An Exaltation of Larks

By Daisy Treadwell

Hannah's life is a mess. Within twenty-four hours of ending her six-year relationship, she is made redundant. To make matters worse, the man she fantasises is in love with her - her boss - is the one to wield the axe. Temporarily homeless and friendless (her best friend Alex has jetted off to New Zealand), she answers an advert to work as a volunteer on an organic goat farm in Cornwall.

Discovering that she is not particularly fond of animals - especially smelly goats - she befriends a Polish octogenarian, Mrs Kowalska, who grows herbs on the neighbouring farm. As the herbs and their friendship flourish, Hannah begins to find her true path in life. There is only one obstacle in her way: the handsome but surly Zach, a fellow Londoner transplanted to the country who, like Hannah, is nursing painful wounds.

In the style of Rosamund Pilcher this is a delectable tale of love, loss, new beginnings, and the healing powers of lavender scones. Set near Lamorna Cove on the beautiful Cornish coast, a few miles from Penzance, An Exaltation of Larks is about how cultivating herbs and doing what you love can heal the spirit as well as the physical body.

Included at the end of the book are recipes of the delicious dishes which feature in the story, such as the Cornish specialty saffron cake, lavender scones, bigos, and lemon verbena ice cream.

Daisy Treadwell lives in Oxfordshire. She spends too much time in her herb garden and indulging in icky-sticky pudding. This is her first book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bigwig Books
• Release date: Sep 11, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301014422

Daisy Treadwell

Daisy Treadwell lives in Oxfordshire. She spends too much time in her herb garden and indulging in icky-sticky pudding. This is her first book.

Book preview

AN EXALTATION OF LARKS

Daisy Treadwell

Copyright 2012 by Melanie King

All rights reserved

Published by Bigwig Books at Smashwords

www.bigwigbooks.com

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the publisher's permission is illegal. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

An Exaltation of Larks is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover photo: Sit Down on This Feature by Jordan Ansell, available under a

Creative Commons Attribution License 2.0

at www.flickr.com/photos/40274854@N08/6580584179/

Cover design by Bigwig Books

Table of Contents

Copyright Page

Chapter 1: Valerian

Chapter 2: Lavender

Chapter 3: Bleeding Hearts

Chapter 4: Rosemary

Chapter 5: Wild Strawberries

Chapter 6: Myrtle

Chapter 7: Lemon Verbena

Chapter 8: Eucalyptus

Chapter 9: Meadowsweet

Chapter 10: Marigold

Chapter 11: Bergamot

Chapter 12: Fennel

Chapter 13: Marijuana

Chapter 14: Dill

Chapter 15: Lady’s Mantle

Chapter 16: Sweet Violet

Chapter 17: Thyme

Chapter 18: Aloe Vera

Chapter 19: Poppy

Recipes

Chapter 1. Valerian

Valeriana officinalis

Valerian is an ancient herb. Its name is derived from the Latin valere ‘to be in health’ and it is used all over the world as a sleep aid. When fresh, Valerian root can smell similar to ancient leather, while when dried it reeks of stale perspiration. It is still used today to add a musky scent to some perfumes. Cats and rats are attracted to the smell and legend goes that the Pied Piper of Hamelin used it to lure the rats, his music being just a decoy. Valerian root was once a common remedy in Britain for the treatment of shell shock and nervous stress in the First and Second World Wars.

LONDON

‘Run that by me again,’ Alex said, appalled.

‘Cornwall.’

'Where?'

'You heard.'

‘To do what, exactly?’

Sometimes Alex could be so nit-picky. Feeling like a child reluctantly confessing an unwelcome fact to her mother, Hannah said: ‘I’m going to become a WWOOFer.’ She shifted uneasily, propped up on one end of the white leather sofa that matched the rest of the room's decor. White, white and more white, with little furniture and few pictures to detract from its clean lines — just a few glass-topped tables and uncomfortable-looking chairs made by some sadistic Italian designer whose name Alex was constantly dropping but which Hannah could never remember.

‘Now I’ve heard it all. You are going to work in a dog’s home in Cornwall?’ Alex shrieked, flabbergasted.

Hannah started to explain that WWOOFers had nothing to with dogs, not that it made any difference to her friend’s shock-horror. She might just as well be going to work in a kennel.

