Mrs Acland said, turning and tugging on the tapestry bell pull by her side. Almost immediately a young girl of about eleven appeared.
�
�Yous rang, ma’am?’ she asked, bobbing a quick curtsy.
‘Yes, Daisy, I did, although I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that you don’t need to curtsy. Rowan here is going to be our guest for a few days. I’d like you to show her up to the Lilac Room and see that she has hot water for washing. Then you can light the fire, turn down the bed and lay out a fresh nightdress. When you’ve done that, go and see Cook and ask her if she’d kindly heat some of her beef broth. What about you, Alexander? I dare say you are hungry?’
‘Beef broth will be fine for me, too, Mother, thank you,’ he said, taking off his hat and sinking into the Chesterfield.
‘Now, Rowan, you go upstairs with Daisy. She will make sure you have everything you need,’ Mrs Acland said, turning back to Rowan, but the warmth from the fire had made her sleepy and she was doing her best to stifle a yawn.
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ she said.
‘You are our guest here, Rowan, so please call me Mrs Acland. You are obviously fatigued so after you have refreshed yourself, I suggest you jump straight into bed. I’ll get Daisy here to bring your broth to your room.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly put you to so much trouble,’ Rowan protested.
‘It’s no trouble at all. Get a good night’s sleep and everything will look better in the morning. Alexander and I have a few things we need to discuss, so you would actually be doing us a favour, wouldn’t she?’ she said, turning towards her son.
‘Indeed, Mother. Sleep well, Rowan, and don’t worry, I shall remember to ask how your friend Susan is,’ he said with a smile.
‘Thank you, Super … I mean Mr Acland, and you too, Mrs Acland,’ she said.
Following Daisy from the room and up the sweeping staircase, she marvelled at its magnificent carved banisters lit by the warm glow from the candles flickering on their brass reflectors.
The room Rowan was shown into was delightful, with pale lilac furnishings and snowy white bed linen. A washstand stood in the corner and a fire in the grate was set, ready to be lit. She shook her head at such luxury but how she wished she was back in her own little bedroom. As Daisy disappeared to get hot water, Rowan went over to the window and looked out across the garden. Even in the gathering shadows, she could see the lawn was superbly manicured and edged with well-tended flowerbeds, bordered by topiary bushes. The contrast with the stark, high-walled airing courts of the asylum was indescribable. It was wonderful to be free but what was to become of her? She couldn’t stay here for long, could she?
Her musing was interrupted by Daisy staggering back into the room under the weight of a huge ewer, brimming with hot water. Rowan hurried over to help the girl, but Daisy shook her head.
‘I can manage, miss, thank yous,’ she insisted, as with great concentration she lifted it on to the washstand.
‘Well, thank you, Daisy,’ Rowan said, turning and drawing the curtains.
‘That’s my job, miss,’ the little maid stated, her lip quivering.
‘Sorry, Daisy, I was forgetting my manners,’ Rowan said, anxious not to upset the girl. She waited whilst the maid saw to the fire and then carefully turned down the corner of the bedding. By the time Rowan had washed the smell of the asylum from her skin and combed out her long curls, there was a cheery fire glowing in the grate, and a snowy white nightdress placed to warm on the chair beside it. Feeling human again, Rowan clambered into the soft cotton gown and then climbed into bed. As she sank down into the plush feather mattress and drew the lavender-scented sheets over her, she let out a contented sigh. She watched the flames dancing in the fireplace and listened to the crackling of the logs, thinking she’d never felt so pampered in her life.
Her musings were interrupted by a tap on the door and then Daisy appeared, carefully carrying a tray laden with a mug of the most delicious-smelling soup and a huge hunk of bread glistening with golden butter. Her stomach growled in appreciation and she smiled her grateful thanks.
‘Mrs Acland says if there’s anything else yous need, yous to ring the bell,’ Daisy said, dipping a little curtsy and hurrying from the room. Rowan smiled. Nobody had ever curtsied to her before. Then hunger overtook her and she turned her attention to supper. She’d lost count of the number of pots of broth she’d made since her mother had died, but had to concede this was the most delicious she’d ever tasted. Wiping out the mug with the last of her bread, she set the tray on the table beside the bed. Her head sank into the soft pillows and she drifted off to sleep, thinking she’d never smelled anything as comforting as the lavender that scented the crisp, cotton pillowslips.
