Dawn wanted nothing more than to remove her dirty clothes, climb into a bath immediately, and disappear beneath the bubbles. But quitting work at lunchtime wouldn’t improve her employer’s already dim opinion of her. Nor would it set a good example for her workmen who still laboured under the hot sun.

Instead, she drank a refreshing glass of lemonade, allowed her erratic heart to return to a semblance of a normal beat, and then she headed back out. First she stopped at the cottage and took another mouthful of her tonic to bolster her constitution after the morning’s exertions.

Dawn took a more managerial role for the rest of the afternoon, and it lightened her mood to see most of the vegetable beds wrested under control. Weeds were pulled, soil dug over, and all they needed was some rotted matter to work through as compost. She could now plan the winter plantings. If she were to lose her position at week’s end, at least she had made one positive change at the estate.

With Mouse at her side, Dawn walked over to the maze to find progress non-existent. Hector stood scratching his bald head, and one man sat on the ground holding a cut and bleeding arm. The others stared at the close-knit vines, hedge clippers dangling from limp fingers.

“What happened here?” Dawn asked as she stopped next to Hector.

“Damn vine is a tough old thing, you’d swear it had iron in its core. It’s slow going, Miss Uxbridge.” He plopped the boater back on his skull to protect both head and face from the sun.

She let out a sigh of disappointment. The men had barely filled one wheelbarrow, and there were no perceptible gaps in the twisted wall. The entrance was still fiercely guarded, and one man was injured. She never imagined the vine would fight back. At this rate it would be months before she could push through the dense hedges of the maze.

She turned to the fellow clutching a torn off shirt to his bloody arm. “Are you badly hurt? Do we need to summon Dr Day?”

“Thorns ripped right through the leather gloves, miss,” he said and gestured to the shredded items next to him.

Her hand went to her wrist, where the mark the vine gave her itched and grew heated. There was a slim possibility the vine’s thorns had poisonous tips. “Hector, do you know if the vine is poisonous?”

“Plenty of men have been scratched by it over the years, but I’ve not known one to suffer more than a bit of blood loss to it. Bill here is lucky the scratches aren’t too deep. Just needs to be cleaned up and bandaged. Funniest thing though, it’s like the vine knows we’re trying to get past it and it seems to move of its own accord.” Hector narrowed his eyes at the plant that hugged the entire maze tight, as though he expected it to be ashamed of its actions.

“Move in what way?” Dawn peered at the mass. A couple of smaller offshoots showed the raw edge of being recently cut.

Hector pointed to the left side of the entrance. “We started there ’cause it looked thinner, but when we started to cut the main bough, the vine slithered away and more strands of it laced through with the others.”

“It just fell in on itself when we pulled it. A vine can’t move, can it, miss?” the worker on the ground asked.

“It is a living thing. It might be protecting itself by instinct, rather like a Venus flytrap can snap shut over an insect.” Dawn stared at the thick layers of vine.

Anything was possible in the strange garden, and until she found the vine in a botanical book, she could only guess at what abilities it might have. The thorns might sense an attack, and perhaps the vine tightened by reflex to fill the gaps in its defences? Some flowers could turn their heads to track the progress of the sun across the sky, so this vine might track the men in a similar fashion. People were too quick to dismiss them as only plants and forget they were living things.

She should really tend her injured worker before she considered how to combat an armed opponent. “We should take him to Nurse Hatton to bathe and bind the scratches.”

She wasn’t sure of the exact depth of medical knowledge possessed by the nurse, but washing a scratch and applying a bandage would be within her ability.

Hector perked up and winked at her. “Grand idea. I’ll deliver the lad myself.”

The injured man was helped to his feet and Hector walked him back to the house.

Dawn turned back to the closely guarded maze. The vine had now cast itself as her nemesis, but it would not win the battle. She needed time to consider a different tactic. “Let’s leave this until tomorrow, gentlemen. Could you lend a hand in the walled garden instead?”

They picked up gloves and implements and left to join their friends.

Soon the light faded and dusk settled over the estate. Hedgerows and trees bristled with noisy activity as sparrows and other smaller birds settled for the night and squabbled over the best twig to roost upon. Dawn thanked the men for their work and sent them home to their families. Then she wiped her hands on her apron and returned to the cottage.

