157 Love is A Maze - The Eternal Collection , livre ebook

Author’s Note
Puzzles and conundrums are very fashionable and perhaps they started with the maze, which has been
a timeless source of enchantment and bewilderment.
The earliest and the biggest maze was made four thousand years ago by Amenemhet III of Egypt.
It was described as ‘greater than the Pyramids’ by Herodotus. Remnants of it survived until the end of
the last century.
Great Britain has more mazes open to the public than any other country in the world. Many of
the newer ones show imagination and have a special meaning and symbolism.
The Dragon Maze at Newquay Zoo depicts animals as they might be after another fifty million
years of evolution.
A maze in a private garden in Gloucester is in the shape of the footprint of a giant. It contains
the well-known symbols of man. These are the four elements, the five senses and the twelve signs of
the Zodiac.
At Floors Castle in Kelso, the Duke and Duchess of Roxburghe’s Coat of Arms and dramatic
incidents of the family’s history are woven into the copper beech and green beech hedges of the maze.
These include an exploding cannon complete with a representation of flying hot metal. It recalls
the death of James II of Scotland. He was killed when Scotland’s first cannon blew up as he aimed it at
the Castle in 1460.
By the twelfth century the labyrinth, or maze, had acquired a Christian meaning representing
the spiritual journey of man. The Chartres Maze in France is the best example. It has a pavement
built of stone within the Cathedral. Penitents make the one hundred and fifty yard journey through it
on their knees.
The Angles, Saxons and Vikings are believed to have cut about two hundred turf mazes in
Southern Britain when they invaded and conquered us.
Once mazes served an important ritual purpose and historians speculate about the significance of
the ancient labyrinths, where there were mystical dances. They had some spiritual or functional
meaning.
Whatever they meant or still mean, the maze is an enchantment and a mystery that nothing else
in a garden can supply.Chapter One ~ 1871
“I am afraid, Miss Brantforde,” Sir William Jenner said, “that your mother is in very poor health.”
It was what Davina had expected to hear, but she waited silently.
Her eyes were on the Royal doctor’s face as he continued,
“It is the culmination of doing too much and anxiety for your father.”
“If we could only hear from Papa,” Davina murmured, “but we have not had a letter for two
months.”
“It must be very disturbing,” Sir William agreed. “In the meantime we must do all we can to keep
your mother optimistic and prevent her from worrying.”
Davina thought that it was impossible, but there was no point in saying so.
“I have spoken to her maid,” Sir William went on, “who seems an excellent woman and she has
promised to see that your mother rests as much as possible, entertains few visitors and takes the
medicine which I will send her later in the day.”
“You have been very kind,” Davina said, “and I really am very worried about Mama.”
“See that she has good nourishing food,” Sir William added.
He moved towards the door as he spoke and Davina followed him.
His top hat, kid gloves and cane were all waiting for him in the hall.
With a gentle pat on Davina’s shoulder he said,
“Now, cheer up, my dear! I am sure that, as soon as your father returns, everything will be
different.”
“I am sure it will and thank you very much for calling, Sir William.”
Davina opened the front door.
Sir William walked out of the small house in Islington Square to step into his very smart
brougham drawn by two horses. There was a coachman on the box and a footman to close the door
behind him.
Then, as he raised his hat, he drove away.
Davina sighed.
She watched the brougham until it was out of sight and then she walked back into the house and
closed the door.
She knew that the fee they would have to pay Sir William Jenner for his visit would be a very
large one.
But she had been so worried over her mother that she felt that the expense was definitely worth
it.
He had in fact told her nothing she did not already know.
All that was wrong was that Lady Brantforde missed her husband desperately.
Having no news from him when he was on one of the secret and dangerous missions that he
undertook on behalf of the Foreign Office always made her fear the worst.
‘What can I do?’ Davina asked herself.
Then she remembered that she had another problem and it was indeed a very pressing one, they
were short of money.
Sir Terence had been in the Diplomatic Service before he retired when he had married.
He had an enormous knowledge of languages and that was why the Foreign Office, when they
were desperate, regularly called on him for assistance.
Her father never talked about his exploits. He just disappeared into some strange foreign
country, so Davina was never quite certain what he did.
She knew, however, that the Earl Granville, the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, had sent
for her father four months before.
A week later he had disappeared as if into thin air.
Davina, now that she was eighteen, had been promised a Season in London.
In her father’s absence it had been left to her mother and herself to close up the small Manor
House where they lived in the country.Sir Terence had early in the New Year arranged to rent an inexpensive but quite attractive
house in Islington Square.
He had planned all sorts of events for his daughter, whom he adored, and the night before he left
he had said to her,
“I am sorry, dearest, but duty must come first, at least it always has in my life.”
“Of course you must do what they ask of you, Papa,” Davina had replied. “But please come back as
quickly as you can. It will not be the same being in London without you.”
“I promise I will not stay away one more day than I have to,” Sir Terence answered her.
It was now July, the Season was practically over and she had not been to one ball or one
Reception.
At first her mother had just waited, believing that Sir Terence would reappear at any moment
and she had felt incapable of facing the Social world without him.
It was always Sir Terence who knew the right people. He had kept in touch with those who, if
he had asked them to, would willingly entertain his wife and daughter.
Without him they did not even know how to begin.
Now two months had dragged by in London and Davina was wishing fervently that they had not
left the country.
There, at least, she could ride and she was always happy with her mother and their neighbours.
The days certainly seemed long when her mother grew more and more despondent and took no
interest in anything outside the house.
She only waited day after day for the postman, hoping that there would be a letter from her
husband.
“What can be keeping him?” she asked again and again, but there was no answer.
Now Davina walked into the small sitting room, which was where they sat when her mother
was downstairs.
Her eyes automatically went towards a pile of bills that were on the writing table that stood in
the window.
Sir William had been insistent that her mother should have the best food, but that she knew was
expensive.
Tender chickens and young ducklings, which cost very little in the country, were, she thought,
an astronomical price in London. So were fresh eggs, good butter and rich cream.
As if the bills drew her like a magnet, she walked across the room to stand staring at them.
Sir Terence, when he left, had given them quite a considerable sum for housekeeping.
But he had expected, Davina knew, that he would be home in a month and certainly not more
than two.
He had talked of taking her to Royal Ascot, which was held at the beginning of June, and was
arranging for her to be presented to Queen Victoria at a ‘Drawing Room’ at the end of May.
‘What can have happened to him?’ she asked and felt herself shiver at her own thoughts.
Then she told herself sharply that she had to keep up her mother’s spirits, so the first thing she
must do was to keep up her own.
The question of money, however, was always pressing.
The household was quite small. Their cook, Bessie, had been with them for twelve years, and
they certainly could not dispense with her.
Then there was Amy, who was getting on for fifty. She had come to them in the country two
years later.
The only other member of the household was her mother’s maid, who had been Davina’s Nanny
when she was small.
Nanny was one of the family and it was impossible to think of ever doing without her.
‘We could go home,’ she reasoned to herself, ‘but if Papa arrives, he will be angry not to find us
waiting here for him as he told us to do.’
She walked away from the bills to the other side of the room.
She stood gazing at a watercolour that she thought must have been painted by, or given to, the
owner of the house.It was not a very prepossessing picture and Davina found herself saying,
“I could do one better than that.”
Then she had an idea.
She wondered, as she thought about it, why it had not occurred to her before.
She had two talents, she could paint and she could sew.
As she thought of her painting, she remembered her teacher.
It was very foolish that, since she had come to London, she had not contacted Lucy. She had
always meant to do so.
She had, however, been waiting for her mother to be well enough so that th