Page 102

Why is she not locked in her room?

The tune Lady Gwen hums – the off-kilter Welsh melody Linette heard her attempt on the harp only days before – sounds sluggish, but then she stops midway on a minor note, and her mother surveys the room with a smile.

‘Good evening.’

Linette shuts her eyes in despair. Where on earth is Enaid?

‘Gwenllian!’ Lady Pennant, this, her bad teeth revealing themselves in a crescent moon.

‘My dear,’ rejoins Sir John, half-rising from his seat, his coiled wig dipping dangerously close to a candle. His wife presses her hand to his paunch and he sits back down again, his squirrel eyes watching the new arrival eagerly without blinking.

Linette’s mother observes them, bow-mouth parted.

‘You’re all here.’

There is a beat. Julian lets out a low chuckle.

‘My sweet lady, where else would we be?’

Her gaze moves to his. She reaches out, very gently strokes her fingers across the back of Julian’s chair. The table watch. Lady Gwen breathes out. Then she moves left and does the same to Lady Pennant’s chair, then the next, and the next, a languid counter-clockwise caress.

‘Look at you. In your finery. My friends.’

She moves past her own empty chair. Linette thought her mother might attempt to sit but instead she carries on, coming to a stop behind Lady Selwyn, and touches the citrine jewels in that woman’s towering wig.

‘So pretty. Like mirrors. Like little gold mirrors.’

Between the last four words she tapped each one of the gems in turn.

‘Oh yes!’ Lady Selwyn exclaims. ‘You liked your jewels, didn’t you, Gwen? I remember that glorious amethyst necklace you used to wear. It cost Hugh a small fortune, did it not?’

Linette has never seen such a necklace. In fact, she realises, Linette has never seen one item of jewellery in her mother’s possession. Her mother seems to have no recollection of such a piece, either. She stares blankly down at Lady Selwyn, and Julian in that moment coughs, a contemplative expression on his pale features.

The door opens once more. Cadoc steps through it holding a serving tray, seemingly with the intention to clear the empty tureens, but when he sees his mistress standing so waif-like behind Lady Selwyn’s chair he freezes, turns a sharp gaze to Linette. It holds a question, a warning, and Linette heeds it.

‘Fetch Enaid,’ she tells him. ‘Quickly.’

‘Oh, but must she leave?’ Lady Pennant asks, teasing. ‘Look how sweet our darling Gwenllian looks! It will be fun, to have her here. All of us, together again.’

It will not be fun, Linette wants to say, not when she knows that in this dream-like state her mother could become violent at any moment. Nor does her mother look sweet – white hair hangs down her back in greasy ropes; the thin nightdress she wears is stained on her breast where she must have spilt her dinner. No, Gwen Tresilian does not look sweet or anything of the like, and as if to acknowledge this Lady Selwyn laughs.

‘Pretty Gwen,’ she taunts, and unpins one of the citrines from her hair. ‘Would you like to play?’

Henry has stood now, and his cheeks betray the same anger Linette feels.

‘Madam,’ he says tightly. ‘It would be best we return her ladyship to bed. Would you not agree, Lord Tresilian?’

But Julian simply lounges in his seat, watches as Linette’s mother takes the citrine from Lady Selwyn’s fingers and bends to kiss her cheek.

It is a strange image, to watch her mother’s lips touch this woman whom she dislikes so intensely. The same image from before comes to Linette’s mind then, unwanted, sickening – There were rumours that their meetings were of a more … physical nature – and she stamps it down, hard.

‘Let her stay, if she wishes it,’ Julian says. ‘Would you like to stay, Gwen? See, there. She’s enjoying herself. It would be a pity to deprive her.’

Lord Pennant, in that moment, has his hand resting on her mother’s bony hip, is caressing the curve of her skin through the thin material of her nightgown, his signet ring glinting with the movement. Her mother simply sways under his touch, eyes half-closed.

‘My God,’ Linette whispers in revulsion. ‘You’ve no decency, no compassion.’ She looks to the others. ‘None of you do!’

‘Don’t be a spoilsport, Linette,’ Lord Pennant smiles. ‘No harm will come to her.’ But he removes his hand anyway, and like a doe Lady Gwen darts to the other side of the table, where Henry takes her gently in his arms.