She hung her apron over the back of a chair and picked up a clean gown, the lavender striped one again. A brief pang shot through her chest. She didn’t have a closet full of pretty gowns to wear to dinner with the earl. Would he mind, or was she daydreaming to even think he might cast the briefest romantic inclination in her direction? She was staff after all, although not treated like staff. His concern for her was at odds with the perpetual frown and his lack of belief in her work.

And he had touched her neck, whether with teeth or chin, and it had sparked a riot within Dawn.

“Foolish,” she muttered for possibly the thousandth time since setting foot on Ravenswing land, and headed out the cottage door with her canine companion. The earl was probably bored with the lack of new company and enjoyed unsettling her.

Nurse Hatton met her at the patio doors. One would never call the nurse diminutive, even though she was short in stature. Years had added to her girth, which called to mind photographs of the aging Queen Victoria. Red hair had faded to a dull copper and was tucked under her crisp white cap. Laughing blue eyes regarded Dawn.

Then she stuck out her hand. “Marjory Hatton, pleased to meet you, and do call me Marjory.”

“Dawn Uxbridge, and the pleasure is mine.”

The nurse had a firm grip like a man’s but a large smile on her rounded face that immediately settled Dawn’s nerves.

“Master Elijah and Lord Seton are playing cards with Lady Lettie. The earl suggested I show you to the bath, safe in the knowledge none of the menfolk would peek.” She winked and nudged Dawn.

It had never occurred to her the earl might peek. Was he so lonely and starved of feminine company that he would spy on a bathing employee? A blush heated her skin. Foolish.

That made a thousand and one times she had uttered the word.

“This way.” Nurse Hatton, or Marjory, took Dawn by the arm and guided her course, much like she had done with Lettie after she was injected with something. The nurse might have lacked height, but she was a solid force, and Dawn had the distinct impression following was required, not optional.

They walked through the parlour and up the sweeping staircase. Mouse was instructed to wait at the bottom of the stairs, and the wolfhound heaved a sigh and settled on the rug in front of the entrance hall hearth. At the top of the stairs, Dawn paused for a moment to stare up at the light well.

Marjory tugged on Dawn’s arm, but on seeing the source of her fascination, relented. “When you’ve lived here for years, you forget what the house looks like to fresh eyes.”

The two women stood in silence, staring upward. Dusk coloured the sky beyond the stained glass. Rich reds and deep orange became the background for the twisting vine and its ravens, and lit the whole with a fiery luminescence.

“It’s beautiful with dusk shining behind it. Does the house contain many such surprises?” Dawn asked as the light faded outside.

Marjory laughed. “Many surprises lurk around here from both house and occupants.”

They reached the landing and took the stairs to the east wing, opposite where Lettie played cards with her brother and nephew. They stopped at the first door on the next landing.

“This is a guest room you can use,” Marjory said as she pushed the door open.

Within, a maid poured a bucket of hot water into a hip bath that stood before the fire. The tin was lined with a sheet to protect her skin.

“I’ll wait outside for your dirty things, miss,” the maid said as she bobbed a curtsey and retreated out the door.

The rest of the room reminded Dawn of her old bedroom in Whetstone. A double bed was laid with a plain grey coverlet. A wardrobe with mirrored double doors stood against one wall. Under the window sat a dressing table with delicate curved legs. The wallpaper was striped in dove grey and deep purple and reminded Dawn of the people missing in her life. This was a room designed for mourning with the gentle but sombre colours.

“Now, would you like privacy and silence, or company and gossip?” Marjory took the clean dress and shift from Dawn and tossed them over the screen in one corner.

Dawn glanced at the bath. Part of her cried for privacy and quiet time, but another part of her whispered that gossip might be both entertaining and informational. She was curious about Lettie and her brother, and she suspected the nurse wasn’t as tight-lipped as Hector. Which raised another question.

“Company, please. And if I might be so bold as to start the conversation, did Hector demand a kiss in exchange for your mail?”

Marjory burst into laughter. She waved to the screen. “Get out of those dirty clothes and I’ll tell you about that old dog and his tricks.”

Dawn went behind the screen, removed her dress, and flung it over the top. Next her fingers worked the laces of her corset loose to enable her to undo the front busk. She made the mistake of sniffing her chemise as she pulled it over her head. It would need to be washed. Her drawers pooled around her feet and she kicked them to one side.

Someone had set out a silk robe, and she pulled it over her naked body. She was somewhat embarrassed to shed the covering in front of Marjory, but she was a nurse and there was something about her manner that reminded Dawn of Aggie, the housekeeper at her family home. Dawn stared at a tendril of steam rising from the water. The faint trace of lavender made her inhale.