‘Then I did hear you correctly about the location.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Why on earth Cornwall? Not exactly where it’s all happening? What about sun, sand, sex and sangrias, and Latino men flexing their bronzed pecs at you?’ This had always been Alex's solution for a bruised heart, and it had served her well. Naturally beautiful, with thick dark hair that tumbled around her shoulders like in shampoo adverts, Alex always had a string of men following her.

But today she was irritable and exhausted. A number of airport delays had meant that the journey from New Zealand had taken forty-eight hours. Throughout her two-week stay the weather had been awful — not unusual for June in the Antipodes — and worse still, there had been a dearth of handsome doctors to flirt with at the conference, the target group being predominantly female. In addition to jet lag, she had been fighting a virus throughout the whole trip, which had made her feel permanently tired and on edge.

‘Do you want me to run you a hot bath and then you can go and nap for a few hours? You must be absolutely knackered.’

‘Like hell I do, darling. I want to get to the bottom of this Cornwall thing first. I know it has been hard to end things with Pete, but we are talking social suicide here, and you're off in two days.’ Alex crumpled onto the white leather sofa, feeling suddenly nauseous. ‘Now be a sweetie: get me some strong black coffee and explain all. It seems I can’t let you out of my sight for a minute without something drastic happening in your life.’ She fished in her bag for a ciggie. ‘What the hell do you know about goats?’ she demanded, taking a deep drag.

‘Absolutely nothing,’ Hannah laughed.

‘I mean, herbs I might understand. But goats? And you still haven't explained, why Cornwall?’

Hannah could understand her friend’s confusion. Despite a high-profile job in headhunting and a city lifestyle, herbs, not goats, had always been her thing. Wherever she lived — her parent’s house, university, lodgings — they went with her. She even talked to them, telling them her joys and woes as she lovingly weeded them or wiped their leaves. She had once read that plants responded to gentle music, in particular to Bach, Haydn and Schubert. She remembered how Pete had laughed the first time he caught her conferring with her plants and playing them ‘Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring’. Of course she'd then had to retrain Pete and his dire musical tastes. God only knew what detrimental effects would have been wreaked by his passion for the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band.

‘Well, it’s time for a change. And I'm not likely to find goats in London, am I?’ Hannah retorted.

‘Not true. They can often be found in Greek restaurants, but they’re usually on a plate.’ Alex could think of nothing less appealing than spending time with smelly animals stuck on a farm in the middle of nowhere. She still had bad memories of visiting a farm in Essex on a school trip. She had been the only seven-year-old to slip and land on her backside in cow-pat. How the class had screamed with laughter, and she had cried for the rest of the day because the special dress that her mother had made for the occasion — with empire-line shape and pretty capped sleeves — was ruined. For years Alex had secretly imagined that it was because she had spoiled the special dress that her mother had died so soon afterward.

Hannah thought hard for a minute. ‘I can't really say why I want to go there,’ she said. But she knew that it was something to do with the picture of the Trewellan family and the beautiful Cornish countryside that had featured on the WWOOF promotional flyer. ‘To be honest, Alex, I just want to do something different. These last weeks have been pretty miserable and somehow lying on a beach on my own just doesn’t particularly inspire me.’

‘I'm sorry, darling, I can imagine it’s been somewhat grim, but I'm just trying to get my head around all of this. It’s so sudden, and so out of character. You’re a Jimmy Choo lady. Think what squeezing teats will do to your nails.’ Alex inspected her own delicate fingers and grimaced. She felt drained and exhausted, and suddenly slightly feverish.

‘But it's only for a couple of months. Maybe it’s just what I need. The fresh air, organic food and a healthy lifestyle might help me to decide what to do with my life. I might even be able to forget Guy.’

Alex shook her head in disbelief. ‘Oh Hannah, you’re not still pining for that creep, are you? It's not as if you ever went out on a date.’

‘Of course I'm not pining for him,’ she lied. ‘But it’s not been easy with Pete either.’

And with that, as Alex slipped off the sofa, she dropped a kiss on the top of her friend's head and trudged off to bed.

