Hector had hushed her when she said the other woman’s name aloud.
Not here, he had said. She is always listening.
Quite apart from the vine that reacted to her name, did Elijah’s mother still prowl the grounds? Did she spy on her son to watch him grow into a man, or did she linger to see the estate ruined? If she were alive and watching, Dawn had a suspicion that Ava now stared up at the sky through a hole in the hermitage’s hillock. What Dawn needed was sufficient free time to watch the hermitage and find Elijah’s mother.
She scratched at her wrist. The cut hadn’t got any worse, but neither had it healed. She had dissolved a teaspoon of salt in some hot water and scrubbed at the cut with a cloth. The salt water stung, but some of the redness diminished and the black line heading up her arm had halted. Eventually Dawn managed to still her mind long enough to fall asleep.
The next morning a small group of men were given the task under Hector’s watchful eye of continuing to burn through strategic limbs of the monstrous vine. They would also trim the long-neglected hedges as they worked, and foot by foot, the maze would yield to them. It would be some time before they cleared the way, so Dawn decided to copy the layout of the maze onto a sheet of paper. That would give them a reference as they worked, and she could also map out the quickest way to the centre. Then the other passages could be cleared as time allowed.
A rummage in the cottage’s kitchen drawers revealed several pieces of paper, a ruler, and a few pencils. Dawn chose the largest sheet of paper and pinned it on the wall, next to the painted maze. That was when she noticed an odd occurrence. The walled garden was no longer an indistinct mass of green and brown. The beds were clearly drawn with sharp edges. They were coloured shades of brown, like freshly tilled soil waiting to be planted.
“Incredible,” Dawn whispered as she ran a finger over the one area she had managed to restore. She glanced at her fingertip, expecting to see fresh paint, but the drawing was dry and didn’t smudge. Either someone snuck in while she was asleep and updated the drawing, or it somehow altered itself to reflect the small amount of work she had achieved so far.
“There’s magic here. You were right, Mother. Some stories are true.” Dawn swallowed a sob as she remembered the tales of mythical creatures that her mother used to whisper. What if they weren’t make-believe at all?
Over the next two hours she painstakingly copied the layout of the maze onto the paper. Then she stretched muscles that ached from holding the same position for so long.
“Come on, Mouse. Let’s go for a quick walk.” With the wolfhound at her side, Dawn headed across the path to the walled garden.
There was immense satisfaction in seeing the beds weed free, the soil tilled and harrowed and ready for planting. The fruit trees would be brought under control more slowly. The men now worked to clear the pineapple pits and prepare the trenches for a new layer of fresh manure.
Dawn decided to explore the shelves in the glasshouse to see what seeds the previous gardeners had collected or to see if there were any indications where they ordered new seed. If Hector had undertaken some basic tasks in the absence of a head gardener, he might also have spirited away seed, tubers, or more recent catalogues.
Mouse baulked at entering the glasshouse, and Dawn suspected it was too warm for those wearing fur. He dropped to a shady spot by the wall and rested his large head on his paws. Inside the humid building, she pulled out a wicker basket on one shelf. She rifled through sheets of paper and notes but didn’t find any trace of seeds or catalogues.
“Blast.” She wondered if the locals might come to their rescue. Most people let a few plants go to seed so they could collect and save for the next season. Like the person who sent her the black aquilegia seed. If she asked, there might be plants to spare in the village. Thinking of the aquilegia seed reminded her, and she found a seed-raising tray and a watering can. The weather was warm enough to germinate the seed, and she could raise them through winter in the greenhouse to plant out next spring.
Dawn turned to contemplate the thick jungle pressing against the glasshouse’s murky sides. At some point she would ask the men to help her bring the lush growth under control before the palms burst through the sides. She might even remove enough of the verdant growth to allow space to grow oranges, lemons, and grapefruit.
While she imagined the sweet scent of orange blossom instead of the earthy humid odour, the door opened behind her. She turned to find the earl once again lacking a jacket in a waistcoat and shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. At times he dressed more like a workman than a peer, and coupled with his broad shoulders and knotted arms, she could imagine him wielding a scythe to cut the hay.
“I thought I would find you in here. Mouse is guarding the entrance.” Lord Seton stepped in the glasshouse and let the door snick shut behind him.
“He doesn’t like it in here. I suspect it is too hot for him.” Dawn wiped her hand across her brow. Today it was too hot for her also, and sweat ran down the back of her neck. The presence of Lord Seton also raised her temperature. She wanted to label it a foolish infatuation, but her response to him was so deep that even the marrow in her bones swayed toward him.
“It seems like another world in here. The greenery has quite taken over.” He stopped near her and stared up at the palms flattened against the glass.
“I was wondering about removing many of these ferns in favour of growing citrus. They would survive winter nicely tucked up in here. I will also need to go into the village and see if anyone can spare vegetable seed, as we need to start the seedlings for winter. We still have time to make the potager fully functional before the cold weather descends.” There was so much to do and decades of neglect to clear away before the estate’s heart would beat strong and true again. If only the earl allowed her to stay so she could see the project through. Some areas, like the forest walk, would take years to restore.
A smile pulled at Lord Seton’s lips. “I thought you would impress me with more fanciful endeavours, like pruning the roses.”
“Given I might have limited time here, I wanted to be practical. Roses are pretty, but a well-planned vegetable patch will feed the entire household all year round. That is a far better legacy if you decide to fire me tomorrow.” Tomorrow her week came to an end, and her limbs were heavy with sadness. Would he order Hector to deposit her at the train station, or would he allow her to continue the rejuvenation of the estate?
“Why would I do that? I find you are bringing new life to everything you touch.” His voice was a low murmur that raised goosebumps over her flesh, despite the humidity.
She looked up and found his grey regard steady and serious. Hope flared inside her. Did that mean she could keep her position as gardener? The question flew to her lips, but before she could voice it, movement above drew her eye. A large bird, perhaps? But it was pale, like a lost albatross. At the same time the shape flickered above, heat bloomed over her wrist. Before she could rub her thumb over skin, an odd grinding noise shuddered through the glasshouse frame. Then Lord Seton leapt at her.
He ploughed into her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and flung them both to the ground. Dawn emitted an oomph as they hit the path. Pain flared over her bottom as she landed hard on the brickwork at the edge of the garden bed. Lord Seton lay over her, his large body pressing her into the ground. Before she could protest his assault, there was a deafening crash, as though thunder cracked from right above them. Something thudded into the ground with a vibration that ran through the floor.