The Girl with the Red Ribbon (3 page)

‘You're a kind girl, Rowan, and pie – well, that would be a feast for a king.' He rubbed his stomach appreciatively. ‘And if there were baked potatoes, too …' he added, looking hopeful.

‘I think we might still have a few potatoes in the sack,' she replied, frowning as she remembered how quickly their winter crop store was dwindling. ‘Well, I'd better get back and start preparing it all. I've a feeling it's going to
take some time but at least I'll have made the effort for Father. It'll mean relighting the bread oven, though,' she said, gathering up the remains of their impromptu picnic.

‘And I'd better get back to the hedging before Uncle Ted reappears. Do you want me to tell him what's in store for dinner?' he asked.

‘No,' Rowan said. ‘Let's keep it as a surprise. I think we still have some cider left, so perhaps you could bring in a flagon when you come? We'll make it a welcome party for Fanny.'

‘I just hope she appreciates all the trouble you're going to. You'll be needing more faggots for the fire so I'll bring some in with me as well,' Sab offered, smiling.

As they went their separate way, neither of them noticed Fanny watching from her bedroom window.

Back at the farmhouse, Rowan found the kitchen empty, apart from the remains of Fanny's meal strewn across the table. As she kicked off her boots she saw, to her dismay, that her stepmother had cut the tops off the remaining loaves and eaten those, leaving behind the charred bottoms. All her hard work had been wasted, she thought, anger rising in her chest. She had a good mind to go and have it out with the woman. Then she remembered she'd promised her father she'd try to make her stepmother feel welcome. Swallowing down her disappointment and deciding she would soak the remaining crusts in warm milk sprinkled with salt and turn them into brewis for their breakfast, she carried the remaining crusts through to the pantry.

Taking down the receipt book from the dresser, she settled herself on the floor beside the fire and turned to the relevant page. As always, the sight of her mother's beautiful flowing writing brought a lump to her throat, and the fact that the receipt for the chicken pie was the last entry made it more poignant. Stroking the ribbon around her wrist, she forced herself to concentrate on the instructions. Although the list of instructions was long, each stage seemed straightforward so Rowan was feeling confident as she stacked the bread oven with the
remaining faggots. Then, having set fire to them, she lined up all the ingredients along the table.

The preparations took Rowan the rest of the afternoon, but to her immense satisfaction she managed to form the pie crust, fill it with the meats and pour in stock without it leaking. Finally, sealing it with its pastry lid, she stood back and admired what, to her, looked like a very passable effort indeed. With the shadows lengthening, she lit the candles and put another log on the fire. Then, after raking out the ashes from the oven for the second time that day, she placed her pie carefully inside, adding a few potatoes to bake at the same time. Magic tangled herself around her feet and, laughing at her antics, Rowan settled herself on the floor beside the fire, stroking her soft black fur.

After a while, her eyes grew heavy. Shaking herself, she jumped to her feet and began clearing away. Soon the aroma of cooking pie filled the kitchen, and she felt excitement stirring. Wait until her father saw what she'd made from her mother's book. Carefully she spread the bright cotton cloth they kept for special occasions over the table and set out the utensils they'd need.

‘Something smells good,' Fanny said, gliding down the stairs. Pity she couldn't say the same, Rowan thought as the pervading scent of rose threatened to overpower the appetizing aroma of her cooking. She noticed her stepmother had changed into yet another fancy dress. How many did the woman have, she wondered, looking down at her own homespun gown. Although she'd dyed it green with leaves from the elder, and had been pleased with the result, beside Fanny's brightly sprigged material it looked
quite drab. Her stepmother had styled her hair, too, clipping it back with an ornate clasp. Hastily, Rowan smoothed back her own mane of copper curls, reminding herself to take off her apron once she'd served the meal.

‘Well, aren't you going to tell me what's cooking?' Fanny asked, looking enquiringly at Rowan.

‘It's chicken and bacon pie,' she said proudly. ‘It's from a receipt in Mother's book. I've never made a pie before so I hope it tastes as nice as it smells.'

‘Did your mother make it often?' Fanny enquired.

‘Yes, it was one of her favourite dishes. She always cooked it on special occasions,' she whispered, blinking back the tears so that she failed to notice the interest sparking in Fanny's eyes.

