The Girl with the Red Ribbon

by Linda Finlay

  ‘You’re going out?’

  ‘Yes, got a spot of business to see to whilst you visit your mother. No doubt it will take you all morning to tell her what you’ve been doing,’ he said, smiling as he donned his cap, then lifted the latch. The dogs heard him and began barking.

  ‘They’ll be able to come indoors again now, won’t they, Father?’ she called.

  His answering grin lit up his face, making him look younger again.

  Deciding to leave the clearing up until later, Rowan snatched her shawl and basket from its nail and made her way outside. The sun had risen, and the chickens clucked around her bare feet as if they were pleased to see her again, although she knew they were really after scraps.

  ‘Well, look who the cat’s dragged in,’ a kindly voice called.

  Looking up, Rowan saw Mrs Stokes standing in the doorway of the wash house. The woman seemed to have aged considerably since she’d last seen her, and was looking dishevelled.

  ‘Mrs Stokes, what are you doing here?’ she cried, her heart lifting at the sight of the charwoman. ‘I thought you usually came in on a Monday, or at the weekend if the clothes were stained.’

  ‘No, Mrs Stokes has to call upon request, if you please,’ she intoned, in a fair imitation of Fanny’s faux posh voice. ‘In other words, every other blinking day. Couldn’t be fashed to do nothing herself, that one. Old Davey was right, that woman’s naught but a slut, if you’ll pardon my French.’

  ‘I was sad to hear of his passing away, Mrs Stokes, but it wasn’t like him to speak ill of anyone,’ Rowan said, looking puzzled.

  ‘Well,’ the woman hesitated, ‘I suppose I can tell you now he’s gone. Davey knew he’d seen her majesty somewhere before. It was that smell, you see; got right up his nose. Said she had a face like a fusty ferret. Racked his brains for weeks till he remembered. It were last year when he’d been in Exeter for supplies. Saw her touting for trade outside one of those dens of iniquity, you know, them places where men go when they want a bit of young flesh.’

  Rowan raised her eyebrows. ‘You mean she …?’ Rowan gasped, hardly able to put it into words. Luckily Mrs Stokes understood her meaning.

  ‘No, dear, and she’d never dirty her hands doing anything herself. Lured the young girls, she did, promising them big money and fine clothes, all for a few minutes being nice,’ she said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. ‘When Davey realized who it was your father had married, he didn’t know whether to tell him or not. He was fond of Edward, thought of him like a son. Anyhow, he confided in me, and we decided he probably wouldn’t believe it anyhow, him being that smitten.’

  ‘Yes, he certainly was,’ Rowan replied, thinking back to when Fanny had first arrived at the farmhouse. ‘Well, Mrs Stokes, you’ll be pleased to know Father sent her packing last evening.’ She laughed as the older woman look incredulous and then gave a whoop of delight.

  ‘I knew this day was going to be good. Anyway, where’s young Sab? Place has gone to racksitts since you two left. Must admit, it shocked me to me core when Fanny said you’d run off together.’

  ‘But we didn’t, Mrs Stokes. It was a story she hatched up. Look, I haven’t time to explain now,’ Rowan said, seeing the woman’s eyes widen with curiosity. ‘One day, when you’ve time, drop by the kitchen for a cuppa and I’ll tell you all about it.’

  The woman looked disappointed for a moment and then nodded.

  ‘Guess, I got too much to do this morning anyhow,’ she said, pointing to the dirty laundry piled high on the floor. ‘You anything for laundering?’

  Rowan thought of the clothes she’d worn on her journey back from Saltmouth. ‘Oh, yes, I have stockings, petticoat and a yellow dress that need seeing to. They’re up in my room so I’ll go and get them.’

  ‘No need, I’ve got to get the bedding anyhow. You know, Miss Rowan, although you look the same, you’re kind of different, like you’re all grown up.’

  ‘That’s exactly how I feel, Mrs Stokes,’ she said, shrugging.

  As she continued on her way, she stared down at her homespun. It was cheap and thrown together compared with the fine dresses she’d been wearing these past few months. Still, Madame Louisa would have to agree she was dressed à propos for the farm, she thought, picking her way through the yard, which needed a good swilling down.

