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By the time Henry comes downstairs his belongings have already been brought to the vestibule and Julian stands beside them, waiting.

‘Good morning, Henry,’ he says, as pleasantly as if they were old friends. ‘I see you’re packed promptly as agreed. Very good.’

Henry ducks his head in an effort to hide the look of dislike he knows has crossed his face. ‘I would not presume to disobey you, my lord.’

‘Would you not?’ Julian’s voice is laced with amusement, as if he recognises the lie. ‘Well, that is most gratifying.’

He clicks his fingers at Powell who comes forward from the shadow of the stairwell, Julian’s cane and cocked hat in hand, and as he passes them to his master the butler’s eyes meet Henry’s. Has Powell told Julian what he saw last night?

‘I am to Lord Pennant’s on mining business,’ Julian says now, placing the hat on his head. ‘Plenty to do, much to arrange. The accident set us back some weeks, as I’m sure you can imagine.’

At that moment Linette appears at the top of the stairs. Henry inclines his head, as much to greet her as to reply to her cousin.

‘If all goes as planned, then I expect we shall make good progress in due course. Not all is lost.’

Outside, the sound of wheels over gravel. Linette comes to stand beside Henry as Julian crosses the vestibule, pulls open Plas Helyg’s wide doors, steps out onto the drive. With an effort he pulls himself into his phaeton; Rhys hands up the whip. Then Julian flicks the reins and turns his dapple grey horse down the driveway, and Linette watches her cousin go, frowning deeply.

‘Are you really going to leave today?’ she asks.

‘I am.’

‘Henry—’ Linette begins, and he turns to her with a smile.

‘But I never said at what time, did I?’

Rowena joins them in Linette’s study, where the latter flattens the page out in the middle of the table.

In the cold light of day it does not seem quite so sinister – the text merely looks like brown ink, the ‘paper’ like old parchment. If Henry did not know better, it could merely be an aged diary entry filled with neat handwriting and itinerant doodles.

‘What do they mean, do you suppose?’

It is Rowena who has spoken, and together all three of them stare down at the page.

‘The whole book had symbols in it like this,’ Linette murmurs. ‘Much of it is written in a foreign language except for Julian’s words here.’

‘Some of it is Latin,’ Henry adds, ‘I can see that much. But these symbols … these I don’t recognise.’

Rowena hovers her finger over them. ‘Hebrew, perhaps?’

‘Hebrew or Latin,’ Linette retorts, ‘that hardly makes a difference if none of us can speak it.’

She leans over the page to rest on her elbows, looks closer.

‘There has to be a way to translate it. Was there a dictionary in Julian’s bookcase? I don’t remember seeing one.’

‘Nor I,’ Henry says, and in response she sighs.

It is heavy, drawn-out. Linette’s eyes widen.

‘Henry, look.’

‘What?’

Linette picks up the page, holds it between them.

‘When I sighed just …’

She puts her face close, sighs once more, and to Henry’s amazement a series of letters appears beneath the symbols.