by A. W. Exley
The brow arched a little higher and his hand paused with the soup spoon caught between plate and mouth. “Shall we burn it all to the ground and plough the ash into the soil?”
Dawn gasped and her spoon clattered against the plate. She glanced to Elijah, to see if the youth shared his uncle’s opinion, but the lad was too busy eating. “Good heavens, no. Why would you destroy three hundred years of work like that?”
“Because it cannot be saved.” Lord Seton reached for his wine and his grey gaze regarded her over the rim of the glass as he took a sip. His expression gave away nothing as he waited to judge her response, but at least the frown had gone for now.
She shook her head. “You are wrong, my lord. The bones are solid even though its heart is weak. But I believe with hard work it can be revived and restored to its former grandeur.”
“You speak as though the garden were alive,” Elijah said, having devoured his soup and pausing for air.
“Is it not a living thing? A garden has the same cycle of life, reproduction, and death as other creatures. Is it any less alive because each plant spends its entire life in one spot? And if we accept it lives, can it not also have a heart?” With effort, Dawn reined in her enthusiasm. Father always thought it a little odd how passionate she became about plants and the earth. She contemplated the contents of her bowl. The soup was delicious, and she wondered if the pumpkin came from the walled plot.
The earl stared at her, his stone gaze unreadable. He probably thought her mad now for saying the garden had a beating heart. Few others ever saw that there was more to the world around them. No matter how hard she tried to be polite and restrained, she kept coming across as unhinged. Not that she cared, so long as he thought her suitable for the job.
The earl made a noncommittal sound deep in his throat and returned to inspecting his plate.
“Might I enquire how the grounds came to fall into such a state of disrepair?” She couldn’t imagine how anyone could live at the estate and watch the gardens dissolve back into the ground.
The earl’s hand tightened on his spoon. “The estate has lacked a Lady Seton with sufficient interest in the upkeep, and I find business keeps me occupied elsewhere.”
Elijah opened his mouth to speak, but a dark look from his uncle made his attention return to the meal. Silence fell as they ate. Dawn had always listened when her parents entertained. She replied when spoken to but never had to lead a conversation. What would her mother do? Safe topics like the weather and local economy. And Verity Uxbridge would avoid politics and religion.
Dawn placed her parents at the other end of the table and asked about the village. Conversation crept back as the earl and Elijah talked about the textile mill, the shearing of sheep for fleece, and how often it rained.
“I could show Miss Uxbridge the grounds tomorrow,” Elijah said, then directed his next comment sideways at his uncle. “If I didn’t have to tackle history and geometry.”
“I tried to find the hermitage today, but to no avail. It would be greatly appreciated if you could uncover its whereabouts for me.” If the lad had roamed the grounds, he might know where the cave was located. In the Georgian era it was fashionable to have a hermit living on the grounds to spout philosophy at passing ladies and gents.
“Please, Uncle Jasper?” His open face turned to the older man.
“Studies first, then you may show Miss Uxbridge where it is hidden,” the earl said.
The young man grinned at Dawn and attacked his main course with gusto as though he intended to finish early and get all his studies done that night.
“Are you here on holiday from college, or will you return to your parents soon?” Dawn asked, curious about the family arrangement.
“No.” A sigh escaped Elijah’s chest and he cast a quick glance to his uncle. Rather than elaborate, he filled his mouth with roast beef instead.
“Responsibility for this family and estate fell to me some years ago, when we lost my older brother before Elijah was born,” the earl replied.
Dawn bit her tongue; the earl had an infuriating way of deflecting her questions about anything deeper than a puddle. His replies raised more questions than they answered, but it was the height of rudeness to pursue more information. She knew something of how titles were conferred. As the sole heir, the earldom should have settled on Elijah, not his uncle. Which implied there was some impediment to his succession. Usually a lack of legitimacy. Also telling that the earl did not mention the youth’s mother, only his father.