‘My goodness, something smells inviting in here,' her father said, striding into the room and throwing his cap onto the settle. ‘And what a delightful sight to welcome a man home,' he exclaimed, smiling at his new wife.

‘Edward, my dear,' Fanny simpered in a soft voice, as she went over and kissed his cheek. Although he flushed and turned away, Rowan could tell he was pleased. Then the door swung open again and Sab clattered in, a flagon under one arm and a bundle of faggots under the other. He sniffed the air appreciatively.

‘I heard there's a bit of a celebration going on, so I brought this in.' He proudly held up the cider and winked at Rowan.

‘How clever of you to know that, Sab,' Fanny gushed, beaming at him as he carefully set the flagon on the table before tossing the faggots beside the hearth.

Surprised at the change in the woman's manner, but
putting it down to her afternoon rest, Rowan proudly set the pie on the table.

‘Right, Sab, my boy, if you'd like to pour the drinks, I shall dish our dinner,' Fanny announced nudging Rowan out of the way and picking up the serving spoons. Rowan stared at her in surprise, but her stepmother was making such a performance of placing a generous portion of the pie in front of her new husband, she didn't notice.

‘Now come along, Edward. Tell me what you think of your new wife's pie crust,' she said coyly.

‘But, Fanny …' Rowan began.

‘Do help yourselves to some pie, my dears, I've made plenty,' Fanny said, cutting Rowan short and regally making a sweeping gesture towards the food. Really, it was as if she were speaking to servants, Rowan thought.

‘Why this looks absolutely delightful, my dear,' Edward murmured, oblivious to what was going on around him as he raised the crust to his mouth.

‘But, Father …'

‘Now Rowan, let your father enjoy his meal,' Fanny interrupted quickly. ‘He must be famished after working out in the fields all day,' she purred, leaning across and patting his hand tenderly.

‘Hmm, delicious, Fanny,' her father enthused. ‘If you are going to cook dinners like this every night, I shall be a very happy man indeed.'

Rowan stared at Fanny, waiting for her to correct him, but her stepmother just smiled sweetly. ‘Why, Edward, my dear, this is just a little pie I knocked up this afternoon.'

Sab,
who was taking a swig of his cider, almost choked on his drink.

‘Are you all right, Sab, dear?' Fanny asked solicitously.

‘No, Fanny, I'm not. Something I just heard stuck in my throat and made the cider go down the wrong way,' he grunted, his clear eyes challenging.

‘Oh?' Fanny said sweetly, her face a picture of innocence, but Rowan saw those pebble eyes hardening.

Oblivious, Sab continued, ‘Yes, you see I understood it was Rowan who …'

But Fanny shrugged dismissively. ‘Do eat your meal, Sab. I hate to see good food wasted,' she ordered, then promptly turned back to Edward and began regaling him with a story about eating out in London. Rowan raised her eyebrows, thinking about the remains of bread she'd left strewn over the table earlier.

Sab's mouth tightened, a sure sign he wasn't going to let the matter drop, but Rowan could see how her father was lapping up her stepmother's attention and shook her head. As she passed Sab his meal, she whispered, ‘Don't forget about the crust, will you?'

‘I'm no fool, and I don't like seeing you being taken for one either. It must have taken you ages to put this together,' he said, taking a mouthful of meat and sighing. ‘This is right tasty. I don't see why she should get away with taking the credit for it, though.'

Rowan looked down the table.

‘Come along, Edward, I insist you have another portion of my pie,' Fanny was saying, heaping another helping onto his plate. Then she saw Rowan watching and shot her a triumphant look. Why, she's gloating, Rowan
thought. As her hand went instinctively to the red ribbon around her wrist, she found herself remembering one of her mother's favourite sayings.

‘Don't worry, Sab, what goes around comes around,' Rowan replied, turning back to him and winking.

‘That was a fine meal, Fanny, my dear,' Edward said, downing the rest of his drink. ‘You must be quite worn out after all that work.'

‘I must admit I am rather fatigued,' Fanny agreed, smiling at him apologetically as she made a half-hearted effort to collect their plates together.

Edward put a restraining hand on her arm. ‘After making us a lovely meal like that, I'm sure Rowan will be only too happy to clear away, won't you?' he asked, turning towards her. Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded. ‘We'll take ourselves up and have an early night, shall we, Fanny, my dear?' he said, smiling at her.

