Chapter 17

Rowan wasn't going to cry. She was not going to cry. She didn't, but it was a nearer thing than she would have liked to admit. The interminable wait at Colebridge junction wasn't really helping. She had originally thought of going back to London. She was familiar with London. Ann was there. That was probably where her parents thought she was going. She had thought of trying to get a job in Oxford. It had the attraction of being close to Benson. She had realised, a few days ago, how impossible, in ways other than practicality, that would be. It assumed far too much and would put both Roger and herself into an intolerable situation.

So at Westbridge Rowan had bought a single ticket to Colebridge junction. At Colebridge she had bought a ticket to Strickland Junction. The only sensible thing you could say about that was that nobody would expect her to go there. Childish or not, Rowan found she didn't mind if her family did worry about her.

Roger had talked about the Lake (and somehow it was always capitalised when he said it) with such enthusiasm that she did want to see it herself. It was sheep country, which meant that someone might just take her on – for lambing at least. Roger had described the hordes of holidaymakers in the villages, one at the head of the lake and one on the eastern side. It was too early in the season for many holidaymakers, so perhaps she might find a room relatively cheaply for a few weeks while she looked for work. If she couldn't find work as a farmhand – and she was not entirely sure she wanted to do that - she might perhaps find work as a waitress in a tea shop, or a chambermaid in a hotel or serve in a shop. She could look at advertisements in a newspaper as well in one place as another. Aside from farming she had no skills to offer apart from being relatively quick to learn.

The train coming from Wade Abbas pulled in. It was one of the ones without a corridor. Rowan didn't much feel like company, but mindful of the warnings give to her as a child she chose a compartment with a female passenger already there, silhouetted against the light from the window on the far side of the carriage with her back to the locomotive. It wasn't until Rowan had herself and her luggage safely in the compartment that she realised that the face under the hat was familiar. Even then, she couldn't put a name to her. Rowan settled for a polite smile and a "good morning" which could apply equally to a stranger or someone whose name she ought to know.

"I think we've met once, but I'm sure you won't remember me." The woman said. "I'm Monica Eliot's mother – and I know you are one of Ginty's older sisters, but I'm not quite sure which one you are."

"I'm Rowan, Mrs Eliot."

Mrs Eliot smiled at her warmly. "Monica said that Ginty had mentioned that you were having a change from farming."

Rowan nodded. She didn't know what Ginty would have said to her friends. Nor for that matter did she know what Lawrie would say to Tim. Thank goodness Tim's relationship with her aunt seemed less than cordial. Rowan thought that if all the details of the whole affair got back to Miss Keith, she would be quite likely to react to it in an outstandingly irrational and unpredictable manner.

"That sounds fun." Mrs Eliot continued. "Can I ask what your plans are? Are you going back to Hampstead?"

Rowan shook her head. "No, I'm changing at Salisbury. Are you going to London?"

Mrs Eliot smiled. "No - I came down as far as Leamington to visit my aunt, who doesn't get about quite as well as she used to, and then thought that since I'd done half the journey I might just as well carry on and visit Monica and a few bits of Dorset that we hadn't got round to seeing. Assuming Monica gets a place at Leeds I don't suppose we will have any reason to travel to this area in the foreseeable future. So, not London then?"

"I've hardly made any plans." Rowan said, "I'm afraid I was so busy with lambing and so forth that I didn't put as much time into getting myself organised as perhaps I should have."

"Perhaps you need a bit of a holiday anyway." Mrs Eliot suggested. "I know enough about farming and farmers to suspect that you haven't really had one since you left school, and that's the best part of four years now, isn't it?"

"I think I'll be having a holiday for a little while, apart from writing job application letters, whether I actually wanted to or not."

"I hope the letters are successful and not too onerous and you manage to do so in a pleasant place."

"A friend mentioned how much he enjoyed spending holidays as a child in the Lake District and it's somewhere I've never been, so I thought I might visit there. I hope it's sufficiently before Easter that I can find somewhere to stay fairly easily."

"Have you booked anywhere yet?"

"No, I'd really want a room in a house rather than a hotel or guesthouse and those places don't seem to advertise themselves so much except locally."

"Or by recommendation." Mrs Eliot agreed.

It was part of the truth, not the whole of it. Rowan knew she would have to watch every penny she had, but she had also been, she realised now, mentally frozen with shock at her own anger and the enormity of what she was doing.

"Perhaps you would like to stay with us, for tonight at least? It will be so much easier than trying to find somewhere this evening. You would be very welcome to stay with us for two weeks in fact. I'd be glad of your company, but I understand that job hunting will take quite a bit of your time. It's a short walk to the post office as well, so that would be handy for you."

