The Girl with the Red Ribbon (14 page)

‘I haven't got any,' Rowan said. ‘I was snatched from my farm.'

The woman frowned. ‘Well, you'd better take off that filthy blanket and nightdress, then we'll set to work,' she said, moving towards a large bowl with a piece of rough cloth lying alongside. Rowan noticed she was dragging her left foot, which was encased in an ugly built-up boot. ‘Come along, we haven't got all day,' the woman said impatiently, seeing her look.

‘What here, in front of you?' Rowan gasped.

‘Tut-tut, dearie. 'Taint nothing Ma Steeples hasn't seen before,' she said, grinning.

‘But
I don't understand why I'm here. Wherever here may be. They say I'm insane but I most certainly am not,' Rowan declared.

‘Course you ain't, dearie. Now hurry up and let me wash you down and then we'll just check your hair. 'Tis the rules,' she said firmly as Rowan opened her mouth to protest.

Whilst Ma Steeples seemed a kindly soul, she had the determined look of someone used to getting her own way. Seeing it was no use arguing, Rowan duly untied the blanket and then stepped out of her nightdress.

‘And that ribbon,' Ma Steeples urged.

‘No. I never take that off,' Rowan cried.

‘But, you must. It's the rules,' the woman insisted, grabbing her by the wrist.

As Rowan snatched her hand away, the room started to spin. Blackness closed in around her and she collapsed in a crumpled heap on the stone floor.

Rowan struggled back to consciousness, to find icy water dripping from her face and Ma Steeples, empty bowl in hand, glaring down at her.

‘What happened?' she asked.

‘You passed out, that's what happened. You aren't, you know, in trouble, are you?' the woman asked.

‘Trouble? What kind of trouble?'

‘You know, you haven't been with a feller?'

‘No, I have not,' Rowan denied heatedly, as she tried to struggle to her feet.

‘Well, you fainted clean away, so what other reason could there be?' Ma Steeples asked.

Rowan began to tremble uncontrollably, whether through shock from the cold water or anger at the accusations being levelled against her, she wasn't sure. Ma Steeples tossed the blanket at her and she wrapped it around herself.

‘If you must know, I haven't had a thing to eat since supper time yesterday,' she muttered, sinking onto the nearby chair.

‘Why you poor thing,' Ma Steeples said, her accusing look now replaced by one of concern. ‘Dolly, get yourself in here, dearie,' she called.

A sparse woman wearing an ill-fitting dark dress appeared in the doorway, steam billowing in her wake. She
had red, work-worn hands and seemed unable to stand still, but it was the vacant look in her eyes that made Rowan shudder.

‘Go to the kitchen and ask Cook for a mug of broth. If she asks who it's for, you're to say it's for Ma Steeples. Quickly now,' Ma Steeples urged. ‘A right Dolly daydream, that one, and no mistake,' she added fondly as the woman disappeared. ‘Now let's get you washed and changed or we'll have Miss Sharp on our backs and that's the last thing we want, believe you me. Sharp by name and sharp by tongue, that one. Now you've stopped shaking, give me that filthy old blanket and take off that red band.'

‘You can have the blanket but I'm keeping my ribbon on. It was my mother's and she said I was always to wear it,' Rowan explained, her hand covering it protectively.

‘And where is your mother, dearie?'

‘She's dead,' Rowan whispered, biting her lip to stop the tears flowing. ‘It was the last thing she gave me. It signifies the circle of family life, you see.'

‘No I don't, never having been blessed with a family myself,' Ma Steeples said, shaking her head and glaring down at her deformed foot. ‘Still, if it means that much to you then I suppose you'd better keep it on. But for heaven's sake make sure you keep it hidden under your uniform. That red will stand out like a ray of sunshine against all the drabness in here.'

Even as she spoke, the woman began giving Rowan a thorough wash down. The rag was rough and the liquid she'd put in the water so noxious smelling, the fumes caught at the back of Rowan's throat. Before long, it felt as if her skin was on fire. Just when she thought she
couldn't bear it another moment, Ma Steeples moved up to her head, attacking it with the same enthusiasm. ‘Beautiful hair, you got. Better keep it tucked up under your cap or old Sharp will chop it off. She'd enjoy doing it, too. That one gets jealous, although they do say she has a fondness for …' her voiced faltered. ‘Well, anyway, you just watch out, that's all I'm saying.'

After vigorous drying with another rough cloth, Rowan was pronounced to be clean and louse free.