“Why don’t you hop in, love, and I’ll just hand your chemise off to the maid to be laundered.” The nurse swiped the dirty garment from the screen.

“Thank you.” Dawn dropped the robe and put a foot in the bath while Marjory ducked out into the hallway.

By the time the nurse returned, Dawn was immersed up to her chin with her eyes closed.

“Now, Hector.” Marjory pulled a chair over and sat next to the bath. “The old goat did indeed claim a kiss. And then I swatted him for being so bold.”

Marjory picked up a tin dipper and wet Dawn’s hair. “What else do you want to know?”

So many things, like did Lord Seton see her as a nuisance he wanted rid of or a woman he wanted to know? And why had he not married to provide the estate with a lady and his nephew with a maternal figure? But such questions would reveal she found the earl both handsome and perplexing. “Have you looked after Lady Letitia for long?”

The nurse breathed out a sigh as though remembering days long ago. “Ever since I was a young lass.”

Dawn frowned. That wasn’t possible. Lettie looked to be in her early twenties. By contrast, Marjory appeared to be in her sixties. If she had care of her charge since she was a lass that would make Lady Letitia closer to eighty. That was an impossibility.

“You mean since Lettie was a young girl?” If Lord Julian had died just before Elijah was born, Lettie would only have been five or six years old. No wonder the tragedy had marred her young mind.

A frown pulled on Marjory’s face for a moment. “Yes, silly me. I meant I have lived here and worked for the family since I was a lass.”

“Have you known Hector all that time?” He likewise seemed a permanent part of the estate’s family.

“Oh, yes. I well remember him from the very first day I arrived here. Such a fine lad with thick black hair that swept off his forehead like a raven’s wing. Tall and muscled he was from working out in the fields. All the girls would swoon when he swaggered past.” Marjory giggled and it made her seem years younger.

“Did either of you marry?” Dawn’s head was lathered with lavender-smelling shampoo.

The smile dropped away and Marjory turned to stare at the fire. “No. We have many stolen kisses over the years, but not all love stories end in happily ever after.”

Dawn thought of her parents. While they had never been openly affectionate with each other, there had always been an air of quiet companionship about them, and they seemed content in their marriage. She wondered what obstacle kept Marjory and Hector apart if they had some regard for one another. “I am sorry for you both, that you did not marry.”

“Don’t be. I will always have affection for Hector, and we both chose the paths we walk. Lady Letitia’s condition has meant I need to be her constant companion, and I sleep in her room. If I had married, I couldn’t have tended her as she needed.” She picked up the dipper and rinsed the last of the shampoo from Dawn’s hair.

Dawn dropped beneath the water and then emerged again with a new question. “What of Lord Seton, does he have a beautiful fiancée somewhere waiting for the day she becomes lady of the house?” Did it make her a terrible person that she hoped not?

Marjory placed the dipper on the floor by the bath. “Not that one. He’s not found the woman to give his heart to yet.”

Elation ran through her breast that he was unattached, tempered by sadness that he was indeed alone to carry his burden. His sombre moods might be a reflection of his loneliness. “It must be difficult, living in such a remote location. Perhaps he needs to take a season in London to find a charming debutante?”

“Oh, there are ways to find prospective candidates. Like advertisements in newspapers.” The smile was back on the nurse’s face, but this time it seemed mysterious and unreadable, as though she knew something Dawn didn’t.

How odd that the earl would advertise for a life’s partner. She thought that was something only cowboys did in the wild west of America, where brides were acquired through the mail.

After her bath, Nurse Hatton helped Dawn change into the clean dress.

“That’s a nasty cut you have there.” Marjory took Dawn’s arm and peered at her wrist. “You want to keep an eye out that it doesn’t become infected. You don’t want to end up losing the hand.”

“It’s only a scratch.” Dawn glanced at the cut, which looked much cleaner for a bath, but one end did seem to have a tiny black smudge, like the marks a pencil made on her fingertips when drawing.

Marjory frowned. “Give it a good salt wash to clean it out. But promise me that if it doesn’t improve, you will show it to Dr Day the next time he visits Lady Letitia.”

“I promise,” Dawn said. It would make a change to have a doctor examine an actual wound suffered in the course of being adventurous.

Then Marjory said her goodnights, as she had to return to her charge. Dawn headed back down the stairs alone and found Lord Seton sitting with Mouse in the entrance hall. The earl looked up as she descended the stairs.

