by A. W. Exley
His eyes widened on seeing Dawn, then a shy smile lit his face. He wore pale trousers and a linen shirt with a grey waistcoat over the top. He had a piece of hay stuck in his dark hair and grey horse hair dusted his waistcoat.
“That’s master Elijah, the earl’s nephew,” Hector said from beside her.
Another new person to meet and someone else who would expect her to converse intelligently. Dawn had thought the role of gardener would be a solitary one; she never considered the practical implications of a large estate with family and staff.
Dawn swallowed her nervousness and snatched up the orchid as a talisman. She told herself the young gentleman was another of her father’s boring business dinners and held out her hand. “Miss Uxbridge, the new gardener.”
Elijah shook her hand with a gentle touch. “Gosh, a woman.” Then he remembered his manners and added, “A pleasure to meet you.”
Any other comment he might have made was cut off when a man appeared in a doorway at the bottom of the end wing. He slammed the solid door behind him, and Elijah jumped back as though not wanting to be caught too close to her. An aura of a bad mood surrounded the newcomer as he strode across the courtyard. A dark navy frock coat billowed out behind him, caught on an unseen wind.
“Lord Seton, the earl,” Hector whispered from the corner of his mouth while his attention stayed straight ahead.
Dawn clutched the orchid closer with one hand while her other found Mouse’s head at her side. Her fingers curled into his fur to stop her from bolting as the storm cloud bore down on them.
The earl wasn’t tall but what Dawn would describe as imposing. With broad shoulders, he seemed more coal miner than lord of a manor. He was also far younger than Dawn envisioned. She had hoped to find a grey-haired man of advanced years with failing eyesight and difficulty hearing. Lord Seton seemed to be in his late twenties.
His face was rectangular, with a square jaw and distinct cheekbones. Unruly dark brown hair contained a myriad of russet hues. It was cut longer than was fashionable and tried to curl around his ears. Eyes of a clear grey stared at her as he came to a halt. Then his gaze slid downward slightly to glare at the orchid. Dawn wasn’t sure which offended him most, her or the flower.
“This will not do. You’re a woman.” He crossed his arms over his chest. Deep furrows carved themselves into his forehead.
Dawn experienced a moment of relief to have her deception finally exposed to her employer. No longer did she have to fret, because the moment had arrived. A brief euphoria at surviving so far rushed through her mind, and with both orchid and wolfhound to protect her, Dawn did something she had never done before in her life. She spoke out of turn.
“Yes I am. As Hector has already observed.”
Her anxiety at the arrival of the earl was supplanted by annoyance. She began to wonder about the intelligence of country folk. Were women so rare that they had to be remarked upon? Perhaps the mountains in Cumberland made the air too thin for proper brain function.
The earl’s eyes narrowed further, and the frown deepened into a furrow she could plant potatoes in. As seconds flitted past, they whittled away Dawn’s fledgling bravery. The solid ground under her feet shifted as though she now stood on quicksand that would devour her if she made a wrong move. In hindsight, perhaps she should have either kept quiet or thrown herself upon his mercy.
She twisted a finger in another tuft of Mouse’s fur and tightened her grip on the orchid, and then tried again with a more conciliatory approach. “I understood the position was for a skilled gardener in general, not a man in particular.”
Lord Seton tensed his arms, the fabric of his sleeves shifting over unseen muscles, and his full lips tightened. “You were obviously deceptive on your application, and as such, I cannot extend employment to you. Hector will return you to town, and you can await a train back to Whetstone.”
She bit her lip to hold back her cry of no. Dreams of sculpting a large estate crashed down around her. She couldn’t leave. Even the most citified person couldn’t fail to see that the manor needed her. Here was a garden in desperate need of a woman’s gentle touch to breathe new life into the grounds.
All her life Dawn had listened to her elders and done as instructed. But if she left now, not only would she never know what she could achieve, she would be homeless. If ever there was a time to stand up for something, it was now. Although she had only known the large dog at her side for the briefest time, she was grateful for the sense of strength he lent her. She refused to turn tail and skulk away.
