Page 129

‘Of course. I quite understand.’ Powell dips his head, replaces the lid of the tureen. ‘Can I get you anything else? A glass of wine, perhaps?’ He looks between them. Henry, Linette and Rowena shake their heads. ‘Then I shall leave you to your thoughts.’

‘I don’t want to be left to my thoughts,’ Rowena murmurs, when the door closes behind him. ‘My thoughts frighten me.’

‘I am not frightened,’ Linette shoots back. ‘I am angry. I’m so angry I could kill Julian myself.’

The words – said with such bitter hatred – do not shock Henry, but they make him feel uneasy all the same. He sees the darkling look in Linette’s grey-green eyes, a look of dangerous intent. As if to acknowledge her anger the candles flicker in their candelabra, the light of their flames flashing reflections in the silver tureen like fiery tongues. The mantel clock ticks. Henry glances at it. A quarter to ten.

‘It is late,’ he says. ‘It will do us little good torturing ourselves like this. I say we go to bed, make a fresh start of it in the morning.’

In agreement Linette rises from her seat. Merlin, who has been sleeping beneath her feet, scrambles up with her, wagging his tail. He is, Henry thinks wryly, the only happy creature in the room.

In the vestibule Linette looks at Henry, at Rowena clutching her carpet bag, the meagre belongings she brought with her to Plas Helyg for these past two nights.

‘Why don’t you both stay here? Julian will never know. Besides, the reverend did advise—’

‘Safety in numbers,’ Henry says softly, ‘I know. But my things are down at the gatehouse now.’

‘And I need to get home,’ Rowena says softly. ‘Forgive me, but I’d feel safer there than here.’

Linette purses her lips. He lays a hand on her arm.

‘Please do not worry. I shall walk Rowena home and then I’ll lock myself in the gatehouse. I shall be perfectly all right. It’s you I worry for. Will you be all right, alone?’

‘I won’t be alone. Mamma and Enaid are only down the corridor. Cadoc will be downstairs.’ She glances at the lurcher pressing his lean body against her legs. ‘If it makes you feel any better, I shall keep Merlin with me and lock the door.’

‘It would.’

‘Very well.’ Linette nods over his shoulder. ‘Go on, then. Miss Carew is waiting.’

He turns. Rowena stands just outside on the gravel drive, tilting her face to the sky. Her hair is piled prettily atop her head and in the purpling dusk it looks the most delicious shade of auburn. Henry presses the lovespoon in his coat pocket, closer to his heart.

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Yes, she is.’

When he turns back it is to find Linette watching Rowena too. There is something strangely haunting about her expression now, a lost expression that makes her look heart-achingly young. When she notices him looking Linette swallows, forces a smile.

‘Goodnight, Henry.’ A pause. ‘Brother.’

Brother. The word makes his chest tighten. So strange to hear her say it, so strange to know that this strong stubborn woman before him is his own flesh and blood. His sister. His twin. He takes Linette’s hands, clasps them in both of his.

‘It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?’

Linette says nothing, does not seem able to. Taken by a sudden surge of affection Henry draws her close, folds her in an awkward embrace. For a long moment she stands stiffly in the circle of his arms until little by little Linette softens, lets herself sink into him. It lasts mere seconds; he feels the shudder of a sob in the tilt of her shoulders and as if ashamed of her weakness Linette pulls away from him, shuts Plas Helyg’s heavy doors, leaving Henry and Rowena alone in the dying light.

He is not sure when the decision was made, if it was in the moment Linette shut the door or when Henry pulled Plas Helyg’s creaking gates apart, but at the end of the driveway both he and Rowena ignored the turn-off into Cwm Nantcol and instead took the path down to the gatehouse.

In silence they walk, the only sound an owl on the hunt, the whisper of leaves in the trees. He should lead her back up through the woods, out into the valley toward Moelfre, but he cannot quite force himself to do it. Rowena is here, alone, beside him willingly, their fingertips grazing softly together, the air between them charged and full of promise. When he puts the key into the gatehouse’s lock, Henry must remind himself to breathe.

It is a different place. Even in the dark he can see the gatehouse is neat and tidy, tastefully furnished. The smell of fresh wood and paint lingers on the air, mellowed by the polish of beeswax. Rowena places the carpet bag on the floor beside a small table at the bottom of the stairs. On it, a candle has been left in its holder next to a tinderbox, and Henry lights it. His reflection surfaces in the new mirror in front of him, and in the dim light his eyes look hollowed out. Behind him, Rowena presses a yawn into her hand.

‘You’re tired,’ he says pointlessly. ‘I should have taken you home.’

‘I am tired. But I …’ She watches him. ‘It felt wrong, somehow, to leave you after everything. I cannot even begin to understand how you must be feeling. Your mother, Julian …’

Something twists in his gut.

‘I’m not quite sure I know myself,’ he tells her reflection. ‘Linette is angry, but I feel nothing except confusion and …’ Henry tries to name what he feels. ‘Loss, I suppose.’

‘Loss?’