  She walked on past fields that were filled with crops needing harvesting, ditches that required clearing and overgrown hedges that needed trimming. Nearing the old oak, she quickened her pace and couldn’t help shuddering as she remembered the night she’d been snatched. Still, it was broad daylight and Fanny had gone for good. A skylark’s happy trill sounded nearby, lifting her spirits, and the feel of warm earth beneath her bare feet gave her the sense of connecting with nature in a way she hadn’t for a long time.

  She wasn’t going to let one woman’s vindictiveness spoil her life. After all, if she hadn’t been snatched she wouldn’t have become an apprentice milliner, or met Jack, would she? Except she no longer had a job and probably no follower either, she thought, carefully picking her way through the overgrown brambles. Everywhere was a shambles, just like her life.

  Finally reaching her mother’s resting place, she was pleased to see it had been tended and looked as tidy as the new one alongside. She didn’t think she could bear it if this special place had been neglected like the farm. Throwing herself down on the grass between them, she rolled onto her stomach.

  ‘I’m home, Mother,’ she whispered. ‘Hello, Davey and dun collie. You’ll all be pleased to know Father has sent Fanny packing.’ The branches above rustled, sounding like a sigh of satisfaction, she thought. ‘So much has happened since I last visited you, Mother. Good things and bad. Let me tell you …’

  It took her some time to unburden her soul. The words came out hesitantly at first then, like a dam bursting, all her pent-up emotion came flooding out. ‘It’s lovely seeing Father again, but my coming here to warn him angered Jack. He accused me of betraying him, and rode away without giving me back my red ribbon. How will I know what to do without it?’ she cried.

  But there was no answering breeze, only the stillness of silence. ‘Perhaps you can’t hear me without it? I couldn’t bear it if you’re no longer with me, Mother,’ she sobbed. ‘Please send me a sign to show you are listening.’ This time there was a faint, answering ripple. The grasses round her mother’s resting place parted, and there in the centre lay one perfect four-leaf clover. Rowan’s heart lifted and warmth coursed through her veins.

  ‘Thank you, Mother.’ She gently plucked the tender stem, then leaning forward, kissed the spot it had sprung from. ‘I’ll be back soon,’ she promised, placing it tenderly in the pocket of her apron.

  Her steps lighter now she knew her mother was still listening, she hurried back towards the farmhouse. Passing the fields with their abundance of crops, she stopped. A vegetable broth would make a welcome supper, she thought, pulling up carrots, turnips and onions and placing them in her basket. There wouldn’t be time to make any bread today, but she could put a couple of potatoes to bake. Seeing the profusion of vegetables and the brightly coloured flowers that covered the hedgerows, she excitedly began planning the dyes she would make. Then her heart sank. She was no longer an apprentice milliner, was she?

  The sun was overhead by the time she got back to the farmhouse. Quickly, she cleared away the dishes and set about preparing the vegetables. The pot of broth was soon simmering over the fire, and she looked around the room, wrinkling her nose at the patina of grime and dust that covered every surface. She would give everywhere a much-needed clean.

  It was late afternoon before she heard Blackthorn’s hooves clattering into the yard. A few moments later the door rattled open and her father stood there with a bundle in his arms. He sniffed the air appreciatively.

  ‘My, I haven’t smelled anything this good since …’ he shook his head.

  ‘Breakfast?’ Rowan teased.

  He laughed, then looked around the room, tak
ing in the gleaming surfaces and scrubbed table set ready for their meal.

  ‘Everywhere looks grand, Rowan. You’ve obviously been busy and I’ve had a fruitful journey. Look what I found strewn along the track.’ He held out the bundle, which Rowan could now see were clothes. ‘It seems Fanny’s greed was greater than her strength,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘I’ll get Mrs Stokes to wash them and then you can see if the Poor House can make use of them. Can you imagine her majesty’s face if she sees them folk wearing her finery?’

  Rowan giggled at the thought. ‘You’re wicked, Father,’ she teased.

  ‘I’m sure the Good Lord will forgive me after what I’ve been through these past few months. Now, I must see to the stock, and then we’ll eat. Afterwards, I’ve got a nice surprise for you, my girl.’

  ‘What’s that?’ she asked, looking at him curiously. He grinned boyishly, but wouldn’t be drawn. ‘Do you want any help?’

