China Garden

by Liz Berry

  “Then he snapped, ‘Herbs?’ I was so nervous I just blurted out everything about my Chinese grandad, who was my hero and a great medical herbalist, and how I wanted to specialize in growing them. Perhaps develop a commercial supply.”

  “Then he barked, ‘Maze?’ And I yammered on about how one of the reasons I’d applied for the job was because someone had told me there was a famous maze here, and I was interested in mazes.”

  Clare said,“Oh, so am I. I love mazes. Where is it exactly?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t found it. One of the big disappointments. It must have been destroyed. Nobody knows where it was. Or won’t say. There’s a Chinese garden here that interests me too. I didn’t tell him that but I bet he knew. Anyway, he just went on staring at me. Then he said, `You’ll be needed here. Start.’ And that was that—I was Ravensmere’s Head Gardener. It was only when I got home I realized I hadn’t said anything about herbs and mazes in my application.”

  She shivered.“Weirdsville. James says the old man has got second sight. The villagers think he’s some sort of wizard incarnate. The whole thing was odd.”

  “Fate,” said James, solemnly.

  “Well, it really was,” Mai agreed.“I fancied getting away from London, Clare. Saw the ad, but I couldn’t find out anything about the place. Then I went to a party and started talking to this chap. And guess what? He came from Stoke Raven. Up for one night only. He told me all about the gardens, and of course, I was hooked. But I didn’t think I’d get the job. No chance, I thought. They had over fifty applications. I don’t know what made Mr A. pick me out.”

  “What about Roger Fletcher?”

  “A right pain in the neck! He was furious when he met me. The Head Gardener—a Black and a woman, too. Unheard of. I pointed out that it was Lady Clarissa who’d made the Herb and Physick Garden here, that I’d done my training at Kew and worked in the Royal Parks, and that I’d got better qualifications and knew more about gardening than he did! Also he had no authority over me because I was to get my orders direct from Mr Aylward. After that he didn’t tangle with me.”

  Clare laughed. Mai was a formidable young woman, and she was liking her more and more.

  “Then she met me in the Number Four greenhouse,” James said smugly,“and it was all up with both of us. Love at first sight.”

  Mai laughed.“He’s absolutely right. Bowled over first go. I didn’t believe it really happened. You must come to the wedding.”

  “I’d love to,” said Clare, pleased.“Oh wait, no, I can’t. I’ll be at university. What a shame.” By October she would have left Ravensmere for ever. She felt a sharp pang of disappointment.

  “Never mind. Maybe you’ll be able to get back for the weekend. Come and see our cottage anyway. I’m camping there while we fix it up.”

  They pulled into the stable yard, and Mai and James proudly showed Clare over their cottage, identified by the tub of geraniums. Mai made sandwiches and coffee for lunch and Clare stayed chatting happily with them until James said he had to get back to the estate office. When Mai heard that Clare intended to take the tour, she said she would walk back with her.

  “There’s a lot of work here,” she said, slamming the front door behind them.“The formal gardens on the other side of the House are marvellous, but they’d been badly neglected. I’ve got them in better shape now. And we supply all the vegetables and fruit for the House and the village, plus we’re marketing a lot of herbs now to health food shops. I started the garden shop too, which is popular with the visitors and locals. Not bad for two years?”

  “You must have been working your socks off. I want to see everything. It sounded wonderful in the guidebook. Temples and things. Did you say there was a Chinese garden?”

  Mai nodded.“And it really bugs me. It’s my other disappointment. The Maze has disappeared and the China Garden is locked up and verboten.”

  “The China Garden?” Clare felt an uneasy chill at the name.

  “That’s what they call it. It was fashionable in the eighteenth century to have gardens and pavilions, called China Houses, in the Chinese style. But I can’t get in there, and Mr A. won’t give me a key. I want to restore it. I’ve got a whole stack of books about Chinese gardens, and Moon Gates. But Mr A. wouldn’t even discuss it. He told me to stick to my herbs. That was the last time I saw him. Somehow, I didn’t feel like arguing! Listen, Clare, if you ever get to see him yourself, maybe you could just mention it. He might have changed his mind.”

