“Does your uncle still keep a hermit?” Dawn asked, looking for other signs of recent occupation. A light layer of silt covered everything, but that seemed to have come from the disturbed earth rather than a build up of layers over the years.

Elijah laughed. “I don’t think the estate has had a hermit since last century.”

“Odd,” she murmured. The estate played tricks on her, and things were often not as they seemed. “We will need to find a way to cover the hole I created, or this place will fill with water when it rains.” If there was an occupant, they might not appreciate the new skylight once the weather turned.

Her attention drifted to the bed and its linen. There was no sign of mould or decay on any of the fibres. When she slid a hand under the blanket, it seemed cool but not damp, as she would expect of something abandoned decades ago.

Dawn stood close to the centre, or as close as she could get given the waist-high mound of rock and dirt, and looked upward. The fine silt was clearing and she could see the trees and sky above. She could also examine the sides of the hole, which were interlaced with a thick black vine.

“How odd.” She tried to look closer but couldn’t without a ladder to stand upon.

“What’s odd?” Elijah asked from where he was peering into a carved-out wall niche.

“The vine that is covering most of the estate is present here, too.” Her neck ached from straining backward, and tiny bits of dust made her eyes water. The vine reminded her of something she had seen before, with the way it seemed to loop round. Then the image came to life in her mind – a snaked coiled in a similar fashion.

She pulled out her notebook and wrote down the possibility of coming back with either a rope to examine the vine from above, or a ladder to do so from below. Seeing how it spread below the ground might give her clues as to how to tackle it above ground.

As they explored the underground home, Dawn took advantage of the quiet to ask a question that had nagged in her mind. “What did you mean last night when you said that about life having a balance? I find it difficult to believe that any good could arise from the tragic demise of my parents.”

Elijah frowned and stared at the hole in the ceiling. “Not a personal balance, but an overall one. A negative event in one person’s life is offset by a positive for another.”

She shook her head. The only thing she learned was that life wasn’t fair. If it were, her parents would still be alive and she would have lived a normal healthy life. Perhaps in another world, by now she would be married with a child playing at her feet.

Then the voice in her head pointed out that if life unfolded in the expected normal way, she would never have taken a position as a gardener on a remote estate and be poking around in a hermitage. “Is it selfish of me to want the pendulum to swing back within my life, not someone else’s?”

When Elijah next spoke, his voice was a quiet whisper. “It made it easier for me. To think that as much as I suffered from losing my father before I knew him, that as balance, someone out there experienced a great joy.”

Now Dawn felt guilty for her selfish thoughts. “That’s a very mature outlook.”

When he turned, a sad smile touched his lips. “Losing a parent in tragic circumstances gives you lots of time to think about these things.”

He seemed so much older than his sixteen or seventeen years. That was when it struck her. If his father died when he was a babe, and given that Lord Seton only looked to be in his late twenties, he must have been a lad himself when responsibility for the estate, village, and a baby settled upon him. No wonder he frowned so much. Life gave him little opportunity to be a carefree boy.

“Uncle Jasper never complains,” Elijah said, as though reading her mind. “But I do think he is lonely.”

“I’m sure there are many young ladies who would leap at the chance of being the lady of Ravenswing.” It was, after all, the sole aim of many well-bred ladies to find a suitor with a title, estate, and preferably the finances to support them.

He shrugged as he examined a chiselled-out rectangle that seemed to serve the purpose of a cupboard. Plates were stacked inside, and he pulled out a pottery mug. “It’s very isolated out here, and Uncle Jasper doesn’t travel to London at all. He needs a partner in life who would be content with just him and the garden for company.”

A partner in life. What an unusual turn of phrase. Most men would seek a wife, not a partner. Warmth spread through Dawn’s body as she pondered a life in the rural district with the darkly handsome earl. It sounded perfect to her, quiet companionship and an entire estate to nurture with no boring nobles demanding foolish entertainments. If only she had been born a lady. She glanced at her hands that spoke of her middle class, or now working class, station. Two nails were split and dirt was wedged under all of them from where she had scrambled over rocks and branches.

She exhaled and set free the fanciful idea. What high-born man would want a woman with a weak heart and dirty hands? “Shall we head back? I’d like to see where the path originally ran so I can decide if it is salvageable.”

She stepped back into the filtered sunlight and Elijah pulled the door shut behind him. Mouse still kept guard from outside, his top lip curled as he stared at the hill.

Dawn patted his head and the wolfhound swallowed his growl. “Silly boy. The ground didn’t collapse on purpose.”

They found a route over fallen trees and through ferns to rejoin the main path. Sure enough, it soon widened into something that would allow horses to pass. With each step, they drew closer to the lake and soon emerged on its serene banks.

