Page 107

She begins to sob again. Henry sighs.

‘The bottles, Mrs Evans. Do you recall seeing them anywhere else?’

The housekeeper shakes her head.

‘And you’ve no idea why one with more deadly contents might have been used to kill your brother?’

Her face crumples. ‘No,’ she whispers on the edge of another sob. ‘None.’

They leave her then, for it seems there is nothing more to be said. In silence Rowena and Mr Dee descend to the darkened corridor below and stop outside Henry’s room, where all three look at each other gravely.

The strain of laughter wends its way up the stairs. The vicar shakes his head in disgust.

‘It is a most distressing situation,’ he says. ‘I am shocked. Most shocked. When you told me of dear Wynn, I hoped you were mistaken. Indeed, I’d begun to convince myself of the fact these past few days. But now …’

Mr Dee wipes his forehead with a handkerchief, setting his wig askew.

‘What can be done?’ Rowena asks. ‘With Lord Pennant as magistrate we have no one to go to.’

Another peal of laughter trickles up the stairs, the sounds of merrymaking unmistakable. How can Julian and his friends continue to enjoy themselves after this? How can they be so callous?

‘Mrs Evans’ explanation is sound,’ Henry says now, trying to keep his anger at bay. ‘What concerns me more is what part Julian Tresilian played in all of this. There must be a reason why he insisted Lady Gwen be prescribed with such a powerful mixture rather than laudanum alone. And there must be a link between the vials – Lady Gwen’s and the one that contained the poison used to kill Dr Evans.’

‘Dreadful business,’ the vicar mutters. ‘Ungodly business.’ He pauses, yawns deep. ‘If you don’t object, I do not wish to stay in the room prepared for me here. I’d much prefer the safety of my own home.’

‘Are you sure? It’s very late.’

‘And the walk will be a blessing, I can tell you.’

Seeing that the reverend means not to be dissuaded, Henry bows his head. Mr Dee smiles weakly, turns to Rowena.

‘Are you staying tonight? I can walk you home, if you too prefer to leave.’

‘Thank you, but I shall stay.’

Mr Dee nods, turns to Henry, clasps his hand in his.

‘Come and see me before long. I cannot fathom what to do next but something must be done, of that there is no doubt. In the meantime, I shall pray for you. Whether you believe in God or not, He believes in you.’

With that he bids them goodnight. Henry and Rowena watch his ambling gait as he descends the stairs, until they are quite alone in the corridor.

The only light comes from the windows. The moon has moved to the other side of the house, but there is still enough of its gaze to prevent them being in complete darkness. Her face he beholds in snatches; Henry can see only the irises of Rowena’s eyes stark against their whites, the Cupid’s bow of her fine mouth, the paleness of that beautiful satin-smooth skin …

‘Rowena,’ he says to prevent his fancy running away with him. ‘I wanted to thank you.’

‘Thank me?’

‘Your help at the mine, with the vials. If it weren’t for you …’

Rowena ducks her head. ‘You need not thank me, Dr Talbot.’

‘Henry,’ he says, taking her hand. ‘Please. Call me Henry.’

She says nothing, but nor does she pull away, and he feels the first flurry of hope. They would do well together, she and him – Henry with his medical knowledge, Rowena with her herbs. A partnership, based on mutual respect and trust.

Love.

Could Rowena learn to love him? Could he be so lucky?