A lad who admitted some knowledge of fruit trees was handed a pruning saw and told to go gently. Dawn didn’t want to lose the trees to shock if too many branches were hacked off. He nodded and disappeared among the foliage, tasked with opening up the dense mass of branches so sun could touch the fruit and prevent rubbing. Three men tackled the beds, pulling weeds and turning the soil. One man in Dawn’s workforce was occupied full-time carting away wheelbarrows full of weeds. The plants were dropped into the large compost bins behind the walled area, where heat would kill the seeds and it would be mixed with manure and kitchen waste to create rich compost to feed the hungry beds.

Dawn tried to work just as hard as the men, but the simple fact was she was neither as healthy nor as strong. The flutter in her chest warned her to go slower. The sun rose higher in the sky and beat down on her head, even though she protected herself with a wide-brimmed straw hat. She finally admitted that hoeing the beds was too arduous for her and handed the implement over to a lad called Edward, or Teddy to his friends.

She dipped a tin cup into a barrel that collected rainwater from the implement shed and took a long drink. Her body itched with sweat, and she longed for a bath to wash herself clean and to soak her aching body. If only the kitchen sink were large enough to allow her to clamber in and at least sit in a few inches of water. She shouldn’t even consider it. How embarrassing if she tried and became wedged and unable to get out. It would be a wash with a cloth, again.

There was one job that called her with their glass tops and brick sides – resurrecting the pineapple pits. They ran along half of one wall, with the glass angled to face south and catch all the available sunlight. In front of them ran a trench covered by boards. The trench would be filled with manure from the stables, and heat from the decomposing manure would leech through holes and heat the interior.

It was a frivolous thing to clean them out, but pineapples for the table could be a special thing to share with the villagers. She had already scanned what books and catalogues she found in the cottage, looking for somewhere to order the plants once they cleared away the weeds inside the pits. She expected the catalogues to be decades out of date, but someone had supplied her with a pile only a few years old.

“The lads are stopping for luncheon now, Miss Uxbridge,” Teddy called out as the men headed toward the main house.

“Very well. You go along, I just want to examine the pits.” She pulled off her gardening gloves and laid them on a pane.

First she lifted a plank and peered into the old trench. The manure had broken down and long ago sunk into the ground. Oats had sprung up and completed their life cycle, all in the confined, dark space. Dawn dropped the plank back into place. It would be an easy task to scrape the trench clean for a new layer of manure.

Next she pulled the pin holding the end frame closed and dropped it to the ground. The hinge gave a protesting groan as she levered it up. A stick came in handy to prop open the glass panel. The glass was coated in years of grime, but it was nothing hot water and soap couldn’t remove. The bed underneath was dry and hard, with dead weeds covering the surface. Weeds were opportunistic, and the seed had probably blown in small cracks or even seeped through from the manure trench.

A scuffling caught her attention, followed by a vague snort. She peered into the long bright tunnel. Something moved in the brown grasses down one end. A hedgehog, perhaps? Caught and unable to find its way out? If a hedgehog found its way in, it could mean a hole in the brickwork that would let heat out. She could leave the creature, but it might expire if it couldn’t find its way back to the hole where it snuck in. Even without manure in the channel, it was still stiflingly hot and stuffy inside with the low walls and full exposure to the sun.

Dawn moved down the pits trying to lift frames as she went, but none of the other panes would budge. They seemed either rusted or weathered shut. She could either leave the animal and assume it would find its own way out, or climb in through the one frame that opened and ferret it out.

She couldn’t risk it being stuck. Hedgehogs were a garden’s friend and ate slugs and snails that damaged young plants. She pulled her gloves back on in case she needed to grab a grumpy critter, and picked up her skirts to climb into the pineapple pit.

Dawn had to drop to hands and knees in the low tunnel. The baked earth gave off a sharp odour that speared up through her nostrils. She wrinkled her nose as she crawled along the length to where she heard the snuffling. Once she cleared away a few handfuls of long-dead cocksfoot, she found a baby hedgehog. Its foot was caught in a tangle of dead weeds that acted like a snare. If she had walked away, it would have perished.

“I have you now, little one,” she murmured.

She used her teeth to pull one glove off and spat it out. Then she was able to gently work the grass stems loose that were twisted around its appendage. With her remaining gloved hand, Dawn held the hedgehog to stop it from damaging its leg trying to wiggle free.

The last stem snapped. “There. I shall place you outside in a shady spot so you can find your family.”

Once picked up, it curled up in her hand, making a small prickly ball. Dawn tried to turn around in the awkward space without squashing the baby hedgehog in her grasp. A flash of white brushed past outside, like a sheet that had come loose from the washing line or the billowing of a nightgown. Then a slam reverberated along the frame as the open section fell shut.