‘Oh, Edward, you are so kind and thoughtful,' she simpered.

‘Well, we can't have you wearing yourself out, Fanny, now can we?'

‘Good night, Rowan. Good night, Sab. You'll see the livestock's settled?' Edward called over his shoulder as he led his new wife up the stairs.

‘I want to do my best by you, Edward, but I can't deny that it's hard work cooking for you all. Now, my friend was telling me about these new open ranges you can get. Apparently, they really make a woman's life much easier.'

As their voices faded away, Rowan turned to Sab. ‘Father can't afford things like that.'

‘That's
as may be, but I somehow think she'll get her own way,' he said, shaking his head. ‘That one's perfected the art of looking like an innocent child when underneath she's cunning as a serpent. Her eyes give her away, though. Bet she's already got her plans worked out for this place. Uncle Edward won't stand a chance.'

Remembering the earlier conversation with her stepmother by the shippon, Rowan couldn't help thinking he was right.

‘Well, I'm too tired to clear this lot away tonight so I'm off to the privy while I can still get in there,' she said, grinning mischievously.

‘I'll guide you and then see to the animals,' replied Sab, lighting the lantern. He opened the door and the dogs seemed to appear at his side from nowhere. ‘Can't believe the old dragon's banned them from the kitchen, poor things. They enjoy a laze by the fire after a day's work, just as we do,' he said, bending and fussing them.

It was a crisp night with the full moon shining, the countryside peaceful. Sab looked up at the sky and shook his head.

‘Uncle Edward will need to come back down to earth soon if we're to sow the first of the crops when the water table next rises.'

‘Perhaps the novelty of early nights will have worn off by then,' Rowan said.

‘I certainly hope so. It's him who insisted on this lunar lark in the first place,' Sab reminded her.

‘Father says it's scientific and it always seems to work, along with a little help from my rituals, of course. We certainly had a better crop than our neighbours last year,
didn't we? Well, I can manage now, thanks, Sab,' she said, as they reached the privy.

‘Night, Rowan, and thanks again for a truly delicious meal. I'm just sorry Uncle Edward didn't realize you made it.'

‘Don't worry, Sab. I've a feeling that come tomorrow Fanny will be wishing she'd told him I had,' and, laughing, she dived inside the wooden hut.

After washing her hands in the crystal waters of the stream, Rowan slowly made her way back to the farmhouse, the quietude of the night restoring her equilibrium. She could hear Sab's gentle voice coming from the shippon as he settled the animals for the night. It was as if they were his children, she thought smiling. He'd been at one with the animals ever since he'd arrived, insisting on sleeping in the hayloft above them, even though her parents had offered him the small room next to her own.

Candle in hand, she crept up the stairs but the sounds of muffled laughter and creaking of the bed coming from her father's room wiped the smile from her face. She knew what they were doing, of course. Mrs Stokes had taught her about such things the day she'd found Rowan shivering with fright having seen her first blood nearly two years back. The kindly woman had made her a hot drink and explained to Rowan how her body was developing and preparing itself for motherhood. She'd gone on to outline what happened between a man and a woman, likening it to sheep at tupping, but Rowan had grimaced, not wanting to dwell on such details.

Now, hearing Fanny giggle, she hurried into her own room, shutting the door firmly behind her. But as she
placed her candle on the chest, the overwhelming scent of rose hit her. Fanny had been in her room! A quick inspection revealed her things had been disturbed. Nothing had been taken as far as she could see, but it was obvious her possessions had been searched and she had a terrible sense of her privacy having been invaded.

Then a thought struck her and, hurrying over to the bed, she felt beneath the mattress. As her hand closed over her precious mirror, she breathed a sigh of relief. Carefully, she drew it from its covering and sat there tracing the trumpet scroll design decorating the grip that held the handle to the mirror. She remembered how excited her mother had been the day she'd found it. She'd been digging over their vegetable plot when her spade had hit a hard object. Fascinated, Rowan had watched her carefully wipe away the earth to reveal the find. Her father had deduced from the layer of rich clay in which it had been encrusted that it must have lain there undisturbed for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years. It had become her mother's most treasured possession and she'd used it often. After she'd died Rowan's father had given it to her. Smiling at the memory, she turned the mirror so that, with the handle at the top, it looked like the face of a cat grinning back at her, and she sighed at the recollections of happier times.