She woke with a start, but there were no snores or grunts coming from other beds. Opening her eyes, she saw the light of early morning filtering through the drapes. As she stared around the room, it was a few moments before she remembered that she was no longer in the asylum but a guest in the superintendent’s family home. Feeling invigorated after her night’s sleep, and relieved to be free, she jumped from the bed and threw back the curtains. Outside, the lawns were sparkling with dew and she could hear the chirruping of sparrows and the singing of blackbirds. In the fields beyond the gardens she could see cows grazing. Suddenly, she was filled with an overwhelming longing to be outside in the fresh air. There was no sign of her dress or shawl, but a night wrap was draped over the chair beside the fire. Someone, probably Daisy, had evidently been in whilst she was asleep, damped it down and pulled the guard around it as well as removing her supper tray. Goodness, she was being treated like royalty she thought.
Quietly she opened the bedroom door. Then, anxious not to waken anyone, she tiptoed down the stairs and along the hallway. Not hearing anyone moving about, she let herself outside into the crisp morning air. She stood there for a few moments, breathing in the fresh air and marvelling at the wondrous sense of liberty that surged through her veins. Giving in to the urge to feel the grass beneath her bare feet, she skipped onto the lawn and began to dance. Joy flooded through her and she swayed and dipped with gay abandon. She remembered her grandfather saying that freedom never tasted sweeter than when it was restored after it had been taken from you, and that it should never be taken for granted. Now she understood what he had meant. With the first rays of the new day’s sun spreading their red fingertips across the eastern sky, she knew what she had to do. Spotting a bird’s feather on the lawn, still anointed with the morning dew, she bent and picked it up. Waving it in the air above her head, she chanted:
As I feel the wind blow free
And all around me balanced be,
This feather I present to thee
With thanks for all eternity.
So mote it be.
Plucking a Lent lily from the border, Rowan kissed it, then fell to her knees on the damp grass. Placing the flower and feather in the shape of a V on the ground before her, she closed her eyes.
‘Well, well, well. So still you dance and chant, Rowan.’
Springing to her feet, she turned to see the superintendent staring at her in surprise.
CHAPTER 20
‘I’m sorry for picking one of your flowers, sir, but I was just giving blessings for my freedom,’ Rowan explained, embarrassed at having been caught dancing on his lawn.
‘You were giving blessings? That’s remarkable, Rowan. Most people would be bitter at having been locked away unfairly,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘Mother taught me that it’s better to be thankful for the good things in life than to dwell on misfortune. She said bitterness begets bitterness, and that the only person who suffers then is yourself.’
‘It sounds as if she was very wise, Rowan. Now I seem to remember one of your other talents was blessing cattle, so tell me, are you going to switch the cows over there, too?’ Amusement twitched his lips as he pointed to the field beyond.
‘Now I know you mock me, sir.’
‘Far from it, Rowan, although I do wish you would call me Mr Acland. Actually, it gladdens my heart to see a young woman enjoying the great outdoors. Some are mo
re concerned about the wind ruffling their coiffure,’ he said, his eyes clouding. ‘Still, it’s a beautiful day, is it not?’ His face brightened as he looked about him, breathing in the fresh country air.
‘Oh, yes, Mr Acland,’ Rowan agreed, and couldn’t help thinking how much younger he looked when he relaxed. ‘And this is such a delightful garden,’ she said, staring at the flowerbeds awash with colourful spring blooms.
‘It is indeed. Do you know that the word “garden” comes from the Hebrew, and means a pleasant place?’
‘No, I didn’t, but it is truly the right word for it, isn’t it? And it goes with your glorious mansion,’ she said, gesturing to the magnificent building behind them.
‘I agree it is a glorious house; hardly a mansion, though. It was originally built as the vicarage. Somewhat ironic, really, considering Father’s business interests …’ Hearing noises coming from the stables, he tailed off and when he resumed it was in his habitual serious manner.
‘Rowan, although you look delightful in that white nightgown, with all your glorious hair flowing free, I think you should take yourself indoors before Mother rises and sees you.’
‘Oh,’ she gasped, suddenly aware she was standing before him wearing only her night attire. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’
‘Don’t be. You look quite charming,’ he said. Then, giving a nervous cough, he added, ‘Cook and Daisy are already about their business so if I were you I’d sneak in via the French doors over there. It wouldn’t do to cause any tittle-tattle, now, would it?’ He pointed to a pair of open glass doors behind them. The sound of hooves on gravel could be heard and he became solemn. ‘That sounds like Jenson ready to take me to the asylum. I’ll remember to enquire about your friend Susan,’ he assured Rowan.
As she watched him striding away, she couldn’t help thinking what a mixture of a man he was. He obviously loved the garden, and had looked almost boyish when he’d spoken about it, then in a snap he was the officious superintendent. Remembering his advice, she ran towards the open doors, hoping she’d be able to find her way back up to the Lilac Room.