Page 124

‘What happened?’ Linette asks, cutting across Henry’s ‘Go on,’ and Lady Gwen sighs deeply. It is a sigh filled with sadness and regret, disgust binding the two.

‘Heledd Einion was a great beauty. She was already married with children of her own, but from what I saw she was willing enough to partake in the Order’s games. Not like the others. They were shy, unsure. But Heledd … Heledd relished in it. I’ve never been quite sure at what point things went wrong. I remember ropes, blindfolds. I remember her being eager until she wasn’t, that one minute Heledd was alive and the next she was not.’

Their mother grimaces, coughs into her hand.

‘I only saw what happened in that moment, none of what came after. It was only later I heard her naked corpse had been found on the road beneath the willow trees. The village of course was in uproar, fighting fit for blood. But Lord Pennant – who was a very young man then, one of the Order and newly appointed as the district’s magistrate – turned a blind eye. Nothing was done. The villagers had no means for recourse, and being so remote what could be done if the law refused to stand by their side?’

Their mother closes her eyes, rests her head back against the windowpane. Even from her stance at the cabinet, Linette can see the sheen of sweat on her brow, her pulse pounding hard in her neck.

How much of the tincture still runs through her veins?

‘It put a stop to Emyr’s amusements,’ Lady Gwen says weakly. ‘The Order did not come to Plas Helyg again. My father went back to his resentful moods, his prolonged absences, began to gamble Plas Helyg away stone by stone. I became angry. Obstinate. How could I stay here and watch him destroy this place and let me rot along with it? I missed the Order. I’d been given a taste of life, you see. I longed for adventure, anything that would take me away from the monotonous existence of Penhelyg. When Father finally took me to London I threw myself into the Season, became the most disgraceful flirt. I was young and foolish, I see that now, but at the time I would do anything to win someone’s hand, anything to escape.’

Linette stares, unsure what to feel. Her mother is not the woman she thought she was. The knowledge that she was once part of Julian’s own club, the implications of it, this is something that has niggled at the back of Linette’s mind for days, a distasteful truth she has tried so hard to ignore, but there is no ignoring any of it now. Her mother is revealing herself, piece by sordid piece …

‘When Father lost the slate mine to Julian in a game of cards,’ she continues, ‘it made him desperate to secure me a match. Thankfully Julian’s elder cousin Hugh had enough money to buy Plas Helyg six times over which of course was all that mattered to my father, and I was married off before the Season was finished.’ Lady Gwen shivers, wraps the shawl tight about her bony shoulders. ‘I remember those to be the happiest months of my life. I moved to Hugh’s townhouse in London, found the excitement I’d always craved. Hugh was all I could have wanted in a husband: handsome, passionate, amusing, with a talent for intelligent conversation. He showed me what life could be like, all the pleasures it afforded. Everything I had missed living here in Penhelyg he returned to me threefold. We grew to love each other. Then …’

‘Then?’

Lady Gwen sighs at Henry’s question.

‘Julian created his own club.’

She waits for her children to say something more, but when they do not she lifts her chin in a gesture of defiance, and Linette braces herself for the fall.

‘It transpired that my father had spoken to Julian of the Order. I suppose, after what happened to Heledd, I should have been opposed to joining it but here – finally – was a chance to experience everything I had only fantasised about.’

Their mother bites her bottom lip, chews at a dry flake of skin.

‘Continue,’ Henry says softly. ‘Please.’

Enaid takes her mistress’ hand, squeezes it, and this action propels her on.

‘Julian rented rooms in Covent Garden where we would meet every week. We played cards and drank beyond what was proper and danced until dawn. We … we also indulged in things polite society frowned upon. I enjoyed such attentions, enjoyed the thrill. It felt revolutionary. Finally, after so many stagnated years, I felt free.’

Linette’s stomach churns. She shuts her eyes against the image but opens them again when the dark canvas of her eyelids only makes it worse.

‘What changed?’ she whispers, and Lady Gwen raises her eyes to hers.

‘Father died. We returned to Plas Helyg. Hugh began restoring the estate. Julian went travelling in Europe, and we did not see him again for over a year. But when he came back, he was different. He was excited in a way we had never seen him before, spoke of a great power that would bring us luck and fortune.’

Henry frowns. ‘A great power?’

‘He spoke of talismanic magic, the lore of Solomon, ancient rites of passage. We dismissed it all at first as one of Julian’s fantastical ideas, for he’d spouted off many of them during those days in London. All those books he collected! But then he proposed we rename the club the Order of Berith, and hold our gatherings here in Penhelyg. The London Hellfire clubs, you see, were coming under scrutiny; Francis Dashwood’s Friars had already been forced to move to Medmenham Abbey to ensure their privacy. Julian too wanted somewhere remote, like in Emyr’s day. Hugh was disinclined to allow it, but I must admit I had begun to grow restless. Hugh was in his element here restoring the house and lands, but I longed for the excitement I’d left behind. So he agreed. However, he had conditions – no village girls, and the mansion itself could not be used. London, he said, was one thing, but Plas Helyg was our home and he wanted to keep the gatherings here separate.’

‘Then where did you go?’ asks Henry, and at this she offers a weak smile.

‘There are tunnels under this house,’ Lady Gwen replies softly. ‘They lead to underground caverns where Cadwalladr ancestors used to store smuggled goods. We let Julian use them. And all went well, at first. It was as things ever were, except Julian brought more ceremonial elements to the evenings. Elaborate costumes, ritualistic tools, that kind of thing. To me it was just a game, but it soon became clear how seriously Julian took it. He was obsessed with a book he had begun to curate on his travels. A grimoire. The Shadow Key, he called it. The symbol on its front—’

‘Berith,’ Linette provides.

Lady Gwen shivers and shuts her eyes, as if the very name has made her cold.

‘Yes. Berith. A Canaanite demon of the old world. It is said that he could turn all metals into gold, ensure riches and power for those who worshipped him. Julian bred black hens,’ she continues, ‘started to use them during the ceremonies as blood sacrifices. And as much as that sickened me, there can be no denying we all became rich beyond anything we could have imagined. Julian expanded across the valley, and the mines started to yield copper ore. One day Julian’s workers found a piece of gold, and he became convinced Berith was behind it.’

At this Linette sucks in her breath. Slate to copper, copper to gold. When she shares a look with Henry, his mouth twists into a sneer.

‘Did you believe it?’