She stared at her fork as she gathered her thoughts. “It would seem tragedy has touched both our families. I lost both my parents recently, which prompted me to seek this opportunity of employment.”
Two months had done little to diminish the pain of the wound. Her fingers tightened on the cutlery as a phantom knife stabbed her anew in the chest.
“I am most sorry to hear that.” A sad smile touched Elijah’s lips, and much remained unspoken at the table. At length he mustered up a question for her. “Do you believe there is a balance to life, Miss Uxbridge?”
“I’m not sure I understand.” How could there be any balance in tragedy? Every day she wished she had died instead of her parents. Nothing could compensate for their loss.
He set aside his knife and fork, drew a shape in the air with his hands, and then swung one back and forth. “A clock’s pendulum swings both ways, but it is only at peace in the middle where it has balance.”
A touching analogy that did nothing to ease the pain of losing her parents. Was he implying that life would compensate by sending her something good, or that she should remain in a neutral state of balance? “You are quite the philosopher, but I am not sure I grasp your meaning.”
Elijah drew a breath to reply, when the earl signalled for the last course to be cleared away and then dabbed at his lips with the napkin before laying it by his plate. “Elijah, you can retire for the evening. Perhaps make a head start on tomorrow’s assignments if you wish to show Miss Uxbridge the hermitage. Now I intend to discuss the grounds further in the library with our new gardener.”
The youth said his goodnights and Dawn found her pulse erratic at the prospect of time alone with the earl. Then she thought of the maze blocked by decades of wild vines. Here was her opportunity to ask about clearing a path to the middle. She just had to face the chance bravely with a machete in her hand.
8
Lord Seton led her across the entranceway and toward a set of doors next to the grand fireplace. They went through the door toward the front of the house, the one that he had slammed earlier in the rush to attend his sister. The room within occupied a double-height corner of the mansion. Two adjoining walls were given over entirely to books that stretched far above her head. The room was cast in a pattern of muted colours from the covers of thousands of books. The odd glint of gold or silver sparkled where lights caught the lettering on spines.
A narrow catwalk encircled the middle of the wall of books to enable a curious reader to reach more titles. Ladders with brass wheels could be slid along a rail to a new position on the ground floor. A third wall held large windows that faced the driveway. On sunny days, light would spill into the room and illuminate the enormous desk positioned near the windows. Dark red drapes were hooked back on either side with tasselled cords.
But it was the fourth wall that drew Dawn as surely as the kitchen wall in the cottage. A framed map stretched from nearly one side of the room to the other, a larger twin of the map in her new home. The drawing was of such a size she could almost step into it and explore the estate at the height of the garden’s grandeur.
She ignored the books and gravitated to the painting. As she neared the map, Dawn gasped at the vibrant colours and hues of this version. It was as fresh as though the artist had just left the room, and she expected the paint to still be wet. The entire estate stretched before her as it was meant to be, not in the scribbled and obscured form shown in her cottage.
She reached out a ha
nd but stopped short of the surface, as though it were an object of reverence. “It’s so beautiful.”
“That plan has hung here for three hundred years. I know the one in the cottage is obscured by years of gardeners drawing over the top. This one reveals the original colour schemes. Given you are only here for one week, I thought it might help illuminate where you want to start.” Lord Seton gestured to the intricate drawing.
Dawn sighed at the reminder that she had limited time for the enormous task before her. She took a visual journey over hundreds of acres without her feet having to move an inch. To see the original design in colour and in such minute detail revealed the designer’s intent. The maze was the centre, and the grounds spiralled out around it. A rich red and orange design dominated the very middle of the maze, but in the cottage this particular feature had been whitewashed over. Feathered lines radiated out from a central trunk, and it was notated as a Ravensblood tree. Was the estate name a reference to the tree?
“I have never heard of such a tree,” she whispered as she peered closer, in case she misread the tiny scrawl.