Dawn closed her eyes and drew in the peace and quiet.

“Would you mind terribly if I left you here?” Elijah asked. “I still have some studies to complete, and I don’t want Uncle Jasper to discover I slipped out early.”

“Of course, I have some notes to write up.”

The lad scampered off through the trees. Mouse drank from the water and then retreated to a mossy patch under a tree. He turned three times before settling, his large head resting on his paws as he watched Dawn.

Dawn sat at the bank end of the small jetty. She longed to paddle her feet in the cool water but worried what monsters lurked below the mirror-like surface and might nibble her toes. She pulled out her notebook and wrote her comments on the wildflower meadow, the overgrown paths, and the hermitage that now had a gaping hole in its roof.

With her thoughts collected in an orderly fashion, woman and canine walked back to the cottage. She removed the handkerchief from her wrist to find the scratch an angry colour, but it had stopped bleeding. She would need to soak the hanky to remove the dirt and blood before she could return it.

Then she spent the remainder of the afternoon with books spread over the table in the cottage. Dawn made lists of tasks and then crossed out and reorganised items as she considered priorities. Mouse snored from the rug in front of the unlit fire.

With so many men at her disposal, Dawn could tackle far more than clearing the entrance to the maze. Her mind ran away with her thinking how to employ them. It would be marvellous to clear the herbaceous borders, although far too late to replant with summer around the corner. Or they could tackle the beautifully laid out rose garden with its rangy, neglected shrubs. Or perhaps she could set them to start work on her proposed ladies’ walk and secret nook.

But no, she would be practical. With a bit of hard work, the walled garden would feed the household. With spring drifting into summer, it was time to think of winter plantings.

As the light began to fade, she was content with the main list of what she considered most urgent. A second list detailed tasks that needed to be undertaken eventually, like clearing the rampant vine that covered so much of the estate, recovering the path to the hermitage, and discovering if the rest of the hillock was sound or in danger of collapse.

Then she curled up in the armchair in the parlour with The Flora of Alysblud and read of the local plants and trees, trying to find mention of either the invasive vine or Ravensblood tree. Odd that both the name of the tree and the village contained an ending that referenced blood. She wondered if it had a regional significance.

A quiet knock on the door preceded Hector with dinner.

“Lord Seton thought you might prefer dinner here, since you are busy working still.” He moved aside a pile of books and made a clear space for the tray. Mouse’s dinner was deposited on the floor by the door.

Did Lord Seton have Hector peering in the windows, or was it the raven who reported her affairs? “Yes, I want to ensure I am ready for when the lads arrive tomorrow. I have never instructed a work force before.”

Would they know she had no experience and had bluffed her way into the position? She didn’t even know what to say to them, but was preparing a few sentences in her notebook in case nerves froze both her mind and tongue.

“You’ll do fine. The village lads are keen to do whatever will help the estate, and it’s honest coin for them to take home.” Hector nodded his head and left her to her dinner and contemplations.

After dinner she went back to the book, flipping through pages as she tried to find the tree that bore such unusual leaves. After seeing the colour drawing in the library, she was convinced the leaf belonged to the tree and not the vine. It sat on the arm of the chair, so she could refer to the swoop of its shape when comparing images. At long last her patience was rewarded.

The Ravensblood tree is a very rare specimen. Only five specimens are known to exist in all of England, carefully guarded in private estates and gardens. The name comes from both the unusual shape of the leaves that resemble raven feathers and that it seems to attract nesting ravens. Under normal circumstances, the leaves are varying hues of red through to orange, said to resemble either fire or blood in certain lights. However, if the tree is distressed, the leaves turn black.

The estate’s Ravensblood tree was distressed. That was why the leaf she found was turning black. But what caused the distress? Dawn wouldn’t know the source until she found the centre of the maze and could examine the tree. Part of her perked up at having a mystery to unravel, even if it was only surrounding a tree.

Many thoughts ran through Dawn’s mind as she prepared for bed. Her life experience was limited, but she compensated with her green fingers and knowledge of plants. Was the sick tree evidence of a larger problem at the estate? Perhaps there was a deficiency in the soil that was allowing the vine to flourish while other plants sickened. Thinking of the vine made her wrist itch and she rubbed at the scratch. The line was dark red as though infection were brewing under her skin. She might have to show it to Nurse Hatton or Dr Day for a professional opinion.

As she climbed into bed, Dawn mulled over her fragile health and how working in her parents’ small backyard saw her improve. And when she first stepped onto Ravenswing soil, that strange energy ran up through her legs. And despite the physical exertion, she was using less of her tonic than she expected. Curious.

