The Girl with the Red Ribbon (19 page)

‘Ah,
Pearce,' he said as the guard poked her head around the door. ‘Take Rowan to the sewing room, please.'

‘Sir,' she said, taking Rowan by the arm.

‘But what about …' Rowan began.

‘Please do as I say,' the superintendent said, his attention diverted as the receiving officer arrived. His face was like thunder and Rowan realized it would be futile to protest further.

As she walked down the corridor with Pearce, angry voices followed in their wake. In the sewing room, she could hardly concentrate on her work as her mind went back over the conversation with the superintendent. There was no getting away from the fact that when she'd asked if she could go home he'd shaken his head. She couldn't bear to spend another night in this place, she really couldn't.

It could have been minutes or hours before Pearce returned to say the superintendent wished to see her. Well, she wasn't proud, she'd beg on her knees if necessary for her release.

‘Superintendent, sir,' she cried as soon as she was shown back into the office, where he was now alone. ‘I beg you, please let me go home.'

‘It's not as easy as that, I'm afraid. If a patient does leave here, it's on the understanding they are returned to their family, who will help them be accepted back into the community. From what you have told me, I can't see your stepmother being amenable to having you back. And I'm sure under the circumstances you wouldn't wish to return either.'

Rowan frowned. Of course she would go back to
Orchard Farm. That was her home, where she'd been born. She could feel the tears welling as she thought of her father and Sab. Then, remembering Fanny declaring she was lady of the farm and there wasn't room for both of them, her tears turned to anger. How could one scheming woman ruin so many lives? With a sinking heart she knew the superintendent was right. Besides, her father hadn't come looking for her, had he?

‘No, but I'm not staying here,' she burst out. ‘Don't worry, Superintendent, sir, I am quite capable of looking after myself,' she declared stoutly.

The superintendent's lips twitched. ‘I'm sure you are, Rowan, and Mrs Robbins has said you are industrious and a good seamstress, but I would be failing in my duty if I were to let you just walk away. Oh, don't worry,' he assured her, as she jumped to her feet. ‘You will not be staying here. It wouldn't be safe. No, you are coming with me,' he said, picking up the file.

Before she could ask where, Pearce reappeared.

‘Sir, Ma Steeples said Rowan's nightdress was in such a state she had to burn it. But she has sent this for her to wear on the journey,' she said, smiling at Rowan as she handed her a thick, woollen shawl.

Journey? What journey? Where was she being taken?

‘Thank you, Pearce. I've placed the receiving officer in charge in my absence and will be back first thing tomorrow. Please see that he gets this file straight away, and you are clear as to what else I want you to do whilst I am away?'

The guard nodded.

‘Right, put that wrap around your shoulders, Rowan,
and we'll be on our way,' he said, donning his hat and snatching up his cane.

She hurried after him, trying to keep up with his marching stride in her loose-fitting boots. As they approached the thick, wooden front door, it was opened by yet another guard, who saluted respectfully and showed them to a waiting carriage.

Before she knew it, Rowan found herself being helped inside. As she settled back on the plush leather squabs, relief flooded through her. She was leaving this ghastly place at last. But where was she being taken? The superintendent climbed in beside her, called to the driver, and the coach gave a lurch as it pulled away. A couple of minutes later, the driver called to the horses to slow as they approached the guard house, but the gates were opened and they were waved straight through.

‘Well, Rowan, how does it feel to be free?' asked the superintendent, turning towards her.

‘I am so relieved, I can't tell you,' she said, beaming with delight. Then her relief turned to sadness as she remembered she wasn't returning home. So where was she going? She was about to ask but he was shaking out a copy of the
Exeter Flying Post
and before she could say anything, he'd begun to read.

She stared out of the window at the passing countryside. How different everything looked without mist shrouding it. Inquisitive ponies, still with their long, shaggy winter coats, looked up from cropping the sparse grass as they passed. Rowan didn't think she'd ever seen so many. As the carriage rattled its way further down the moors, passing a profusion of ferns, heathers and
multicoloured lichens, she couldn't help thinking what wonderful dyes they would make. A vision of Fanny's bright dresses flitted into her mind. One day, she would wear finer, more tasteful dresses than that, she vowed. Then the landscape changed, and they were passing dark peat bogs with spiky clumps of bright green reeds rising out of their midst. As a line of heavy cloud scudded overhead, she shivered, especially when the carriage swerved and she saw they were nearing the row of dark standing stones she'd seen from the asylum.

‘Oh, no,' she gasped, her teeth chattering despite the warmth of the afternoon sun penetrating the window. ‘Sharp was right after all,' she cried, pulling her shawl tighter around her.

‘Whatever is the matter, Rowan?' the superintendent asked, looking up from his newspaper and frowning. ‘Who was right?'

‘Oh, please, Mr Superintendent, sir, don't leave me here for the devil to turn me into one of those big stones,' she cried, cowering down in her seat.

‘What?' he asked staring out of the window. ‘Don't tell me you believe that old superstition?' The carriage rocked at his sudden mirth. Then, seeing her wide-eyed look, he shook his head. ‘Did Sharp tell you that ridiculous story?' Rowan nodded, and the superintendent shook his head again. ‘She really has frightened you, hasn't she,' he said, gently.

Rowan nodded again. ‘She said the devil turned any woman who escaped from the asylum into one of those stones, and that wolves would prowl and eat …' She came to a halt as his booming laughter once again resounded around the carriage.

‘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.