Dawn imagined herself a tree, with roots extending deep into the soil beneath her feet. She would be a willow. Let the earl blow and bluster at her. Her supple limbs would bend and sway, but she would hold her place. Keeping the image in mind, she stood a little taller.
“I was not deceptive, my lord. You assumed I was a man, yet I have made no such assertion. Furthermore, your advertisement stated I would be judged on the strength of my design, not the weakness of my sex. It appears you were the deceptive one.”
Dawn couldn’t believe she said such impertinent words. He would probably fire her now for being rude and uppity. Then she recalled the doctor’s advice. Don’t let Jasper bully you. It was highly improper to think of him by his Christian name, but doing so made the force before her a smidgen less intimidating.
Never before had she refused a command, spoken out of turn, or been disrespectful of a nobleman’s position. The journey must have sapped more energy than she realised and she wasn’t thinking straight. Her parents would be horrified if they heard her speak in such a manner.
But she couldn’t let the opportunity slip through her fingers. The neglected garden tugged at her as though she were on a string. There were dark corners to be explored and secrets to learn. Here, she and the garden might together bloom with life.
Lord Seton stared at her for such a long time she wondered if he had been turned into a statue. He didn’t blink or even twitch. She had to concentrate to even see the rise and fall of breath within his torso.
Mouse edged closer until his muzzle was almost buried in her skirts. The dog’s large skull was at waist height, and he sniffed at the orchid on her hip. If the earl tried to physically evict her, she would leap on Mouse’s back to escape. That set her to wondering if she could ride a running wolfhound and keep hold of the orchid.
“The train only comes once a week. We can’t leave her sitting on the platform all that time. Miss Uxbridge may as well stay here, milord.” Hector waggled his eyebrows at her.
Despite her unsure footing and new surroundings, it would seem Dawn had the support of more than the wolfhound. She drew a deep breath and marshalled her paltry resources.
Dawn spoke before she could change her mind. “Since the train will not return for a week, all I ask is that you allow me the next seven days to prove my worth.”
The earl’s nostrils flared and then he dropped his hands to his side. His fingers curled into a fist and then he released them as he exhaled. “Very well, since you are here. You have one week to survey the grounds and outline your proposal as to how you would proceed. If I am not satisfied, you will return to Whetstone.”
“Thank you, Lord Seton.” She dropped a curtsey as relief flowed down her legs. A week. It wasn’t long enough to find what pained a garden of this size, but she had her opportunity and now she either had to seize it or die trying.
Elijah made a silent whoop gesture behind his uncle’s back and grinned. Dawn smiled but kept her eyes downcast lest the earl suspect that his underlings were revolting. In the space of an hour, youth, dog, and Hector had made her feel welcomed.
“I won’t have an unchaperoned woman staying in the gardener’s cottage, so you will reside in the main house.” He gestured for Hector to pick up her suitcase and take it to the big house.
The blood drained from Dawn’s face and spots danced before her eyes. She couldn’t stay under the same roof as such a brooding presence. Not to mention the effort req
uired to run back and forth from garden to manor. If she expired on the lawn during her first week, that would hardly contribute to a good impression for her employer. She dug her tree roots a little deeper into the ground and tried not to sway on her feet. “I will be entirely comfortable in the gardener’s cottage. Plus I have much to do and very little time to do it in. I may find plans and notes from the previous gardeners in the cottage that will assist my assessment of the grounds.”
Her heart would also appreciate her cutting down on unnecessary exertion. Already she wondered how she could tackle a project of such a vast scale when there didn’t seem any young men to enlist in the required labour. It probably wasn’t the done thing to ask the earl’s nephew to wield a spade, and Hector looked long past digging trenches and pruning trees.
The earl’s brows slid closer together and then he let out a sigh. “Very well, but only if you keep Mouse with you. He seems to have decided you are his human.”
The dog hadn’t left her side since they met at the train station. It was unnerving to be the focus of unswerving male (even though canine) attention. Was this what it felt like to have a beau? Mouse might be the closest she ever came to a steadfast companion. A dog would be another new experience for her to relish.