  It was unlikely she’d ever see him, Clare thought. But he ought to know about the nuclear waste. She must try to think of a way to make one last appeal to him.

  Mai waved and strode off down the path to the Herb Garden, and Clare, with mounting excitement and curiosity, took the turn to the House. Roger Fletcher was in London, and her mother would be occupied in the private wing. She could see all she wanted, and with luck neither of them would know she had been there at all.

  Chapter 6

  The drive made a downward curve through tall trees and brilliant, banked azaleas, and Clare came to a halt, staring.

  A great creamy stone pile rose from the lush turf. It was much bigger than she had imagined. The famous North Front of the House was very grand indeed. Rows of windows, two projecting wings, and four tall pillars like a Greek temple held up a portico over two flanking flights of steps.

  For a moment she was bewildered. Why had she imagined that the House would look much older, with old weathered stones like a castle?

  At the top of the stairs under the portico there were two large urns overflowing with flowers. Huddled nervously behind them outside the big entrance was a surprisingly small group of people waiting for the tour to begin. There were two smiling, middle-aged women, a younger couple and a small boy with glasses, a tall grey man with a notebook, and a young man, who might be a student, in trainers, jeans and T-shirt. Clare crunched across the gravel and climbed the stairs to join them.

  The young man looked all over Clare and brightened up.“Hello, another intrepid traveller wins through.”

  “We got lost twice and then someone in the village gave us the wrong directions,” said one of the middle-aged women.

  “We had trouble too,” said the boy’s mother.“You’d think they’d put up some decent signs. But my son Darren is very good at map reading. How did you find the place?” she asked the student.

  “Oh, I knew where it was. I’m on a dig the other side of Barrow Beacon Hill. You know, an archaeological dig,” he explained to Clare kindly.“I’m Kevin. What about you?”

  “I’m on holiday,” Clare said warily, purposely misunderstanding.

  “Staying locally?” he asked, too casually. And when she only nodded, he said,“Maybe you’d be interested to come over and I’ll show you round the dig.”

  “Have you found anything?” Despite herself Clare was interested.

  “A Roman farm. The places round here are incredible. You just uncover one layer after another back into pre-Roman times. The Prof even thinks there may be a Paleolithic—Stone Age you know—cave system in the limestone under Barrow Beacon Hill, like over at Wookey or Cheddar. But we can’t get through. If we could do a bit of blasting we could open it up.”

  Involuntarily, Clare shivered.

  “Let Ravensmere die,

  Let the land be torn open,

  The end of the world

  Is surely betokened.

  “We’re on Ravensmere land, and we only have permission to excavate the Roman site, and for this season only. Old man Aylward is difficult. It’s taken years to persuade him. But Mr Fletcher seems a good chap. He let us come. The old man can’t last much longer and when he goes Mr Fletcher has promised us that we can extend the dig this side of the hill. That’s what we’re really after. He says they’re going to drive a tunnel through the hill to open up an access road for some scheme he’s got on.”

  The cold feeling spread down to Clare’s stomach. She said,“How do you know there�
�s something to find?”

  He grinned triumphantly.“Good old crop marks. You can tell from aerial photographs. The grass is a different colour.” He looked at her sideways.“There’s something to the west of the House, you know. We’re dying to get at it. The Prof is pretty sure it’s a sacred site of some kind. I thought I’d come on a recce—spy out the land.” He grinned.“We might even find the Ravensmere Benison.”

  “Find what?”

  Before he could answer the main door was opened by an elderly man in a black suit. He was pale, and so shaky that Clare wondered how he had managed to make his way across the vast black and white tiled entrance hall.

  He sat gratefully at the table by the door and issued their entrance tickets with careful concentration.“The tour will commence in a few minutes. Mrs Potts-Dyrham from the village will be your tour guide.”

  “The original ancient retainer,” said Kevin sarcastically, in Clare’s ear.“Half-dead.”

  She moved away from him, annoyed. She felt sorry for the old man and anyway hated people who made nasty comments about other people behind their backs.

  She bought a printed sheet about Ravensmere and read it while she waited for the tour to begin.