Rowan opened her mouth for polite refusal and then paused. It would be awkward to find a room tonight; she had already resigned herself to the probability that she would have to stay in a hotel and be charged accordingly for this one night at least. If there was any harm Mrs Eliot (and thus Monica and thus Ginty) knowing where Rowan was, it was already done. And after all, her father had declared his wish never to see her again. Who would come after her? A younger Nicola might have done, but Rowan thought Nick had learned enough sense not to do so. The same might be said of Peter, but Rowan thought that her younger brother had never had that particular brand of rashness. Rowan was honest enough with herself to admit that if her parents felt a little twinge of guilt she would not be entirely sorry

And Mrs Eliot had carefully specified two weeks. It was a strange way to say it. Most people would say a fortnight. It was as if Mrs Eliot was counting the weeks until – until the end of term, obviously. It was almost as if Mrs Eliot was saying that she needn't tell Monica – and hence Ginty – that Rowan had been there, if Rowan didn't want her too.

Rowan smiled. "Thank you very much indeed. I would like that very much."

Mrs Eliot's word was good. The next morning Mrs Eliot took Rowan for a walk around Keswick, showing her the post office and the main streets. One of them was actually called Main Street. Rowan bought a copy of the local weekly newspaper and some more stamps and envelopes. She looked carefully at the cards in the newsagent's window. It would be considerably easier to buy a kitten or give a guinea-pig a loving home than to find a job. There was a notice for "Smart waitress/waiter wanted" starting on the first of April. Rowan carefully noted down the address of the hotel.

After lunch, Mrs Eliot went to do her visiting at the cottage hospital.

"I don't know how long I'll be." she said. "When I get there the sisters of the wards let me know if there is anyone not likely to have a visitor and ask the patient if they mind if I am their visitor for that day. Mostly I have an idea about who is there, but since I've been away for a fortnight there could be one person or five."

And she picked up the little bundles of daffodils from the garden in gloved hands, pinned her hat more firmly against the brisk wind and left Rowan to her letters of application.

Rowan did the letter to the hotel first and then started to look at situations vacant. It was really a pity that she was neither a time-served fitter nor a toolmaker (time-served or apprentice didn't seem to matter). Even the receptionist/ clerical jobs seemed to want short-hand and typing, or at least typing. She went through the list again, including the ones that "preferred" skills she hadn't actually got. Eventually she applied for five posts. The barmaid job was only Friday and Saturday evenings and wouldn't even keep a roof over her head, but even that would eke out the meagre amount in her post office account. Possibly it could be combined with "assistant picture framer and sales person (experience and a good knowledge of art preferred)" or "shop assistant at a bakery (mornings only)". It would not be compatible with "cleaner required for solicitors' offices, 5.30 to 7.30pm, excellent references essential, mature lady preferred." Her final application was for a "smart receptionist, experience and bookkeeping qualifications preferred."

Should she write to Nicola or perhaps to Ann? She had rather not. She had said that she would write to Nicola when she was settled. A fortnight's stay wasn't settled. She wouldn't write to Nicola until she had a job. Still less was she inclined to write to Ann. She couldn't cope with the inevitable hand wringing, even from three hundred miles away. Or rather, Rowan admitted to herself, she could cope, but felt disinclined to do so.

She ought to write to Roger. It would be brutally unkind to leave the letters piling up at Trennels, unanswered. Or would someone, her mother perhaps, write "not that this address return to sender." What would Roger do in that case? Being a damsel in distress to be rescued would be completely unbearable. Not being such a Wimsey fan as Nicola, she couldn't remember the exact phrase in Strong Poison but Harriet was undoubtedly right. A marriage based on gratitude would be damnable indeed. Rowan would not inflict that on herself, and still less would she inflict it on Roger.

Dear Roger,

This may miss you, if you are already on the way back to England, but with all the correct numbers on it, it should catch up with you eventually. I'm not at Trennels anymore, so any letters that have arrived their today or yesterday will have missed me, and I know they cannot be forwarded. I am at the moment staying for a fortnight with the mother of one of my sister's schoolfriends. After that, I am not sure, but it won't involve a return to Trennels.

I hope you are well, and that things stay on the interesting side of exciting for you, rather than the other side.

With as much love as always,

Rowan

Well there it was. Rowan hoped she had made it plain that her feelings for Roger had not changed, but not said anything to mislead him into thinking she wanted him to seek her out. It would be helpful if she could arrange things so that the postmark was somewhere other than Keswick. Still, she most probably wouldn't be in Keswick by the time the letter reached Roger.

Rowan thought she had better make out a list of jobs applied for and was in the midst of doing so when she heard Mrs Eliot returning. Rowan put the cap back on her fountain pen and rose to go downstairs and greet her hostess. She met Mrs Eliot running upstairs, still in hat, coat and gloves.

"Rowan, I think I've got you a job." She announced. "I'm afraid it's not quite what you want though."