‘Now put this on,' Ma Steeples ordered, holding out a dark dress similar to the one Dolly had been wearing. The coarse fabric chafed Rowan's skin and the garment was so huge, it swamped her.

‘I can't wear this,' Rowan protested.

Ma Steeples laughed. ‘You'll get used to it, dearie, and at least those long sleeves will hide that ribbon you insist on wearing. Anyway, it's the rules. All females have to wear the same. The rough material and simple design are meant to be a constant reminder to you of your shame of being insane. They call this the uniform stigma of lunacy.'

‘But I'm not insane,' Rowan protested.

Surprised by her vehement outburst, Ma Steeples stared deeply into her eyes. ‘I have to admit your eyes look spirited to me. Now, you'd better put these on,' she said, holding out dark woollen stockings and a pair of sturdy black boots.

‘But I don't wear boots,' Rowan protested.

‘Well, you do now, dearie,' Ma Steeples said. ‘It completes the uniform.'

Seeing there was no point in arguing, Rowan bent and
did as she'd been told. The boots were far too big and when she went to get up, they almost fell off.

‘I need smaller ones, Ma Steeples,' Rowan said, promptly sitting down again. As she went to take them off, Ma Steeples shook her head.

‘They are the regulation size. Here, pad the toes out with these,' she said, passing Rowan a couple of old cloths. Sighing, Rowan stuffed the rough material into the boots and then eased her feet in. ‘It would be better if they had ties,' she muttered.

‘Only step-ins allowed; it's the rules.'

‘Why?' Rowan asked.

‘No laces, ropes or ties of any kind permitted. People have tried to hang themselves, you see. Ah, there you are, Dolly,' she said, as the woman reappeared, clinging to a mug as though her life depended upon it. ‘Right, off you go back to the laundry,' she said, watching as the woman disappeared back through the door of the steam room. ‘Now, you sit and sup this whilst I clear away,' Ma Steeples said, turning to Rowan and handing her the mug. ‘We can't have you fainting in front of Sharp. You'll need all your wits about you as it is.' She gave a shrill laugh as though she'd made some kind of joke.

Rowan sank back onto the chair, wincing as the rough material rubbed against her stinging skin. She sipped the lukewarm broth, grateful for something to eat even if she couldn't determine what was in it. Ma Steeples moved laboriously around the room, carefully tidying everything away. When all was to her satisfaction, she turned to Rowan.

‘Finished?' she enquired, wiping her hands on her apron before taking the mug from her. ‘Now let's get all
this hair hidden,' she said, tucking Rowan's copper curls under a tight-fitting dark cap.

‘So where is this place?' Rowan asked. ‘I thought that officer man said something about hell.'

‘The receiving officer, you mean? This is the Hell Tor Asylum. Hell by name, hell by nature,' Ma Steeples said, sighing.

‘And this Hell place is on Dartmoor?' Rowan persisted, desperate to find out exactly where she was.

‘Oh, yes, dearie. High, high up on the moor and as far from civilization as you could ever get,' Ma Steeples said, grimacing.

‘If it's that bad then why do you work here?' Rowan asked.

Ma Steeples gave a harsh laugh and pointed to her foot. ‘This job provides me with board and lodging. Let's be honest, no man's going to want to marry a cripple like me, now, is he?'

Rowan was about to say she thought a man would be lucky to find someone as kind as her when a thin, severe-looking woman in a black tailored dress marched into the room. The ribbon around Rowan's wrist tightened. Although she was becoming used to its signal, there seemed little she could do about it.

‘This the new loon, Steeples?' the woman barked.

‘Her name's Rowan, Miss Sharp,' Ma Steeples answered mildly. ‘And she's all ready for you.'

‘Well, it's lucky I'm ready for her, then,' the woman snapped. ‘Come on, loon, follow me.'

As she led the way out of the room, Rowan turned to Ma Steeples.

‘Just
keep your head down and do as you're told,' the woman whispered, handing her another shapeless garment, this time in a dirty beige colour. ‘Here's your nightgown. And for goodness' sake keep that ribbon hidden or we'll both cop it.'

Rowan nodded and hurried after Miss Sharp, trying not to stumble in her boots as she tried to keep up with her fast-paced stride.

They climbed up two steep flights of steps, Rowan holding up the ill-fitting skirt of her dress to save herself from tripping on the jagged flags. Finally, the woman came to an abrupt stop and dramatically threw open a door. Inside ten iron bedsteads lined each wall, with a space barely wide enough to walk between them. Clearly this was a dormitory, and there wasn't going to be any privacy, Rowan thought miserably, longing to be back in her cosy little room at the farm.