  People have been living in this fertile valley of the River Raven for perhaps as long as thirty thousand years. Human bones and tools have been found beneath Ice Age stalagmites. The long barrow on Barrow Beacon Hill was built five thousand years ago. Neolithic hunters also settled here, burying their dead in round barrows and erecting standing stones like the Leper Stone and the Revellers. They were followed by the Beaker people, the Bronze Age and the Iron Age peoples (Camp above Kenward Farm), all of whom left traces of their lives…

  At this point Mrs Potts-Dyrham arrived, out of breath. She was a portly lady in a pink knitted suit, with an artificial orchid pinned to her splendid bosom.

  “So sorry, Mr Bristow,” she said breathily.“A tiny problem with my little car, just as I was setting out.”

  Mr Bristow? thought Clare, surprised. The Mr Bristow who was supposed to be looking after Mr Aylward according to Roger Fletcher? He looked as though he needed a nurse himself.

  Mrs Potts-Dyrham rounded up her party briskly and urged them on through the Loggia, into the Great Hall.

  “Welcome to Ravensmere. This is the modern part of the House, rebuilt in 1726 after the disastrous fire of 1724. Ravensmere has been a private residence only since Henry VIIIth’s time.”

  “The Dissolution of the Monasteries,” said Darren, pushing up his glasses.“Was it a monastery?”

  “What a clever little man!” said Mrs Potts-Dyrham.“It was a nunnery. It was known as Raven Abbey. But Ravensmere is a very ancient site and has always been recognized as a special place of great power, a holy place. The Romans built a Temple to Cybele, or Demeter, Goddess of Agriculture and Fertility.”

  “There’s no evidence for that,” said Kevin.“At present.” Mrs Potts-Dyrham’s bosom swelled indignantly.

  “I assure you the evidence is quite irrefutable. Eldon Edgar, the Sixteenth Earl, the present Earl’s grandfather and predecessor, was a great scholar, as indeed have been many of the Aylward family. After the tragic loss of his young wife he became reclusive and devoted all his time to archaeology and natural history. He uncovered slightly to the west of the House a Roman mosaic pavement showing a female wearing a garland of corn, a snake coiled about her arm, set in the centre of a complicated maze pattern. She has been identified as Demeter, or the Great Goddess. You may read the account of his excavations in his monumental work in ten volumes, An Evolutionary History of Human Cultures, published in 1911. Now if we...”

  “He was a nut,” said Kevin.“He thought he’d found evidence for the existence of Atlantis.”

  “He was a friend of General Pitt Rivers, the Father of British archaeology.” Mrs Potts-Dyrham crushed him.“I am sure that if the Earl said that it was so, it was indeed so. Now if we may get on ...”

  “Excuse me,” said Darren,“What’s fertility?”

  Mrs Potts-Dyrham took a deep breath, then smiled upon him sweetly.“I am sure your father will explain later, little boy.”

  Darren said indignantly,“I’m not a ...”

  Mrs Potts-Dyrham raised her voice.“After the departure of the Romans there was a prolonged struggle here in the West Country between the invading West Saxons, and the Romano-British under Arthur. We are not far from Glastonbury and Cadbury. How thrilling to think that the great King Arthur himself may once have drunk at our Holy Well.”

  Kevin said, exasperated,“Arthur was only an imaginary character, dreamed up by ...”

  “Many thousands of us know that Arthur lives!” thundered Mrs Potts-Dyrham magnificently, and Kevin subsided, muttering.

  “By AD 658 central Somerset was the occupied frontier. By good luck Ravensmere appears to have escaped the dreadful massacres and fighting elsewhere, although there is evidence of burning and the Roman Temple disappeared. It seems that the Saxons settled peaceably on the site of Kenward Farm, integrating with the local people.

  “St Aldhelm, the Apostle of Wessex, came here in 705 and converted the people to Christianity. He established a small Abbey on this already sacred site, with nine nuns of the Benedictine Order, under an Abbess called Rosamond. The Benedictines were scholars and educators, important in preserving the ancient learning.

  “If you will look towards the great fireplace you will see a stone carving brought we think from the old chapter house—one of the emblems of St Benedict—a raven! A delightful coincidence, I think you will agree.”

