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The figure disappears, leaving a patch of blue summer sky.

She hears Henry take a breath. It is a strange, strangled sort of noise and Linette looks to him in alarm. He is staring at Miss Carew where she lies barely three feet from her, eyes round with shock, the ceremonial dagger still clutched in her bloodied hand.

‘Henry,’ Linette manages weakly. ‘Are you all right?’

He swallows hard. His hands clench and unclench. Then, finally, ‘Yes,’ he says faintly. ‘I’m all right.’

Linette does not think he sounds all right at all, but before she can say anything Cadoc Powell appears between the willows, Plas Helyg’s ornate flintlock pistol in his hand.

He rushes toward them across the clearing, past the Cadwalladr crypt. His clothes are rumpled, he wears no wig. The butler looks as though he has spent the night sleeping rough. Linette has never seen him like this her entire life.

‘You’ve had us in a state, Miss Linette,’ he says when he reaches them. ‘Mrs Evans went to wish you goodnight but you weren’t in your bed. We heard the mine collapse, found the tunnel through the fireplace.’ Cadoc looks grave.

‘Did you go through?’

‘Do, to a point. The tunnel is blocked. The one in the gatehouse, too. I sent the dog on, knew he’d be able to sniff you out …’ He tucks the pistol into his trousers. ‘I followed his tracks, heard the struggle. Got here as soon as I could.’

Cadoc kneels down, strokes the lurcher’s ear.

‘Ah, look what you’ve done to yourself. Couldn’t wait for me, could you, boy?’ With a sigh he looks up at Henry, the blood on his cheek. ‘Is that hers or yours?’

Henry is staring at him with searching eyes.

‘It was you who shot at me in the woods,’ he says quietly.

Cadoc rises with a grimace. ‘I’m afraid so. When Julian told you to keep an eye on Miss Linette … Well, I didn’t know what manner of man you were. I feared you’d agree with him that her mind was unsound like her mother’s.’ He shakes his head. ‘It was a warning shot, that was all. I hoped it would scare you off back to London.’

‘You could have hit me.’

‘I wouldn’t have. I was Hugh Tresilian’s hunting partner back in the day. Best aim in all of Meirionydd. Didn’t work though, did it? Stubborn as your father ever was.’

Emotion twists Henry’s face. He turns away.

The butler clears his throat, looks at Merlin with regret.

‘Let us get back to the house. He’ll not last much longer.’

The lurcher stirs then but it is a feeble movement; his breath is shallow, hardly there at all. Linette strokes his blood-matted fur.

‘Henry …’ she whispers. ‘We need to get him home.’

For a long moment Henry says nothing. He is staring still at Rowena Carew’s corpse as if he might will breath back into her.

‘Henry,’ Linette says again, and this time he comes to himself, looks down at Merlin on the forest floor.

‘Yes,’ he says, ‘yes,’ and Henry takes Merlin gently in his arms.

Meirionydd

Autumn 1784

Gwna dda dros ddrwg, uffern ni’th ddwg

Repay evil with good, and hell will not claim you

WELSH PROVERB

October suits Penhelyg well.