Chapter 18

It was quite understandable for Mrs Eliot to want a cup of tea before she told Rowan about the job. Rowan was in favour of a cup of tea. Nevertheless, she got the impression that Mrs Eliot was picking her words carefully in the time she put the kettle on and measured the tea into the pot.

"Monica mentioned that she thought you wanted a change from farming." Mrs Eliot began.

It would be typical of Ginty to imply that was the reason for my departure without actually uttering an untruth, Rowan thought.

"And I'm afraid this isn't a change from farming – but then I don't expect the job will last for long anyway, but it will keep you busy while you make other plans, and it seems a rather good fit in so many other ways."

There was a pause to pour the boiling water on the leaves.

"And you would have accommodation and your food provided, washing done and so forth." Mrs Eliot went on in a brighter voice, speaking at her usual rate. "And it's with people I know – you don't need to have any worries about staying with the Dixons."

"This sounds very encouraging," Rowan said. "Is it mainly sheep? Help with lambing?"

"Help with everything, I'm afraid." Mrs Eliot said. "Mr Dixon has broken his leg, fibula I think, slipping on some ice in the farmyard. He did it just before I went away. I had a cold, so I missed my hospital visiting for the two weeks before. Mrs Dixon and Silas have been keeping things ticking over, but Mrs Dixon says they're due to start lambing. It's mainly sheep, but they have some dairy cows and pigs - and poultry too, but Mrs Dixon sees to the poultry. It's not the place for arable farming."

Mrs Eliot explained where the farm was exactly and what would be expected of Rowan. She seemed to have made quite detailed enquires on Rowan's behalf. Rowan carefully kept the appreciative, interested look on her face – nothing more.

"So the pay won't be much, but you'll be living in the farmhouse as if you were family and you'll be feed, and well fed too." Mrs Eliot concluded. "They're both known for fair dealing and there's nothing mean about either of them. Mrs Dixon's is a good cook and excellent baker. Her mother too. Her mother was a friend of my mother, so I had the chance to sample their family pork-pie recipe as a child."

Rowan smiled. "When would they like me to start? It sounds as though they need the help as soon as possible."

Mrs Eliot hesitated, just slightly. "I suggested to them that perhaps you might start on Monday. Mr Dixon is going home from the hospital today - he still has his leg in plaster but he's getting along on crutches."

Rowan nodded. "Yes, I suppose they won't want a new person about the place."

Mrs Eliot smiled. "You don't have to say yes definitely until you've met them – neither of course do they – but I'm sure it will suit very well in the short term. You could do with a few days when you can sleep as much as you want as well."

"If lambing is about to start – yes." Rowan said.

It was better, Rowan decided, if the Dixon's never knew that she was – had been, perhaps – Roger's girlfriend. The only way to be sure of that was to tell no-one. That should be easy enough. Her thanks to Mrs Eliot were heart felt. In a month, she would surely have a clearer idea of what she should do with the rest of her life. It seemed strange that "the rest of her life" should seem such a long, desolate stretch of future.

Mrs Eliot insisted on driving Rowan to the Dixon's farm herself. Rowan said all the appropriate things and tried not to feel as if she was still being treated as if she was the twins' age. She really ought to be grateful. Perhaps the Dixons would have taken her without references – or with only Miss Keith for a referee, but it was still better to have Mrs Eliot, known and trusted by Mrs Dixon to vouch for her. Mr Dixon was indeed a man of few words, just as Roger had told her, but in those few words she had managed to pick-up that he was a better livestock farmer than she would have been had she spent another two decades at Trennels. Rowan doubted that Mr Dixon would have been impressed with the kind of reference her former headmistress would provide – except perhaps for the words "hard worker." Rowan would be getting her keep and more in the way of wages than she had been at home, when she had received very little more than pocket money. By three she was seeing to the afternoon milking.

Things were later here. Lambing had not yet begun. It had been nearly finished at home when she had left. At Trennels when she had left, Rowan corrected herself mentally.

The Swaledales would be first, Mr Dixon had said, and were already in one of the pastures close to the farmhouse. This had caused a bit of consternation amongst Mrs Dixon's geese in the next field. The geese and the ewes gave back hard stare for hard stare whenever a goose bothered to perch for a little on the dry stone wall. The Swaledales, Rowan gathered, were something of an experiment in Mr Dixon's eyes, albeit an experiment that had been in progress since the end of the war.

Most of the Dixon's sheep were Herdwicks. Tough, characterful little beasts, so far as Rowan had had dealings with them, that first week. It would soon be time to bring them in for lambing, Mr Dixon had told her that very first day. Rowan wondered uneasily whether she would be expected to work with the Dixon's dogs. She couldn't see how that would work. At home – at Trennels the dogs had belonged to Shep and worked for him.

It was the evening of the second day when she admitted her fear.

Mr Dixon gave a slow smile.

"Why, bless you, of course not. They'll work for Silas as well as for me. Mr Jackson will come over with his Ringman and Bess and give you a hand, and you'll give him a hand in return for a day or two bit later on a bit later on."

He shifted a little. Rowan got the impression that his leg was still causing him more pain than he was letting on.

"We've taken you on. Don't be feared that we'll let you go now if you speak owt about what's on your mind. It's my leg that's broken, not my head. You let me do the worrying if there's any to be done and we'll get on champion."

"John that married Nancy Blackett." Mrs Dixon announced suddenly as she was unpinning her hair at bed time.

"What of him?" Mr Dixon was long used to his wife thinking aloud.

"Rowan. She has the same manner about her."

"Mebbe. Mebbe. Mrs Eliot said she was from a naval family."

"Something's troubling her."

This was so obvious it merited no more than "aye".

They had both nearly dozed off when he said "She's been the one to make the decisions, wherever she were before."

And it was Mrs Dixon's turn to say "aye".