  “The Raven is also an important Celtic symbol of rebirth and renewal,” the grey man said unexpectedly.“And the Roman soldiers worshipped a God of Light called Mithras. The Raven was one of their grades of initiation.”

  “How interesting,” said Mrs Potts-Dyrham, coldly.“However I am sure this is a Christian symbol. If I may continue?

  “All through the Middle Ages the small Abbey remained peaceful and quiet, hidden in the folds of the hills. There were usually nine nuns with some lay sisters. Not all of them would have taken vows. Some girls would be here for their education, some women just came for sanctuary, or lived here while their husbands were away at the wars.

  “The Abbey was extremely highly regarded. It was a healing centre and gave much help when there was distress in the countryside. Although it never sought riches and lands like some great abbeys, its benign influence was very great. There are many legends about the good nuns and their marvellous cures.

  “It was one of the last religious houses to be suppressed by Henry VIII. The King’s Commissioners visited the Abbey in 1539 and reported that the nuns were ‘full of charitee, virtuous lyving and diligent’. Nevertheless, the elderly Abbess was beaten to make her reveal the whereabouts of the concealed treasure known as the Ravensmere Benison, one of the many great mysteries of this house.” She paused dramatically, confident that she had caught their full attention at last.

  “What’s a Benison?” asked Darren, speaking for all of them.

  “It means a blessing, of course. But no one knows quite what the Ravensmere blessing was. It was always referred to simply as the Benison. We only know that it was the most precious thing in the whole of the Abbey. And King Henry went to extraordinary lengths to get hold of it.” She lowered her voice confidentially.“It has been suggested that Ravensmere might well have been the resting place of the Most Holy Grail.”

  She waited for their comments, but even Kevin was silent.

  “The old Abbess was found dead, and eventually a large, ancient, marvellously decorated golden bowl was handed over to the King’s Commissioners. It disappeared. We know that it never reached London with the rest of the gold plate and valuables from Ravensmere. A great search was made, both then and many times later but it was never discovered.”

  “Load of cobblers,” muttered Kevin, recovering, but Mrs Potts-Dyrham ignored him.

  “The Abbey was sold off to a local nobleman
. He was Edward John Aylward, the Second Earl—we call him the Great Founder to distinguish him from all the other Edwards. He bought the Abbey and its lands for £842, and began to turn it into a residence for a gentleman.

  “He married Rosamond Kenward who had been the last Abbess-Elect of the Abbey. The romantic legend is that he had always been in love with her, but she had chosen to be a nun. They had nine children, all of whom made important marriages which helped to protect Ravensmere through the next century of turmoil.”

  Clare remembered the extraordinary tomb in the church, with all the kneeling children, and wondered how Rosamond had felt having to get married after all.

  “His fine portrait, attributed to Hans Holbein, the Younger, is there on the East Wall, together with that of his lady.”

  They all turned to look. The two portraits made an extraordinary contrast. Edward Aylward stood foursquare, a towering figure, in a pearl-embroidered velvet coat and a fur jerkin. He had the bold, ruthless face of a man who always got what he wanted and wasn’t too particular how he went about it. Rosamond, on the other hand, was dressed in a plain black gown, and a white cap.

  Clare lingered a moment as the others moved on. Rosamond’s eyes looked directly at her, amused and luminous. Her mouth was full and looked as if it would begin to smile at any moment. The face seemed almost familiar, as though she had seen it before somewhere. Peeping from the folds of Rosamond’s velvet skirt was a small cat—a tortoiseshell cat, that looked remarkably like Tabitha.

  Clare caught up the rest of the party in the Dining Room, where they were looking at the Hepplewhite chairs ranged down a long table, with the second-best Wedgwood china and settings for thirty-six people.

  “The silver needs a bit of a clean, don’t you think, Joan?” Clare heard the jolly lady whisper to her friend.“And the china is dusty.”

  Clare wandered on through the great rooms, full of antique furniture, priceless carpets, paintings and porcelain; through the Great Drawing Room, the Lesser Drawing Room, the Ballroom with its painted ceiling, and tall mirrors carved by Grinling Gibbons, and the Music Room, with its painted cherubs flying around painted pillars and a harp and spinet in the corner.