“The lines on the map,” Dawn whispered. The main trunk of the vine was easily as thick as her wrist, with offshoot tendrils the thickness of her fingers. No label for it sprang to mind. It wasn’t a rose or ivy, or an out-of-control jasmine. She scribbled more notes in her book.
At the foot of the hedge, the borders would need a complete replacement and probably compost added to the depleted soil, which would explain the nettles – they thrived in poorer conditions. Once a new colour scheme was determined, plants, bulbs, and tubers would need to be ordered from catalogues to replace those that died of neglect or were suffocated by the stronger weeds.
She looked up to take her bearings and pondered the next direction to explore. From her recollection of the fuzzy map, beyond the lawn and herbaceous borders lay a twisted mess that might have once been a maze. A few paths had been faintly visible under the edges of black paint. Over the top, the vine spiralled in a tight knot around a remarkably clear centre.
“This way, Mouse,” she murmured to the wolfhound who trotted on silent pads by her side.
Rounding a corner, Dawn discovered that the map in the cottage was a true depiction of the sad garden. This maze would be holding tight to its secrets. The yews that formed the walls hadn’t been trimmed in years and had grown into one another, obscuring the entrance and any alleyways within. The yew in itself wouldn’t have been too big an obstacle. Hedge trimmers would have been her weapon of choice to reclaim the entrance.
The issue was what surrounded the yew. Thick brambles enclosed the entire maze, like a mother hugging a child tight to her breast. The smothering beast appeared possibly related to the vine strangling the herbaceous borders, except here the new shoots were practically trunks and as thick as her forearms. Along each limb ran one-inch thorns, like exposed spines. Woody fingers splayed out over what was once the entranceway like hands covering eyes. If she tried to push through, her clothing and skin would be torn. Dawn couldn’t identify the plant, and it had no visible flowers or leaves to assist. She had never encountered its like before and would have to consult the botany books to name it.
A raven perched on a vine running parallel to the ground. Its claws wrapped between sharp thorns. The bird cocked its head, watching. Then it let out a throaty caw and took flight. A feather dropped to the ground and landed at Dawn’s feet.
She picked it up only discover it was no feather but an oddly shaped black leaf. It had the same graceful arch as a feather, tapering to a tip, and shared the same shaft and vein structure. When she turned it over in her fingers, the underside was a deep red.
“How odd.” She tucked the leaf into the pocket of her apron. It might have fallen from the strange vine and could aid her identification of its genus.
While Dawn desperately wanted to explore the maze, it was impenetrable, like the dense wall that the prince had to fight through to find Sleeping Beauty within. How would she ever make it past the thorny sentries?
She would need reinforcements. Perhaps Hector could help her slash the first path through the brambles? It might not be so bad once inside, despite the dense covering over the same area on the map in the cottage. Either way, it was impossible to tell from without. Even standing on tiptoes didn’t help as the hedge towered above her.
Dawn bit back a sigh of disappointment and patted the dog’s head. “We won’t find out what is in there today, Mouse. Let us investigate the woodland walk.”
She followed the path into the forest, which sat adjacent to the maze. There the trees were supposed to be overgrown, to give a sheltered, shady walk to escape the heat of summer days. Or a place for young lovers to chase one another and to hold secret trysts in the soft undergrowth. What stories had these paths seen unfold over the last three hundred years?
Overall, the estate was in a sorry condition. The further Dawn walked, the worse it became. Despite the dappled light, she squinted. Staring at trees being strangled by the strange black vines was like staring at the sun, and it hurt her eyes. The chaotic growth didn’t just suffocate the trees struggling to reach the sunlight above. The discordant note pressed on her mind and sparked the headache that throbbed behind her temple. The flutter in her chest stumbled into an erratic gallop. She reached out a hand blindly as though she could grasp fresh air and quiet to silence the turmoil within.
Her mind crashed under the wave of despair that rolled off the neglected forest. It was as though the trees screamed as they were crushed by the vine, and their dying cries pierced her mind. Her hands flew to her throat as her body forgot to draw air. She gasped. Panic clawed at her chest, and her knees buckled as her vision faded to black.
Mouse barked from her side. She struggled to break free of the thing that sought to bind her and steal her senses. Sharp teeth held her hand firm but didn’t puncture her skin. Mouse. Dawn leaned over his back as the wolfhound guided her along the track.
She forgot how to coordinate her limbs. Her feet tripped over leaves and twigs as she tried to remember how to breathe before she fainted. She stumbled over the dog, but he held her upright. Mouse was a warm, steady presence against her side through the sudden darkness.
Onward dog and woman wove until, as though a door slammed shut, the piercing cry in her mind fell silent. A sigh escaped Dawn’s lips and she opened her eyes to find the darkness had lifted. They stood on a bank, free of the cloying woodland walk with its hot, acrid air. A cool breeze brushed her skin, and the delicate scent of lush grass rose from under her feet.
The noon sun shone on water that sparkled as though scattered with diamonds. The lake before her was roughly oval in shape, and water flowed down a small hillock in at one corner and spilled into silent ripples. On the opposite side, a small creek snaked away and disappeared between trees.
The gentle gurgle of water washed over her and carried away the last tendrils of panic. With a steadying pat on Mouse’s head, she stepped to the lake’s edge. Weeping willows lined the bank where their limbs dangled like maidens trailing fingers in the water. A narrow wooden jetty ran out over the lake for ten feet, but she eyed the timbers suspiciously. Being unable to swim, she decided against testing them on her own and kept to the grass.
Dawn drew a deep breath of peace and solitude. It flowed through her like the gentle water, and the tension eased from her shoulders. Then she sat on the grass, pulled her knees up to her chest, and rested her cheek on the top. A dragonfly skimmed across the water, searching for smaller insects. Mouse flopped at her feet and stretched out in the dappled sunlight.
Bit by bit, the pounding in her chest abated and returned to some semblance of a normal beat. The headache dissipated and she regained possession of all her senses.
How could the earl let the garden deteriorate in such a way? To be fair, what she saw was decades of neglect, and he didn’t look old enough to bear the sole burden for its ruin. Dawn thought of the diminutive garden at the house back in Whetstone. Would it likewise lapse into disrepair without anyone to tend its borders and walks?
“Miss Uxbridge, are you quite all right?” The rich, deep voice cut through Dawn’s contemplation and she startled.
Mouse uttered a solitary woof from her side and then dropped his head back to the soft grass.
“Lord Seton. I did not hear you approach.” Dawn cast a glance to the supposed guard dog who didn’t make so much as a squeak at the earl’s arrival.