“Blast! A gust of wind has knocked out the stick.” With hedgehog held in front, Dawn crawled back to the end. Her bare palm scraped on the stone-like earth. At the end of the pit, she pushed on the glass with her shoulder but it didn’t budge. She frowned. This section had opened to admit her, and it should give as she pressed against it. She tried again, using the larger area of her back to press against the glass, but it refused to shift.

Dawn crouched down and banged on the glass, but then remembered the lads had all gone to lunch. She hunched over the baby hedgehog in the low space as she considered her options. She had to get out. Already her breath came in short, hot gasps. With the lid shut, there didn’t seem to be any fresh air within the pit. An overwhelming earthy odour worked its way up her nostrils and down her throat. One dry cough was soon followed by another.

Dawn banged on the lid again. “Hello! Is anyone out there? The lid is stuck.”

A muffled woof came in response.

Could Mouse be useful? “Mouse, I’m stuck! You need to fetch help.”

Each time she coughed, it seemed harder to draw an inward breath. Seconds ticked into minutes in the hot and cramped space. Soon she was gasping. Sweat ran down between her shoulder blades and pooled under her armpits. Her bangs on the pane weakened. She felt around, looking for a stone in the soil or something sharp to smash the pane.

She had taken off the leather belt that held her secateurs and left it on the grass, or she could have used their metal points. Her attention caught on the hedgehog still curled up in her palm. No, she couldn’t use the creature to hammer at the glass. Her fingers scrabbled in the dead weeds but came up empty. Perhaps there might be a loose brick? She pulled at the side, searching for any chink in the mortar. Every time a gasp caught in her chest, she tapped on the glass.

“Hello. I’m in here.” Moisture was sucked from her throat by the unrelenting sun outside that beat down on the glass roof of her prison, and the words struggled to rasp over her tongue. She whispered the last syllable.

She closed her eyes as her heart beat erratically in her chest. The press of hot, stagnant air was too much. One hand went to her breastbone, trying to reassure her frantic body they would be all right. Mouse would do something. If he failed, the men would come back from lunch and find her. Or would they if she collapsed? They might presume she had gone for a walk because there was no external clue that she was trapped in the pit.

Her employer would not be impressed. Again. Assuming she survived, the earl would fire her. What use was a gardener who couldn’t get out of a pineapple pit? What an ignominious way to perish.

Once more she tried to push her way out, her shoulder smushed against the dirty glass.

Then there was nothing except the sweet smell of fresh, cool air. She drew a deep gasp of freedom.

“Are you all right, Miss Uxbridge?” a familiar voice asked.

Master Elijah held open the frame and looked down on her with a worried look so like his uncle’s. The wolfhound stood next to him and snuffled his face into the pit.

She didn’t have the strength to stand just yet but held up the small creature nestled in her palm. Mouse gave a short bark at the ball shaped creature. “I climbed in to rescue a hedgehog and the frame must have blown shut in the wind.”

Elijah frowned. “The pin was through the latch.”

He must be mistaken. She remembered putting the pin on the ground so she could find it again later. There was no way it could jump up into the latch.

The youth held out a hand. “Lucky that Mouse raised the alarm. I was reading outside on the lawn, and he was most insistent I follow him.”

Dawn patted his furry face with her free hand, and his shaggy tail wagged back and forth. “Clever boy, thank you.”

“Let’s get you out of there and into the shade.” Elijah took her hand.

He pulled her up and steadied her balance as she climbed out of the pit, made more difficult by her long skirts getting in the way. The raven on the wall watched as she tried to lift her skirt without revealing her ankles to the lad or squashing the creature in her hand. She scowled up at the watcher. If the bird spied on her constantly, why hadn’t it fetched help?

They walked over to a shady spot under the fruit trees, where Dawn held out the prickly bundle to the young man. “Would you mind setting him free under a bush, please? He needs to find his family.”

Then she dropped down on the grass and leaned against the trunk of an apple tree.

Elijah carried the hedgehog to a row of currants and placed the creature in the dappled shade. Then he stopped by the barrel to collect a cup of water.

“Thank you,” Dawn murmured. She took the tin cup and drank the cool water.

The old oak door in the wall banged open, and Lord Seton hurried across the gravel paths. He wore no jacket, just a buttoned waist coat over his cream linen shirt. “Are you all right? What happened?”

How did he hear so quickly? Who could have told him when Elijah still stood in front of her? Mouse sat on the ground next to her, but the raven continued to watch. The bird stared at the earl. Lord Seton glanced up at the bird and then returned to his inspection of her.

