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‘You should find Gwydion easy to master then.’

He frowns. ‘Gwydion?’

‘A sorcerer from a story Enaid used to read me as a child. All the animals here are named after the folklore of these lands.’

The new doctor stares without expression, but she can read the judgement on his face all the same. Linette raises her chin, cannot help the defensive heat that brims in the hollow of her throat.

‘I’m riding Pryderi. He’s a prince from the same story.’

‘And what of those?’

A couple of small black chickens loiter near Pryderi’s stall, pecking at the hay.

‘Those are breeding fowl. We’d not be able to kill them if I named them.’

He says nothing to this. She clicks her tongue, guides the chestnut cob into another turn. Gwydion follows automatically, and Linette leads them back down Plas Helyg’s drive, through the gate, onto the woodland path beyond.

They ride in silence. Often Linette wants to ask a question, to break what is soon becoming an awkward tension, but she cannot quite bring herself to manage it. She too has been hesitant to welcome an Englishman here. Are they not all the same as each other? Superior, rude, quick to judge? Will you – she wants to ask – also treat those that live here with condescension? Another question, whispered into her ear like a taunt, rises to the fore of her mind: Will you be kind to my mother? But Linette does not ask these things for she is afraid of the answers. Instead, she will simply watch and wait.

Dr Henry Talbot will reveal himself to her soon enough.

Finally, they emerge from the woodland. Linette indicates the narrow cottages a little further along on the other side, their willow-tree canopies.

‘Those belong to some of the miners,’ she tells him. ‘It’s these you’ll likely be attending to the most, since mining is dangerous work. Dr Evans often visited the mine when the digging proved particularly difficult. He set three broken arms last year.’

Dr Talbot is frowning at the end house as they pass. Linette wonders why.

‘Your cousin told me a little about the mine last night,’ he says. ‘I saw it from my bedroom window this morning. I’d not realised it was so close.’

Linette purses her lips, crosses the dirt road, indicates for him to follow, and they descend a sloping pathway between houses three and four.

‘It never used to be,’ she answers when they are clear. ‘The Cadwalladr mines began further down the valley, but when Julian took over he expanded their reach.’

He nods. ‘I suppose he was eager to capitalise on the gold deposits.’

‘Ah. You’ve seen his little treasure then?’ Linette tightens her grip on Pryderi’s reins, tries not to let her disapproval rule her. ‘It is a fool’s errand. My cousin has found a few odd nuggets over the years but nothing substantial. He kept digging closer to Plas Helyg because he’s convinced a vein runs through the fields.’

The young doctor looks confused. ‘It’s not a gold mine?’

‘No. It used to be slate, but as they expanded the terrain shifted and began producing copper ore. It does not matter, either way. Julian has ruined this valley in the pursuit of his enthusiasms, torn it up piece by piece.’

Her voice wobbles, and from the corner of her eye she sees the young doctor turn his face to look at her.

‘I’m not sure I understand. Doesn’t the land belong to you?’

Linette shakes her head. ‘Not the land on the south-eastern side of the mansion. My grandfather claimed there were caverns hidden there, and it was passed to Julian as part of the original mine settlement. Even so, if my father had been alive I’m sure he would not have allowed such a thing. It’s quite ruined Plas Helyg’s beauty.’

They have emerged now into the little clearing that acts as Penhelyg’s village square. A stone well stands in the middle; smallholdings surround it – houses and shops belonging to Linette’s merchant tenants – and on the far side a tavern and stable stand at an awkward angle on the edge of a copse of willow trees. It is here Linette brings Pryderi to a stop. Dr Talbot, after a moment’s struggle with Gwydion, manages to do the same. A few of the village girls loiter outside one of the barns, whispering to each other behind their hands.

‘How did your father die?’

Though the doctor’s question is asked gently, Linette feels her hackles rise.

‘Why? Do you mean to suggest foul play there, too?’

Dr Talbot simply watches her. There is no judgement in his eyes but they make Linette feel, somehow, exposed. Still, she experiences a measure of guilt for her churlishness and turns her face, focuses her gaze on the stone well instead.

‘He died when I was a baby,’ she replies. ‘Fell from his horse on his return from a trip to London. My mother, unable to cope with the grief, could not care for me. A trust was set in place that made Julian my guardian.’