  ‘No, that’s all right.’

  ‘Well, I’ll take those clothes over to Mrs Stokes’s cottage, shall I?’ she asked, anxious to be doing something.

  Her father’s face dropped. ‘She’s not there. Fanny turfed her out so Mrs Dunmore could have it.’

  ‘What!’ Rowan shouted, remembering the woman’s dishevelled appearance. ‘Oh, Father, how could you?’

  ‘Fanny insisted, said as it was a tied cottage I should have asked her to leave when Mr Stokes passed on,’ he said, looking shamefaced. ‘I did let her have the old shepherd’s caravan, so she had somewhere to live.’

  ‘Well, now Fanny’s gone, Mrs Stokes can have her cottage back, surely?’

  Her father brightened. ‘You can go and tell her the good news first thing in the morning,’ he said, and disappeared outside again.

  When he returned, the dogs scampered in behind him, barking joyously and circling Rowan’s feet for petting, before settling contentedly in their old places beside the fire.

  ‘Feels like a home again, doesn’t it, Father?’ Rowan exclaimed, ladling out their broth.

  ‘It certainly does, and will feel even more so soon. I called to see Sab down at Pear Tree Farm.’

  ‘Sab? How is he?’ she asked, anxious to hear how her friend was faring.

  ‘He’s grand. When you told me his work there was only temporary, I thought I’d see if he wanted to come back here permanently. I’m desperately in need of help here and I miss the young fellow. Of course, I had to clear it with Farmer John. He was surprisingly agreeable, although obviously Sab’ll have to stay until he finds a suitable replacement. Seems he knows of a young lad nearby looking for work. Be quite like old times again, with the three of us, won’t it?’

  Rowan nodded, but couldn’t help wondering if she wanted to remain on the farm.

  Unaware of her doubts, her father continued, ‘It was always my intention to leave the farm to Sab and the house to you, and these past few months set me thinking.’

  She looked at him in surprise. ‘You’re not ill, are you, Father?’ she asked, looking at him anxiously.

  ‘No, but I’m not getting any younger. Supposing I’d died and the farm had passed to Fanny? It was probably why she married me, anyway. She’d have sold it to strangers. I had nightmares thinking about it.’ He shuddered. ‘Any road, after that narrow escape, I decided to get things sorted straight away.’

  ‘But Fanny is still your wife, Father,’ Rowan pointed out.

  ‘Not in the true sense. The marriage was never consummated, see,’ he muttered, staring down at his dish.

  ‘But she said … I heard …’ Rowan stuttered to a halt, remembering the noises she’d heard coming from their bedroom.

  ‘Fanny was very good at flirting and promising, but not delivering the full works, if you get my meaning. Said she wouldn’t risk getting in the family way,’ he explained, keeping his eyes averted. Seeing the flush spreading across her father’s cheeks, Rowan stayed silent. Well, well, so the fabulous Fanny was full of hot air. Could the day hold any more surprises, she wondered. Her father took another spoonful of broth and seemed to recover his composure.

  ‘Anyway, I saw my solicitor on the way back, filed for an annulment on the grounds of non-consummation and changed my will. Everything’s signed, sealed and settled. My, but this baked spud’s grand. It’s ages since I had anything so tasty,’ he said, pushing aside his empty dish and biting into the soft potato.

  Knowing it was her father’s way of changing the subject, Rowan turned her attention back to her own food. Then she had a thought.

  ‘Did you mention the mirror to Sab?’ she asked.

  ‘No need, was there? We know Fanny sold it to that pedlar. Sab being in Saltmouth around the same time must have been coincidence.’

  Rowan smiled, relieved her dear friend need never know of her ill-founded thoughts. Still, it didn’t help her get it back, did it? And get it back she would, she vowed, gently stroking the clover in her pocket. Then, there was her ribbon … Her head throbbing, she bade her father good night and went up to her old room.

  Carefully she placed her clover between two books, then throwing herself down on the bed, thought back over the past few days. It seemed she’d lost everything she held dear: Jack, her ribbon, her job and her mirror. Whilst it was lovely to be back with her father, she knew in her heart farm life was no longer for her and she couldn’t remain here. What a tangle she found herself in.