* * *

Hannah had moved into her friend’s flat on the day Alex left for the conference. Alex lived in an exclusive block of flats that were very expensive and very small, but for Alex, a person who hated domesticity, it was ideal. There were, she had once announced, at least fourteen takeaways within a ten-minute radius. It had provided just what Hannah needed: a quiet space in which to recuperate from the ending of her relationship with her long-term boyfriend Pete, recover from a few shocks involving work, and try to figure out where to go from here. She had gone for long walks around the city, snacked on take-away food, and immersed herself in women’s magazines that promised she would meet the man of her dreams if she followed just ten easy steps.

Hannah had no inclination to book a solo holiday in the sun, nor did she fancy sitting on a beach on her own as she tried to sort out her future. For in addition to her decision to put an end to her fading relationship with Pete, there had been Guy Robertson, her boss in the head-hunting company where she had worked for the last six years. He’d only been with the company for a little over a year, but in that time the client list had more than doubled, and he had given Hannah and most of her colleagues plenty to discuss. He had the bluest irises she had ever seen, and his gaze was intense and lingering. However hard she tried to banish from her mind the strong feelings she had felt for the office smoothie, he kept popping into her head like a stealthy intruder. Was it her misinformed infatuation for Guy that had made her finally pull the plug on Pete?

Having suffered a bad night’s sleep, her decision on Friday to get hold of some Valerian root would change the course of her life in a totally unexpected way. Valerian, with its long spindly stem and clusters of tiny pale lilac-pink flowers, can look like a weed, as Hannah had once discovered to her cost when her mother had dug one up, not realising her daughter had lovingly cultivated it from seed. Mixed with water the crushed root could be drunk as a tonic for nervous exhaustion and insomnia.

Aidan’s Apothecary was conveniently located not far from Alex’s flat, and featured rows of shelves stacked to the ceiling with jars of powders, dried leaves, and all sorts of unidentified substances that Alex, a frequent visitor, would nonetheless dismiss as ‘rhinoceros bollocks’. Aidan himself was a leftover Sixties hippy, as well as a qualified herbalist with enough family money to allow him to set up a shop in this very expensive part of London.

‘If you don’t mind me saying so, young lady, you are not looking your best,’ Aidan had stated good humouredly as Hannah entered the shop.

Hannah laughed. ‘You won’t keep many customers with a greeting like that.’

‘Au contraire,’ he replied, pointing confidently to the vast array of potions. ‘Not looking one’s best can only be good news for my business. Seriously, Hannah, you look as if you haven’t slept for days. Anything I can help with?’

‘There’s no pulling the wool over your eyes, Aidan. I’m fine really, but I've had a rough week and just have a few personal problems to deal with, so I’ve come for some Valerian root to soothe my nerves.’

Aidan immediately suspected the problem was something to do with her boyfriend. Alex was given to gossiping with him about various people she knew as she browsed the shelves, buying up every type of vitamin or health supplement that would help her cope with hangovers, late nights, and what she called her rampant PMT. And Hannah’s boyfriend problems were high on Alex’s hit list.

‘Valerian root, excellent choice, but I don’t need to tell you of all people not to take this for more than two or three weeks, otherwise you’ll become ill, to add to your worries.’ Aidan took a small stepladder and climbed up to reach a large jar containing what looked like lemongrass stalks. ‘Here we go. I’ll just crush it for you.’

Hannah drifted around the shop; she scanned the shelves in the book corner, then moved on to the notice board that was crammed with numerous advertisements for holistic healing, yoga, meditation and flat-shares, all competing for her attention. One in particular caught her eye.

‘Here we go, Hannah. One packet of crushed Valerian root. Anything else?’

She was engrossed in the advert. ‘Do you know anything about WWOOFing?’

‘Do I heck?’ he replied. ‘World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms. Every year Vivian and I head off for two weeks somewhere in the world and help out on one of these farms. It’s great fun and gets us out into the countryside. Last year we went to Poland.’

‘I remember, so you did. Do you get paid?’

‘No, of course not. You get your board and lodging thrown in, but it’s not about money. It’s about the experience and meeting like-minded people. Hang on a minute and I’ll just get some bumf for your perusal.’ Before Hannah could stop him he had disappeared into the back of the shop, returning promptly with a small bundle of papers. ‘Here we go. If you want a real break doing something different and getting fit and healthy in the process, WWOOFing is just the ticket. We’re booked to work on a Finnish herb farm in August and I can’t wait. If you’re really interested I’d be happy to share with you some of the amazing experiences we’ve had.’