“The estate was named for it, but there are numerous botanical books here, if you require more research material.” His deep voice approached her from behind.
The drawing brought to mind the odd leaf she found by the entrance to the maze, the one that resembled a feather and was black on one side, red on the other. She thought it had come from the thorny vine, but could it have fallen from the unusual tree instead? Perhaps a gust of wind allowed it to escape the vine holding the maze prisoner? The tree might be something found only in Cumberland, but she would need to consult the books for sure. There was only one way to satisfy her curiosity. She needed to find a way through the overgrown hedges.
She laid a hand over the tree in the clearing. “Here, this is the heart of the estate.”
Lord Seton stood at her back, and warmth radiated along Dawn’s spine. Then he reached past her and covered her hand with his large and warm one. A tingle of energy ran from their connected hands, along her arm and down her back. It was as though the painting pulsed under their hands and resonated through her entire body.
She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, savouring the feel of the earl, no longer cool like at the lake, but now a heated stone left out under a summer sky. When she opened her eyes, she stared at her hand, concealed by his. An itch started in her palm and then a wriggle, as though she shielded a furry caterpillar. A tiny green tendril peeked out from under the earl’s fingers and patted his hand, as though scenting his skin.
Before she could gasp or ask if he also saw it, he whispered from by her ear, “How can you be so sure that is the estate’s heart?”
She tried to ignore the phantom seedling that was surely a figment of her imagination and concentrated on the rich detail of the map. She didn’t know why, but seeing the tree at the centre of the maze, it simply felt right deep inside her. As though her soul sighed to think of one day sitting under the tree’s feather-leafed branches and listening to birdsong in the garden.
She should have given him a logical answer, pointing out the symmetry of the overall design and that with the use of geometry, lines drawn from each corner of the estate would intersect the middle of the maze. But in the moment, touching the map and with their hands still interlinked, she gave him a different answer.
“Looking at this map is like hearing a song I heard long ago and forgot. I simply know it deep inside me. To restore the estate, I must restore the heart, but first I need to find a way into the maze.”
He leaned closer. Paths radiated out from under their joined hands. The tendril of vine wiggled and grew longer to creep up onto his hand. He must see it too, surely? Lord Seton’s breath feathered over her neck and then something grazed her skin.
Dawn bit back a moan at the rush of heat that flowed through her body.
His hand tightened around her fingers for a moment and then dropped away. Cool air washed over her back as he moved. Dawn stared at her hand, now alone in the middle of the map. The phantom vine had vanished. She lifted her hand and pressed it to her temple. The tiny plant was simply the figment of a tired mind that was fixated on the state of the garden.
She glanced sideways to where the earl now stared at the water-coloured rose garden painted further along the wall.
“No one has been in the maze for a long time. It could be dangerous in there, assuming the original paths can even be found again,” he said.
“Given the thickness of the vines, it would appear they have guarded the maze for many years. Perhaps it is time to unravel the secrets it holds.” Dawn considered the annual growth rate of a fast vine, but it would still have taken decades for the plant to encompass so much of the estate. There would also need to be a way for it to seed itself without any visible flowers or suckers.
Dawn screwed up her eyes and then opened them. A headache threatened and she was going mad, imagining ghostly plants and the graze against her neck. The earl wouldn’t take such liberties with an employee. It must have been an accident.
“Do you not think it would be better to start somewhere else? The herbaceous borders, perhaps?” Lord Seton crossed to the adjoining wall and leaned his shoulder against the library ladder as he watched her.
She should agree with him and start with a simple task. Reclaiming the maze would be arduous and complicated given the sheer scope of the issue. The herbaceous borders needed cleaning out, the soil addressed, and the bordering hedge cleared of the invasive vine. So why did her mind baulk like a stubborn mule at the idea of beginning her work elsewhere?
