Lettie had opened the casement and leaned out on the edge. Would the woman jump and dash her life over the cobbles? But she seemed calmer today and leaned her elbows on the window. She didn’t scream or pull at her hair, just regarded the activity far below, her chin resting in her palms.
Dawn took a chance and waved. Nothing happened for one beat of her heart, and then she was rewarded with a small wave in return. Perhaps they could make amends after their unpleasant start. Dr Day said to give her a little time to become accustomed to seeing her. If that was what it took, Dawn would treat Lettie like the abandoned kitten she once found under a shrub. She would be patient, continue with her daily tasks, and let Lettie reach out to her rather than rushing an acquaintance between them.
The women appeared to be of similar ages, even though they came from different stations in life. Or perhaps Dawn was soft in the head to think they might become confidants. Could Lady Letitia ever recover from what harmed her young mind? They both shared the grief of losing someone they loved, so perhaps Dawn could use that as common ground.
Dawn waved again and then followed the sound of laughter that rose from the group of men. She pushed through the ancient oak door in the red brick wall. The shed nestled in the corner, supported on two sides by the garden wall. It contained all sorts of equipment, from scythes and clippers to rotating blades that turned when pushed along and that mowed the lawn.
Outside, by the barn slider that Hector pulled open, sat a much larger mower. The dark green piece of machinery was made by the Shanks company and was designed to be pulled by a pony while the operator walked behind. It seemed much neglected and rusty. Perhaps with a scrub down and some oil it could be used on the sweep of lawn out the front of the estate, instead of relying on sheep to keep the grass down. Dawn pulled her notebook free of the apron pocket and added another task to her list.
Men lined up and were handed equipment at the door. As though they were knights heading out to wage war on a dragon, Hector dispensed armour and weapons to those heading over to the maze. The next group would tackle the overgrown walled garden, a more genteel enemy. Hoes, rakes, and spades were handed to the remaining five.
“I’ll supervise at the maze, Miss Uxbridge, if you’re happy to take the lot in here?” Hector asked as he swapped his cloth cap for a more sheltering straw boater.
She smiled in gratitude to Hector for taking subtle control and doing the talking for her. “A fine plan, Hector. Shall we regroup at lunch and discuss progress?”
He nodded and gestured for his group to follow. Dawn pulled on her pair of soft leather gardening gloves and surveyed the long-neglected vegetable beds and fruit trees. “Right, lads, let’s make a start over here.”
11
A lad who admitted some knowledge of fruit trees was handed a pruning saw and told to go gently. Dawn didn’t want to lose the trees to shock if too many branches were hacked off. He nodded and disappeared among the foliage, tasked with opening up the dense mass of branches so sun could touch the fruit and prevent rubbing. Three men tackled the beds, pulling weeds and turning the soil. One man in Dawn’s workforce was occupied full-time carting away wheelbarrows full of weeds. The plants were dropped into the large compost bins behind the walled area, where heat would kill the seeds and it would be mixed with manure and kitchen waste to create rich compost to feed the hungry beds.
Dawn tried to work just as hard as the men, but the simple fact was she was neither as healthy nor as strong. The flutter in her chest warned her to go slower. The sun rose higher in the sky and beat down on her head, even though she protected herself with a wide-brimmed straw hat. She finally admitted that hoeing the beds was too arduous for her and handed the implement over to a lad called Edward, or Teddy to his friends.
She dipped a tin cup into a barrel that collected rainwater from the implement shed and took a long drink. Her body itched with sweat, and she longed for a bath to wash herself clean and to soak her aching body. If only the kitchen sink were large enough to allow her to clamber in and at least sit in a few inches of water. She shouldn’t even consider it. How embarrassing if she tried and became wedged and unable to get out. It would be a wash with a cloth, again.
There was one job that called her with their glass tops and brick sides – resurrecting the pineapple pits. They ran along half of one wall, with the glass angled to face south and catch all the available sunlight. In front of them ran a trench covered by boards. The trench would be filled with manure from the stables, and heat from the decomposing manure would leech through holes and heat the interior.
It was a frivolous thing to clean them out, but pineapples for the table could be a special thing to share with the villagers. She had already scanned what books and catalogues she found in the cottage, looking for somewhere to order the plants once they cleared away the weeds inside the pits. She expected the catalogues to be decades out of date, but someone had supplied her with a pile only a few years old.
“The lads are stopping for luncheon now, Miss Uxbridge,” Teddy called out as the men headed toward the main house.
“Very well. You go along, I just want to examine the pits.” She pulled off her gardening gloves and laid them on a pane.
First she lifted a plank and peered into the old trench. The manure had broken down and long ago sunk into the ground. Oats had sprung up and completed their life cycle, all in the confined, dark space. Dawn dropped the plank back into place. It would be an easy task to scrape the trench clean for a new layer of manure.
Next she pulled the pin holding the end frame closed and dropped it to the ground. The hinge gave a protesting groan as she levered it up. A stick came in handy to prop open the glass panel. The glass was coated in years of grime, but it was nothing hot water and soap couldn’t remove. The bed underneath was dry and hard, with dead weeds covering the surface. Weeds were opportunistic, and the seed had probably blown in small cracks or even seeped through from the manure trench.
A scuffling caught her attention, followed by a vague snort. She peered into the long bright tunnel. Something moved in the brown grasses down one end. A hedgehog, perhaps? Caught and unable to find its way out? If a hedgehog found its way in, it could mean a hole in the brickwork that would let heat out. She could leave the creature, but it might expire if it couldn’t find its way back to the hole where it snuck in. Even without manure in the channel, it was still stiflingly hot and stuffy inside with the low walls and full exposure to the sun.
Dawn moved down the pits trying to lift frames as she went, but none of the other panes would budge. They seemed either rusted or weathered shut. She could either leave the animal and assume it would find its own way out, or climb in through the one frame that opened and ferret it out.
She couldn’t risk it being stuck. Hedgehogs were a garden’s friend and ate slugs and snails that damaged young plants. She pulled her gloves back on in case she needed to grab a grumpy critter, and picked up her skirts to climb into the pineapple pit.
Dawn had to drop to hands and knees in the low tunnel. The baked earth gave off a sharp odour that speared up through her nostrils. She wrinkled her nose as she crawled along the length to where she heard the snuffling. Once she cleared away a few handfuls of long-dead cocksfoot, she found a baby hedgehog. Its foot was caught in a tangle of dead weeds that acted like a snare. If she had walked away, it would have perished.
“I have you now, little one,” she murmured.
She used her teeth to pull one glove off and spat it out. Then she was able to gently work the grass stems loose that were twisted around its appendage. With her remaining gloved hand, Dawn held the hedgehog to stop it from damaging its leg trying to wiggle free.