‘Thanks, Aidan, I’ll certainly have a look at these and get back to you.’

By the time Hannah got home she was more than curious. First she mixed a teaspoon of the herb in cold water, intending to leave it to soak for over twelve hours so that it had plenty of time to infuse before she drank it. Then unfolding the sheaf of leaflets that Aidan had given her, she sank into one of Alex’s whiter-than-white armchairs and started to read.

WWOOF originated in 1971 and, after various name changes, had grown into a global concern. Providing they ran on an organic basis, farms and smallholdings all over the world could open their doors to armies of volunteers who were willing to help them care for animals or crops. Hannah read through testimonies of contented WWOOFers and happy farmers, but one picture made her stop. It was of a couple with two young children playing at their feet with a terrier, oblivious to the camera. The woman appeared to be in her late thirties and was holding a sturdy-looking baby. Her hair was shoulder-length, dark and wind-swept, and she wore a thick olive green woollen sweater with jeans tucked into green wellies. The camera had caught her smiling as she stood next to her ruddy-cheeked, tousled-haired partner, who was in a country-style checked shirt with a sleeveless green jacket and tan corduroy trousers. The landscape was what most attracted Hannah: rolling fields, distant cliffs, and the sun sparkling on a brilliant blue sea — it might have been a holiday postcard. In the distance, she could see what looked like a somewhat tumbledown farm. The whole scene was idyllic. Hannah read the caption: Kate and Josh Trewellan and family, from Pentrefick Organic Goat and Cheese Farm in West Cornwall, would like to thank all their WWOOFers who have helped them to win for the third year running the Best of Britain award for their Cornish organic herb and goat cheese …

Hannah was hooked. She had never been to Cornwall, and it looked enticing. Impulsively, she rang the enquiry number. ‘Of course you can get involved,’ said a polite female voice at the end of the line. ‘Just fill out the form and enclose your joining fee and we’ll send you details of any vacancies that are currently available.’

Hannah asked if anything was going at Pentrefick Farm because she was specifically interested, she said, in West Cornwall. At first the voice said no, as the Trewellans had apparently just taken on three Swedish girls. However, the lady at the end of the phone promised to ring and double check. Hannah passed on her contact number and a few days later she received a message that the Trewellans were able to take one further WWOOFer after all.

* * *

On Saturday, Hannah arrived at her meeting with Pete twenty minutes late. Not on purpose, but there had been the usual Saturday hold-ups on the underground. Her car was where she had left it almost a week ago, still parked on the road outside the house.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Hannah said cheerfully, avoiding eye contact as Pete opened the door.

‘No worries. Why did you ring the bell? Have you forgotten your key?’

‘No, but I thought in the circumstances it was polite not just to barge in.’

An awkward silence ensued until Pete asked nervously, ‘Do you want some hot bread and honey? I’ve just tried out a new bread recipe.’ He had thought this was a good tactic as Hannah had given him a bread-making machine for Christmas.

Hannah hesitated, having already breakfasted before she left. ‘Oh, why not, it does smell good.’

Pete's shoulders relaxed a little. He still held out hope that Hannah would see the error of her ways — after all, they had managed to work things out so many times before. Breathing in the smell of freshly baked bread and brewed coffee that filled the kitchen and living room, he felt optimistic about the fresh sheets he had put on the bed this morning in anticipation of happier times to come. He had also scanned the cinema listings. If everything was ironed out quickly, they might be able to catch a flick.

‘So what’s the occasion?’ Hannah asked her ex-boyfriend, looking at the bread and coffee machines.

‘No special occasion,’ he lied. ‘I just thought it would be nice to bake some bread.’

Pete started slicing the warm, multi-grained loaf and placing the moist, steaming pieces on a bread board, proud of his achievement. ‘Here, if you grab the coffee we can sit and talk at the dining room table.’ Hannah wasn’t sure this was a wise decision after the last conversation they had at that table, but neither of them wanted the neighbours to hear their arguments and at least they would be away from inquisitive ears.

The bread was delicious, the coffee superb, but the rest of the morning was as expected — nightmarish. When Pete realised that Hannah was not coming back — ever — his eyes welled up.