Dawn stared at the original map and mentally overlaid it with the one from the cottage. Just as the maze was the mathematical centre of the estate, so was the unknown black vine originating from there. “You cannot restore a garden until you first clear all the weeds. The large vine is strangling so much of the estate. If it is spreading by runners, we need to tackle the source, which is somewhere in the maze.”
Lord Seton did his statue impersonation. Only the rise and fall of his chest reassured her that he hadn’t frozen solid. At last he made that odd grunt in the back of his throat. Her father used to do something similar when a column of numbers in his ledger didn’t return the expected result. “If you will not be dissuaded, I’ll have Hector go into town tomorrow and employ a couple of local lads to help clear the entranceway. I only ask that you do not go into the maze unaccompanied, in case you become lost.”
“Thank you, my lord, the extra hands would be most valuable.” Dawn cast him a sidelong glance from under lowered lashes, still trying to figure out what had grazed her neck. When she used to kiss her father goodnight, his cheek had always been rough because of the day’s stubble that had regrown. Lord Seton’s cheek looked freshly shaven with no hint of shadow. If not stubble, what accounted for the rasp against her skin?
She needed a distraction before she dwelt too long on the attributes of her employer. Identifying flora was a harmless place to start. “I would much appreciate it if I could access your botanical volumes to help me better understand what plants are unique to this area, such as the vine and Ravensblood tree.” Did a book about invisible plants that sprouted from people exist? Her mother used to warn her not to swallow apple pips or one would grow inside her.
“Of course.” Lord Seton turned and surveyed the rows of books. Then he moved to one particular segment and stretched his arms wide. “This area contains numerous books on plants, landscaping, and garden design.”
She walked over the bookcases but kept the library ladder between them.
“Thank you.” She ran a fingertip along the edge of the row. A slim volume caught her eye. The red leather cover had worn dull over time and once gold lettering had muted to a dark yellow. The Flora of Alysblud. She pulled the book free and held it in both hands. “I will start locally and work my way outward. I would like to accompany Hector tomorrow, if that is permissible.”
His grey gaze regarded her for
a long moment. He really was very good at impersonating a statue. “Very well, I have no objections. If you go to the village, you will not distract Elijah from his studies. He can show you the hermitage in the afternoon.”
“Thank you. I think I will retire now. It’s been quite an eventful day.” Her physical resources were depleted and exhaustion nibbled at her mind.
Lord Seton reached out one hand toward her, stared at it, and then placed them both behind his back. “I’ll walk you back to the cottage.”
“That’s not necessary, I have Mouse for company,” Dawn whispered, unable to meet his stormy regard.
He ground his jaw and fixed his stare. “I think it is necessary. There are many things hiding in the night in rural areas, and you are not yet familiar with the lie of the land.”
Dawn swallowed. Her vivid imagination cast Lord Seton as a nocturnal creature, waiting to pounce on the unsuspecting. She longed to retire to bed and pull the blankets over her head to blot out such fanciful ideas.
They walked back across the entrance way and into the peaceful parlour. He opened the French doors to reveal a full moon outside. Mouse was a silent guard in the night, pacing at Dawn’s side with Lord Seton on the other. The moon illuminated their way across the courtyard and along the pale path to the cottage.
At the cottage door, Dawn paused with one hand on the cool iron latch. “Good night, Lord Seton.”
“Good night, Miss Uxbridge.” He took her free hand and placed a kiss on the back of her knuckles, then he vanished back along the path.
Dawn stared at her hand. Her skin tingled from the brief contact, but the tendril of imaginary vine did not appear. Then she glanced at the waiting wolfhound. “I’m tired, that is all, and unused to such company. My mind is playing tricks upon me.”
Inside, she padded across the floor by moonlight to her bedroom. Dawn lit the lamp by the bed and disrobed with a slow weariness. Mouse emitted a sigh and settled on the rug. She climbed up into the large bed, blew out the light, and nestled into the blankets. Her dreams explored the twists and turns of the maze, and she imagined Lord Seton waiting to steal kisses in the dark.