‘You'll sleep over there, loon,' the woman barked, pointing to a bed at the far end of the room. ‘Door is locked sharp at seven p.m. Go to sleep straight away, no dallying. Piss pot under bed. You empty your own filthy mess and will take your turn at slops duty. Rising bell is at six a.m. Make sure you have a thorough morning wash because you will be examined. Only if you are found to be clean will you be permitted down to the breakfast hall. After which, rain or shine, you will exercise in the airing court. Our regime hopes that a healthy body will lead to a healthy mind, but …' She let her voice tail off, sneering as she looked Rowan up and down. ‘Understood, loon?'

Rowan nodded.

‘Right, you're too late for tea, so you'd best change into
your nightdress,' the wardress ordered, leaning back against the wall. ‘I said get undressed, loon,' she sneered, looking Rowan up and down appraisingly.

‘What, now …' Rowan began, not liking the gleam in the woman's eye at all.

‘Now,' Sharp confirmed with a grin.

Seeing it would be useless to argue, Rowan bent and pulled off her boots.

‘Quicker,' the woman ordered, then cursed when she heard her name being called. ‘Go straight to bed. The others will be up shortly. Tomorrow we will discuss your duties.'

‘Duties?' Rowan asked.

‘This is not a charitable institution, loon. You must earn your keep like all the others,' she barked, before turning smartly on her heel and marching from the room. She was like a drill sergeant, Rowan thought, shivering.

Relieved the woman had gone, but fearful she would return before she was in her nightgown, Rowan undressed with indecent haste. Although the gown smelled clean, the material was stiff from laundering. Sinking into the bed she'd been assigned, she winced. It was rock hard and the sheet felt prickly against her scrubbed skin. She shuddered, hating this place already. Whatever had she done to be sent to an asylum?

Closing her eyes, her thoughts drifted back over the past day – or was it days? With a pang, she realized she had no idea how long it had been since she was snatched from the farm. She'd been carrying out her Eostre ritual. First she'd placed her mirror – Her mirror! Her precious mirror had been left on the grass when she'd been dragged
away. Tears welled and she covered her mouth with her hand to prevent herself from crying out. The last thing she wanted was that Sharp woman appearing again. She breathed in deeply, trying to calm herself. It was no good, though, her thoughts continued to race.

She knew Fanny was behind this. Rowan remembered hearing her voice when she was abducted, and hadn't she told Rowan she wasn't prepared to share her father? It was obvious she'd thought him richer than he actually was. Surely her father hadn't led Fanny on? He must have missed his daughter by now. Would he be looking for her or would Fanny have fobbed him off with one of her elaborate stories? With sudden clarity Rowan realized that the father she adored was, in fact, a weak man. She'd never seen it before. Her mother, a gentle, contented soul, had never thought to take advantage of his kind nature. The red ribbon gave a tug, gentle this time, and Rowan smiled into the darkness. At least her mother was with her and understood.

As Rowan lay in the darkening room, her head buzzing with unanswered questions, she heard the door opening. There was the crackling of cloth and creaking of beds as the others got ready for the night. She turned towards the woman climbing into the next bed, but her smile was met with a blank stare. Before she could dwell on it, a bell shrilled, the door clanked shut and Rowan shuddered as she heard a key turn in the lock. That Sharp woman hadn't been joking, then. If it wasn't so ludicrous it would be laughable to think she couldn't take herself outside. Even the animals in the shippon weren't locked in.

At first all was quiet in the dormitory, but after a while
one woman started moaning. Then others joined in and, as the moaning turned to wailing, Rowan sank further under her blanket, covering her ears with her hands. She'd never heard such a din. A key turned in the door and there was the flash of a lantern. Footsteps moved around the room, followed by the sound of muffled voices. Gradually, the wailing ceased, but a figure hovered beside Rowan's bed for some moments. Holding her breath, she kept as still as she could, and eventually whoever it was moved away. She heard the door being locked again, and waited for the echoes of footsteps in the corridor to fade away before gingerly emerging from under her cover. The room was quiet now, but a bitter reek hung in the air. She knew she'd smelled something similar recently. But where, when? Then she realized it was the same pungent odour that had been on the cloth her abductor had smothered her with. Obviously they rendered the patients here unconscious with the same potion. Fearful of being drugged or subjected to any other horrors that might take place under the cover of darkness, Rowan hardly dared to close her eyes.