Dawn was feeling rather embarrassed about all the attention, and she kept compounding her mistakes by running into the earl just as she looked at her worse. He would think her a silly woman not up to the task of restoring the grounds. “I am quite fine, thank you, just rather dry. I climbed into the pineapple pit to rescue a hedgehog, and the wind slammed the frame shut on me.”

“A hedgehog?” The perennial frown returned to the earl’s forehead.

“Yes. Its foot was caught in a tangle of weeds. I couldn’t leave the poor thing to die.” She now had an inkling of what a horrid way it would have been to expire. Doubly so for the nocturnal hedgehog.

“You climbed through the pit?” His gaze narrowed as he glanced back at the row of murky glass panes.

“There was no alternative. The end pane wouldn’t open.” She definitely sounded like a foolish woman. Perhaps he didn’t understand the worth of the humble hedgehog. “Hedgehogs are very important in a garden, my lord. They eat slugs and snails.”

A dark brow arched, and he made a humphf in the back of his throat. Then he extended a hand to her. “Perhaps you should come up to the house to rest for a bit.”

Dawn bit the inside of her lip. Not a helping hand again! He really must think her weak and helpless. After a moment of hesitation, she placed her hand in his. The wriggly tendril of vine appeared from her palm and slid over his, wrapping around his wrist and then looping back to hers. The plant tightened around their clasped hands. She glanced at Lord Seton’s face. He showed no reaction or indication that he too saw the vine. She must be hallucinating with a touch of heat stroke.

The earl easily pulled her to her feet and handed off the tin cup to his nephew. Lord Seton kept Dawn close as they strolled toward the house, one hand hovering by the small of her back to guide her way, but not touching her.

She cast around for a topic of conversation to distract herself. His presence was like being shadowed by a dark cloud that hung over her and made her want to dart inside before the weather broke. Disapproval, probably of her sex and pathetic gardening attempts, rolled off him.

She tried to dig up something deep and meaningful to say, but instead blurted out, “I think I have changed my mind about growing pineapples. What sort of plant thrives in such hot and torturous surrounds?”

He made the noise in his throat, but when he turned to regard her fully for the first time in their acquaintance, humour sparkled in his grey eyes. “Perhaps suffering such torment is what makes their flesh so juicy and sweet?”

She couldn’t help herself, she laughed. Not only was she relieved to not be greeted with a frown of disapproval, but it was funny. Assuming he did indeed jest. If it were a joke, it was the first she had heard him make.

He flashed a rare smile, and a comfortable warmth flushed through her torso. Not the unbearable heat from the glass roofed frames, but something deeper and more sustainable. Like a bath exactly the right temperature to lull one’s mind. Oh, a bath! Why did she have to think of a lovely, long bath?

“I think you should continue with your plans to grow pineapples. My family has long believed in looking after the Alysblud community, and the fruit would be a treat to share with the other families.”

The exact reason why she wanted to grow them. “First I need to have one of the men sand back the rusty hinges and remove all the pins from the latches. We also need to discover how the hedgehog made his way inside, to make sure no others try to follow and close any gap that might create a draft.”

They entered the house through the French doors that led to what Dawn thought of as the soothing drawing room with its earthy green and brown palette.

The earl led her to a sofa covered in a fabric woven with autumn leaves. “Please be seated, Miss Uxbridge, and I will have the maid fetch you a cool lemonade.”

Dawn stared at the softly padded sofa. An ache settled into her bones, and her knees wanted to buckle. But she couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right. “I am terribly dirty, Lord Seton. I have been working alongside the men all morning.”

He glanced at the back of her skirts. “You’ll be fine. It is nothing that won’t brush off. But there is a delicate matter I would raise while I have you away from the workmen.”

Dawn gathered her skirts to one side and sat with relief.

“A delicate matter?” she repeated back at him. No doubt he was going to express his dissatisfaction with her inability to work like a man. And then chastise her for unladylike behaviour and flights of fancy with running from screaming trees and becoming trapped in a pineapple pit. She curled her hands into her apron, letting her nails bite into her palm to hold back any tears as he told her she was dismissed.

It seemed that once he started smiling he couldn’t stop, and another one tugged at his full lips. Unless all employers grinned as they sacked a useless employee, he must be taking pleasure in her torment. “There is no bath in the cottage. Would you like to have one here, or would it feel too improper?”

The sigh of relief escaped her throat before she could hold it in. Her employment wasn’t going to be terminated prematurely, but instead he offered her something marvellous. The chance to scrub herself clean.

“Oh, yes please.” She met his gaze and a tingle travelled from the top of her scalp down to her toes.