Kneeling on the quilt, she examined the books tucked in the shelves at either side of the window. Most were plant identification books, and the others worn and battered notebooks that contained the daily tasks and notes recorded by the gardener, such as she kept in her apron pocket.

While at the village, Dawn had bought a brand new notebook to record her efforts in restoring the estate. One day she would add her battered and worn volume to the other histories of the estate.

As she pushed one book into place, the movement dislodged a tiny one that fell down the back of the shelf and landed on the quilt. She was about to replace it among its larger companions when idle curiosity made her flick it open. Tight script covered the pages, and as she peered closer she found it wasn’t a gardener’s journal, but a personal diary.

… Each day the sickness creeps closer to the Ravensblood tree and soon will reach its exposed roots. She has banned me from the maze and says I cannot enter anymore, no doubt so I cannot see when it claims the tree and its leaves begin to turn black. When it withers and dies, what will become of the estate? Each day she spreads her poison deeper into the soil. Already neglect is taking hold, and only the constant efforts of the gardeners keep it at bay.

The earl is obsessed with her and blind to the damage she inflicts. I fear that already it is too late. I have been given notice, my services are no longer required…

Dawn turned back the pages, looking for a date or anything that identified the unknown narrator. February 13, 1840. Forty years ago. Had the tree even survived if sickness reached for it so long ago? More interesting, who was the she that the earl was obsessed with? It could be a mistress or a wife, or even the mother of Jasper, Julian, and Letitia.

Dawn considered what the author of the diary meant by saying she was poisoning the garden. It could be literal as in someone had salted the earth, or figurative and merely a dispute between lady and gardener. However, salt would render entire areas barren and even the vine wouldn’t survive, so it must be something else.

There was no point starting this novel in the middle of the story, or at the very end since that particular gardener was dismissed. Dawn opened the diminutive book at page 1, dated September 1830, and began a journey with the unknown gardener who cared so deeply for his charge. The entries were sporadic, sometimes one a week or just one a month, which was why so slim a volume held a decade of experience. Dawn followed the gardener from the day he arrived to take on his role to the day the earl gave him notice ten years later.

Dawn laboured over the tiny scrawl for as long as she could before the flickering light gave her a headache. Then she tucked the journal under her pillow, not wanting to leave it exposed least it disappear during the night.

In just a couple of days, life fell into a regular routine, and Dawn’s days were so full it was only alone at night that she remembered a different time in her parents’ town house in Whetstone. The ache in her chest remained, but grief no longer overwhelmed her mind. Each night, Dawn held the photograph of her parents and tears clouded her vision as she told her mother events of the day. Would the pain of their loss ever ease, or would she carry it with her until she saw her parents again?

Her sleep was again interrupted by the banshee screams and howls, and she worried for poor Lady Letitia. What fuelled her night time horrors? Then, exhausted from the long hours of physical exertion, Dawn fell back to sleep.

Dawn awoke as colour spread over the horizon and lit her cosy bedroom. Breakfast was waiting on the doorstep when she let Mouse out for his morning snuffle around the garden. She looked up at the raven, in his usual spot on the wall that ran along the other side of the path.

Dawn waggled a finger at him. “Are you spying on me?”

And reporting to a stone master? Her mother’s stories whispered through her mind.

After breakfast, she washed in the kitchen sink and dressed. Considering the big day ahead, she took a mouthful of tonic and quietly warned her heart not to cause any problems. It had been rather obliging so far. As she prepared to face the day, Dawn grabbed a large straw hat to keep the building heat from her head and shoulders. By the time she walked down to the large courtyard between stables and house, she found ten men waiting for their orders.

“Good morning,” she said in a quiet voice, not used to so much male company or the position of having to give them orders. Mouse sat at her side, and she touched his head for comfort.

Ten heads turned in her direction and twenty eyes fixed on her.

Hector took off his cap and bowed. “Morning, Miss Uxbridge. Your workforce is here and eager to start.”

The men all muttered Good morning, Miss Uxbridge as though she were a new teacher in the classroom.

She tried not to fluster under their stares and clasped her hands in front of her. She called to mind what she had written in her notebook, in case she forgot what to say. “If you could split into two groups of five please, gentlemen. One group will tackle the entrance to the maze, but please be very careful. The old vine blocking the way has large and nasty thorns. You will need gloves and machetes to clear it away. The other group will work on the potager. The vegetable beds need weeding and digging over, and the fruit trees are in desperate need of a prune. If you follow Hector, he will equip you with all you need.”

Hector waved to the men to follow his tall and lean form down the path, toward the shed that contained all the gardening implements. As the men left, Dawn glanced up at the house. High up in the west wing tower, a pale figure watched events unfold in the courtyard.

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.”