“Feeling better?” He rose from his seat by the fire.

“Much, thank you.” She stopped at the last step, unsure what to do. She was an employee. Why was he treating her with such attention? Not being able to discern his motives left her in a constant state of anxiety.

Lord Seton held out his hand. “It is just the two of us for dinner this evening. Elijah is keeping Lettie company as neither wanted to call a halt to their game of chess. It also gives Nurse Hatton a rare evening to herself.”

Once again Dawn laid her hand on his sleeve, and again the little vine appeared and sniffed at their hands. As it snaked along skin, it progressed a little further past their wrists and drew them a little tighter.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Dawn closed her eyes tight and then opened them again, willing the plant to disappear.

“Yes, just a little tired after such a long day. We have made excellent progress in the walled garden.” Given the long and eventful day, followed by a hot bath, Dawn should have been lulled to sleep. Yet contact with the earl seemed to revitalise her as though she bathed in a cool stream on a hot day. She found herself anticipating dinner, like a birthday celebration with presents to be unwrapped.

They walked to the dining room, and as they separated to take their seats, the phantom vine dissolved into a burst of dust motes that danced and spun before vanishing. Unable to grasp any other topic, Dawn told the earl of how all the vegetable beds had been reclaimed and tended, and described her plans for winter seedlings. He may as well add frightfully boring to her list of faults alongside unladylike and unprofessional.

It was while Dawn paused as the main course was served that she realised she had monopolised the conversation. She stared at her cutlery. “I do apologise. Apparently I can talk non-stop about flora and compost once I start. I must be terribly boring.”

He made that grunt in his throat and took a sip of his wine. “On the contrary, I admire how passionate you are about restoring the grounds. It’s hard to find someone who cares so deeply.”

The estate made her feel practically maternal, as though it were a child she needed to nurse back to health from an illness. “I’m sure the previous gardener felt the same way.”

His face remained impassive. “Ravenswing Manor hasn’t had a gardener for forty years now. If it weren’t for Hector’s valiant efforts, even the house would have been reclaimed by the landscape.”

Forty years. Conversation kept turning back to whatever happened back then. In 1840, Victoria was a young and vibrant queen who was just learning how to rule. Dawn clasped her knife tighter in her fingers. She would never know what events unfolded here if she didn’t find the courage to ask.

“If it is not too impertinent, would you tell me about Master Elijah’s parents?”

Lord Seton laid down his cutlery and picked up the wine glass. He stared deep in the ruby liquid but didn’t drink. When he spoke, it seemed he addressed something he saw within the crystal. “Julian and I encountered Ava on the road to the mill. She was travelling from Scotland down to family in Cheshire, but her horse had become lame not far from our estate. Julian was obsessed from the moment he laid eyes on her and was determined to possess her.”

“Obsessed?” The word resonated in Dawn’s head. It was the same description used in the diary about an ill-fated pair forty years before, who must surely have been Julian’s parents. Did the son follow the same path as his father?

He swirled the glass, and the liquid within made patterns on the side. “It was as though she cast an enchantment over Julian from the moment they saw each other. Ava moved into the manor the same day. Over a period of weeks, their obsession turned into something darker. Something poisonous.”

Did Ava poison the ground or Julian’s mind? A shiver worked down her spine, and Dawn was glad the high neck of the dress concealed the prickle of goosebumps. The story the earl narrated echoed the older one in the diary. Perhaps all earls were cursed to follow the same doomed course of women unsuited to tending a large estate. “Were you not friendly with Ava for the sake of your brother?”

He didn’t look at Dawn, but through her toward some answer on the wall behind her. “I was pleased at first that Julian found someone he loved so deeply. But there was an air around her that smelt wrong, a taint that bothered me.”

“She smelt wrong?” What an odd thing to say. Maybe she ate lots of garlic that clung to her tongue.

His gaze slid sideways, back to Dawn. “Poor choice of words. I meant she behaved in a manner toward Lettie and the staff that bothered me.”

“What happened to them?” Dawn’s question was a mere whisper. She wanted him to continue but didn’t want to break his reverie in case he discarded the tale.

“They planned to marry, especially once she became with child. But her power over Julian began to diminish, and one night he saw through her facade to the rotten core underneath. He intended to seek my help to extricate us all from her clutches.”

“But then he died,” Dawn whispered, already knowing the tragic end to the story.

“But then he died.” Lord Seton lifted his glass, drained the wine, and placed the empty glass on the table.