“Very well, my lord, as you wish,” she said. “Lead on, Hector.”
“You will join Elijah and me for dinner.” The earl’s voice halted her.
Her hands tightened on the orchid. Her energy reserves were depleted, and she needed to rest before the temporary boost from setting foot on Ravenswing wore off and she keeled over. She replied from sheer desperation, not from any genuine internal fortitude. “No, if you will forgive me. It has been a rather long day and the light is fading. Would you consider me terribly rude if I settled into my accommodation tonight?”
His stormy eyes were unreadable. “Tomorrow then. After you have walked the grounds, you can tell me your preliminary thoughts.”
Dawn swallowed. Tell him her thoughts? She wondered if she could ever manage to talk to him again after this encounter. She managed a tired smile. “I look forward to it, my lord. Master Elijah.”
“Good evening, Miss Uxbridge,” Elijah said.
“This way, miss.” Hector picked up suitcase and bag and gestured to a large stand of trees to the east. They followed a lime chip path that ran alongside a high brick wall. A large raven sitting atop cocked its head as they passed. Something about the way the bird watched triggered memories buried so deep, she couldn’t place her finger on why a shiver ran down her spine.
“Are there many ravens around here?” she asked.
Hector glanced up at the glossy black bird, then turned back to the path. “It’s how the estate got its name. There’s always been a family of them that live here. Watchers, we call them.”
“Watchers,” Dawn whispered. The same title her mother gave to the raven in their yard. No great coincidence surely, for the chief occupation of birds seemed to be watching.
Dawn tried to ignore the raven, but she was sure its black eyes drilled into her back as they walked. As they rounded a corner, she had to resist a squeal of delight as the gardener’s cottage came into view. If she were prone to reading fairytales, she’d say it looked like something a runaway princess would hide in.
Made of rough-hewn stone, it had an enormous chimney at one end and a large window either side of the front door. The thatched roof looked like an overgrown mop of hair. Lavender sprawled around the stone base of the cottage. But the part that made Dawn gasp was the building butting up next to it. Or rather the larger building the cottage sheltered against.
A glasshouse.
And not just any glasshouse, but an enormous construction easily twice the height of the cottage. It was a fanciful building with ornate curls and flourishes to the metal work holding in the glass. The top rose to an onion-like dome. Dirty panes resisted her attempts to see anything inside. A full exploration would have to wait for morning.
Hector pushed open the cottage door and carried in her suitcase and bag. He set them on the floor. “I’ll bring you a tray at dinner time. Don’t wander off now. It’ll be full dark soon and you might get lost.”
“Very well,” Dawn murmured. Given the overgrown state of the estate, she suspected it would be all too easy to get lost among the rampant growth. She would limit herself to her immediate environment until she got her bearings.
Alone at last, she let out a deep sigh and her shoulders slumped. Exhaustion began to nibble at the corners of her mind, and she longed to put her feet up and pretend she hadn’t been impertinent to someone far above her station. But first, she surveyed her new accommodation.
The cottage was small and appeared to consist of three main rooms. One larger space was divided into areas by use of furniture. The wooden floor boards were worn but clean. One side contained the parlour, the other side kitchen and dining area.
A door led to a modest bedroom, where a double bed took up most of the space. A small table sat beside the bed, and in the wall at the foot of the bed, built-in cabinets for her clothes and belongings. In the wall above the headboard was set a window with wooden shutters, and on either side, bookshelves for bedtime reading material.
In the parlour, Dawn discovered that the door next to the bedroom led to a fabulous convenience – an indoor water closet. At least she wouldn’t have to wander outside looking for somewhere to empty a chamber pot. A large mirror hung over the tiny basin.
The wide fireplace would warm the entire parlour once lit, and two comfortable armchairs sat in front of the cold grate. A side table nestled between the overstuffed armchairs. The kitchen had a long bench with a sink and next to it, a tiny range. The dining area had a round table and four plain wooden chairs.