  Through the window filtered the silvery light of the moon. ‘Please help me solve my knotty problems,’ she whispered up at it. Knotty! Why, that was it. Quickly, she rummaged in her chest until she found a length of string. Carefully placing a candle in each corner of the room, she cast her circle and made her acknowledgement. Seating herself in the centre and drawing energy up from her toes, she stared hard at each flickering flame in turn. Then holding the string tightly, she closed her eyes.

  Ye, who kens the mystery of the unhewn stone,

  Banish my darkness, light my way.

  Carefully she tied four knots, one for each of her problems. Intoning, after each one:

  One for the sun who brings the light,

  Two for the stars that shine so bright,

  Three for the moon who silvers the sky,

  Four for the clouds that shield her by.

  Answer the questions on my tongue,

  Share your secrets yet unknown.

  So mote it be.

  Sending her thanks soaring to the skies and moving widdershins, she carefully blew out each flame. Then placing the knotted string under her pillow, she climbed into bed and closed her eyes.

  CHAPTER 39

  Next morning Rowan helped Mrs Stokes move her pitifully few things back into her cottage.

  ‘There’s nothing like being home,’ she cried, and although Rowan was pleased for the woman, she couldn’t help wondering what the future held for her.

  The next few days passed in a frenzy of cleaning, cooking and helping her father harvest the crops that were ready. But no matter how hard she tried to settle back into farm life, her heart wasn’t in it, and her spirit was restless. Jack was constantly on her mind, and she found herself staring down over the valley, willing him to appear. Many times she went back over the conversation they’d had at the Coffee House, yet she could find no reason for his sudden coolness towards her.

  She really missed the bustling atmosphere of the shop, calling upon the ladies of Saltmouth and personalizing their dresses and bonnets. The abundance of colourful flowers and herbs in the garden was a constant reminder of the job she now realized she’d loved so much.

  To her consternation, her charm showed no sign of working. Every night she’d taken the string from under her pillow, untying one knot every time, but nothing had happened. Now there was only one remaining. Staring down at the white skin around her wrist, she sighed. Had it been the ribbon that made things happen, or perhaps her beloved mirror?

  ‘Well, hello there, stranger.’ The familiar voice interrupted her musing and she spun round in surprise.


  ‘Sab, I didn’t expect you so soon,’ she cried delightedly. He smiled his lopsided grin, hefting his bundle higher onto his shoulder.

  ‘Well, that’s a fine way to greet your old friend, and after I pleaded with the carter to hurry so as to be here in time for luncheon,’ he said, his eyes twinkling.

  ‘Sorry, Sab – or should I say Joe now – Father didn’t know when you’d be arriving,’ she answered.

  ‘Think I’ll revert to Sab. Seems right now I’m coming back. Got to help Farmer John finish harvesting, then I’ll be home for good. I was that pleased when Uncle told me he’d sent the old crone packing. Going to be quite like old times, isn’t it?’

  Rowan nodded, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. Was she destined to stay here? Then, realizing she was being churlish, she grinned.

  ‘Welcome back, Sab,’ she said, injecting more enthusiasm into her voice. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t Jack.

  ‘Any grub going? I’m starving.’

  The sight of the familiar cheeky face lifted her spirits and she smiled. ‘Funny you should say that. I baked this morning, so there’ll be fresh bread and cheese for your meal.’

  Sab rubbed his stomach appreciatively. ‘Farmer John’s wife is a good cook, but her baking isn’t a patch on yours.’

  ‘And I suppose you think flattery will get you bigger portions?’ she quipped.

  ‘But, of course. That and my fatal charm. I’ve brought some of my things with me, so I’ll take them up to my room, then go and find Uncle,’ he announced, then frowned. ‘That is, if my room is …’

  ‘Don’t worry, Sab, the shippon and your room are just as they were. Seems Fanny never got round to changing anything there.’

  He grinned in reply and she watched him head towards the farmhouse before returning to her weeding. His light-hearted banter would lighten things up, and her father would certainly benefit from some male company. Digging the fork into the tilth, she wondered if she’d been wrong to assume Jack would return her ribbon. Maybe he no longer cared. Perhaps she should go to Saltmouth and ask him what was wrong. But that would hardly be comme il faut, as Louisa would have said.