Free The Girl with the Red Ribbon by Linda Finlay

he’s besotted with that besom, but that doesn’t mean he can neglect things around here.’
    ‘Sleep on it, Rowan,’ he advised, looking serious. ‘Come on, let’s go inside. We’d better take some wood with us if we want a hot breakfast and tea in the morning,’ he added, grinning, and Rowan was pleased to see he was back to his usual cheeky self.
    ‘Oh, you and your stomach, Sab,’ she teased as they made their way over to the faggot rick by the light of his candle lantern.
    They were just stacking the wood beside the grate when Fanny, candle in hand, emerged from the parlour.
    ‘About time,’ she snapped. ‘The fire has burned low in the other room so you’d better take some of that in there, Sab,’ she ordered, nodding to the wood he was carrying. Silently, he continued what he was doing. Fanny pursed her lips, but before she could say anything, Rowan, mindful of her earlier promise to be helpful, explained.
    ‘We reckon we’re in for some late snow, Fanny, so we need to conserve our stocks. I did tell you, we only light the fire in the parlour for special occasions. I’m surprised Father allowed it,’ she added.
    ‘Your father wishes me to be happy here, young lady, which is more than can be said for you,’ she snapped. Going over to the window, she pulled back the curtain
and peered into the darkness, her reflection making a sinister picture in the light of the flickering candle. ‘Snow indeed! It’s all cloudy out there,’ she scoffed.
    Sab snorted. ‘I’m going to check on the stock and then turn in. Good night,’ he said, snatching up his lantern and hurrying out.
    ‘Night, Sab,’ Rowan called. ‘Where’s Father?’ she asked, turning to Fanny.
    ‘Sprucing himself up, if he’s got any sense,’ the woman answered briskly. Rowan waited but her stepmother didn’t elaborate.
    ‘It’s been a long day, so I’ll take myself up to bed,’ she said, not wishing to be alone with her stepmother, who seemed even more belligerent than usual.
    Rowan opened her eyes the next morning to find a pearlescent brightness flooding the room. Worried she’d slept in, she sat bolt upright but could hear no sound coming from outside. In fact, everything was ominously silent. The silence of snow, she thought, jumping out of bed. Sure enough, the yard below and the fields beyond were glistening with stark whiteness. Not much could be done outside today after her father and Sab had seen to the stock.
    Recalling her discussion with Fanny yesterday, she decided she’d leave the cooking to her. She would use the time to catch up on her mending, which had been sadly neglected recently. Then she’d start knitting some new pop-over mittens for Sab, for she’d noticed last night that his were more hole than wool, and quite beyond darning. Feeling brighter than she had for some time, she dressed and made her way downstairs.
    Her
father was sitting at the scrubbed table, dejectedly rubbing his chin.
    ‘Morning, Father. Is something wrong?’ Rowan asked, frowning as she took in his reddened, blotchy skin. ‘Whatever’s happened to your face?’
    ‘Had to shave off my beard and shape these,’ he answered, tugging at the wiry tufts of hair that now sprang around his ears like tussocks.
    ‘That skin looks really raw. I’ll get you some of my lavender salve,’ she offered, hurrying over to the dresser. She’d just finished rubbing some into the areas around his newly clipped moustache when Sab appeared in the doorway. He shook the snowflakes from his jacket and then rubbed his hands together.
    ‘It’s a cold un and still snowing. Good job we got that weed dug in last night,’ he said, looking pointedly at Edward.
    ‘Sorry I didn’t help. Hurry up and come in, boy. You’re letting all the heat out,’ Edward snapped.
    ‘Blimey, what’s happened to you, Uncle Ted?’
    ‘I had to spruce myself up,’ Edward muttered, looking wretched as he gingerly touched his chin. ‘That feels better already, Rowan.