But it was the artwork dominating one wall that drew Dawn toward it. Or not so much a work of art as a labour of love. A detailed map of the entire estate stretched over the kitchen wall. It was at least six feet long and three feet tall. Closer inspection revealed someone had whitewashed the wall and painted directly onto the plaster. She followed the swoop of the driveway to the manor house and the gardens spiralled out around it.
In the lower left corner was inscribed Ravenswing Manor, 1580.
Three hundred years ago, an unknown designer had committed to paper his vision for the estate. Dawn sighed. How marvellous. At some point, a clever artist had transferred the original plan to the wall in the gardener’s cottage.
As she studied the drawing she frowned. Someone had ruined the picture. Lines for paths and parterres were smudged and blurred. Plantings were scribbled on until it was impossible to pick out individual details. Over the entirety, someone had painted thick black lines that crossed over one another and radiated out. Toward the edge of the estate, the black lines thinned and then slowly tapered to a stop, as though they couldn’t venture off the drawing onto the wall.
It would take some effort to peel back the dark blots of paint and find the original vision and layout underneath. A shiver ran down her spine as she traced a spiral back to a clear central point. It was as though the drawing reflected the neglected state of what she glimpsed outside.
She peered closer, trying to find buildings that weren’t covered in heavy lines and from there, locate the gardener’s cottage and the brick wall opposite. It looked as though the brick wall enclosed a large area, possibly once a potager and orchard to provide for the manor.
In the same wall, next to the map, sat a door that was different to the bedroom or toilet doors. This one was painted a deep green instead of plain oiled wood. Instead of a simple knob, it had an ornate brass latch that resembled a branch. Leaves formed the base plate that held handle to door.
Dawn grasped the gnarled branch, levered it down, and pushed. The hinges protested and groaned as though it had lain unused for decades. She gritted her teeth and pushed again. Finally it gave, and she stepped into the hothouse adjacent to the cottage.
This wasn’t just a glasshouse b
ut a tropical rain forest. As she entered the lush world, palms soared above her head as they reached for the sky beyond the dome. Ferns sprouted and sprawled wherever they fancied. Climbers reached tendrils into every space, searching for escape. Humidity made the gown cling to her back. The entire greenhouse looked like an unexplored jungle somewhere in India. She wouldn’t be surprised if a tiger leapt out at her.
Mouse barked and she turned to find him sitting in the doorway. The shared cottage wall contained a workbench stretching the entire length. An essential place for the gardener to pot up plants, start seedlings, or take cuttings. A variety of tools were hung above. Trowels, aeration forks, dibblers, string lines, and an array of shears were waiting to be used again.
The dog barked again and shuffled backward.
“Are you suggesting I should leave exploration until morning? I agree, Mouse, wouldn’t do to become lost in here.” She stepped back into the cottage and closed the door. There was so much to see and do – would her heart be up to it?
She placed a hand over her chest. Under her fingertips, that organ beat steady and regular. The day of travelling and the confrontation with the earl had exhausted her and wearied her mind. She should have been incapable of doing anything except falling fully clothed on the bed. Yet the moment her feet touched the soil of Ravenswing, she felt a burst of energy that revived her enough to stand up to the earl rather than collapse at his feet.
Dawn decided to treat her body carefully, so she wouldn’t be too sore and tired in the morning. She opened the door on the cast iron range and put a match to the paper and kindling set within. Soon she had a fire burning that she fed coal from the store next to the range. Dawn filled the kettle from the tap and set it to boil.
Then she dragged the suitcase and carpetbag into the bedroom. The wide bed appeared large enough for both her and Mouse. A brightly coloured quilt over the blankets was a cheery touch of colour, and the mattress seemed firm, but comfortable.
She hung her two gowns in the built-in wardrobe. How sad that she didn’t even have enough to fill its limited space. Her undergarments went into a drawer underneath the wardrobe. Next the photograph of her parents, the botany books, and the obsidian paperweight were placed on the table next to the bed. By the time the kettle boiled, she had stowed away her meagre possessions. That left one item to settle into the new home.