‘Look Pete, you've got to get a grip. It’s getting us nowhere if every time we try to sort things out you start blubbing.’ That was cruel because he wasn’t crying, but she thought he was acting pitifully. Looking at his miserable face she decided not to tell him that she had been made redundant, merely that she was taking a sabbatical and going away for a few months.

‘What are you going to do?’ he asked, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.

‘I’m not sure yet, but I’m thinking of trying something new for a while. I’ll keep paying my half of the rent and bills for two more months so you don’t need to worry about that for the time being. After that, I’m afraid you’ll need to make other arrangements.’

Pete stared at his feet. So Hannah would not be going to the flicks with him that night, or any other night. There would be no activity between his clean sheets either. He hovered anxiously as Hannah spent the next hour packing some of her clothes in suitcases for loading into her car. She couldn’t take too many things with her as her stay with Alex was temporary. The rest of her belongings would need to be stored temporarily with her parents in Nottinghamshire.

‘Shall I leave the myrtle, Pete?’ He didn’t answer, so she repeated her question.

‘No, take the bloody thing. It was a gift for you, or have you forgotten?’

Hannah ignored the sarcasm and lifted the pot with its sweet scent of orange blossom. She would only have room for this, her Bleeding Heart, and a lavender of which she was particularly fond.

Once the car was loaded, she took one more look around the flat for any essentials she’d missed. She was suddenly aware that this would be one of the last times she ever saw the garden. At least it was giving her a good send-off. It was truly spectacular on this June morning. The hollyhocks swayed elegantly in the breeze, and the foxgloves and delphiniums — ornate spears of colour — were in full bloom. Her blue pots, clustered around the patio, gleamed in the sun. She would miss her little garden desperately. What if her next place had no garden? Without thinking she picked up the watering can and took it to the kitchen sink for filling.

‘Now what are you doing?’ Pete asked irritably.

Startled, she replied, ‘I thought I’d give the plants one last watering before I go.’

‘For God’s sake, can’t you just leave?’

Hannah sighed. ‘It doesn’t have to be like this, Pete. Surely we're mature enough to be friends?’

‘Just get out, Hannah’ he snapped.

‘OK, if that’s what you want. I’ll be in touch when I can pick up the rest of my stuff, but if you need me, you can get hold of me on my mobile.’

‘Sure, Hannah,’ he grunted, turning away from her. ‘As if you ever answer your sodding mobile anyway.’

Hannah didn’t take the bait and quietly closed the door behind her: its familiar clunk had a final sound. But the tinge of sadness she had felt as she looked at her little garden soon dissolved into relief. In a way she had Guy to thank for the suddenness of the split, because if she hadn’t got the wrong end of the stick, she might have drifted on in a dying relationship for another six years. How many times had Alex told her that there was never an easy way of ending a relationship? All things considered, it hadn’t been too bad — for her, at any rate. Fleetingly, she wondered what Pete would do. Then she shifted into third and started back to her temporary home past Clapham Common, over the Albert Bridge and crossing, she felt certain, into a new life.

A night on the Italian sofa was in store for Hannah, but she didn’t mind. She was so excited about her adventure that she probably wouldn’t get much sleep anyway. Guy Roberts, her sad, miserable ex-boyfriend, her humiliating exit from Executive Recruitment, and all the other crap she’d been going through lately, all were soon to be a distant memory. At the grand old age of thirty-one, Hannah was about to reinvent herself.

Chapter 2. Lavender

Lavandula angustifolia (L. officinalis or L. spica)

Lavender was a favourite of the Greeks and Romans who added it to their bathwater. Indeed, its name derives from the Latin lavare ‘to wash’. Lavender has historically been distilled for its fragrance and used to mask body odours and household smells, while the glove makers of Grasse used it to scent their leather products. As these were found to be free of plague, lavender was thought to be effective in warding off the disease. These days it is recommended to relieve insomnia and is used in essential oils to de-stress and relax fraught bodies and minds.

CORNWALL

‘Mummy, look, the lady has a rabbit plant in her car,’ six-year-old Henry shouted with glee as he peered into Hannah’s side window. Hannah, stiff from hours of driving down an A30 choc-a-bloc with caravans, could barely move, let alone get out of her car.

‘Hi there,’ Kate called, approaching the stationary Micra