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Bitterness digs like a thorn in her chest. It is not on account of her father (how could she feel anything for a man she never knew?) but of her mother, a mother who has never shown affection, who barely seems to recognise her own daughter, a mother who has lived in the shelter of her own troubled mind for as long as Linette can remember.

Henry Talbot is watching her. When she looks at him she fancies she sees a measure of understanding in his eyes.

‘I’m sorry.’

Linette shrugs. ‘Don’t be. Julian has been good to me, in his own way. I’ve wanted for nothing.’

She does not tell him that despite his care of her in a monetary sense, Julian has never really understood her. How could he when he was so often away, his attentions caught completely by his social circle in London? The majority of Linette’s Christmases and birthdays have been spent alone with the servants, and when Julian does come to Penhelyg he keeps to the company of the Pennants and Selwyns, or locked away in his study.

He spends more time with his damned books than he does with her.

One of the girls – Rhiannon, the Einions’ eldest – is nibbling at her fingernail, staring at the new doctor insolently over her thumb. Dr Talbot appears to notice but makes no remark. Instead he says, ‘Tell me of your mother,’ and Linette shifts uncomfortably in her saddle.

What to say about her? The truth, she supposes. What else?

‘My mother speaks but little and what little she speaks is not worth hearing. Fanciful things. Queer untruths. Sometimes Mamma can hold an eloquent conversation but those moments are short-lived.’ Linette hesitates. ‘She is prone to screaming fits, Dr Talbot, fits that can go on for hours if left unchecked. Mamma says she can hear wings beating in the dark, that there are people in the room. Sometimes she speaks words in a language I do not understand. Often she mentions blades of gold.’ Linette picks at a fly caught in Pryderi’s mane. ‘It is Enaid – Mrs Evans, that is – who cares for her, never leaves her side. She sleeps in Mamma’s rooms.’

A movement to her left catches her eye. A curtain has twitched in one of the holdings that surround the clearing. Rhiannon – joined now by a few more girls – watches them still, and Linette realises they are too exposed here, that her companion is under deepest scrutiny. Many eyes, she suspects, watch them now although she cannot see them, and Linette thinks again of the gatehouse, her stomach twisting with unease.

‘We’d best continue on,’ she murmurs, gesturing to a pathway that wends itself by the side of the tavern. ‘The Morgans live further down, near the dunes.’

Dr Talbot digs his heels into Gwydion’s flanks. The horse whickers sharply. Linette holds out a hand to steady him.

‘Be gentle. The lightest pressure will do.’

This time she keeps a hand on Gwydion’s bit, guides them down into the privacy of the path. When she is sure they are out of sight again Linette releases the horse.

They emerge onto the green swards of the salt marshes, the sea a thick band of blue on the horizon. Free of the confines of the lane she urges Pryderi into a trot, turns her head to find that Dr Talbot has managed to persuade Gwydion to do the same. Above them seagulls dance between the clouds, shrieking loudly into the wind, and Dr Talbot raises his face into it, holds down his hat, slows his horse. She does the same.

‘It must be a lonely life,’ he says suddenly, and the comment pulls her off guard.

‘Lonely?’

‘Yes, lonely. Your father is dead, your mother indisposed, Lord Tresilian rarely in residence.’

Linette turns her face sharply to look at him. Truth though it may be, she does not like the way he lays her vulnerability out so plainly and so she counters, ‘I have Enaid and Cadoc, and my friends in the village. Merlin and Pryderi. Besides, I’ve plenty to keep me occupied.’

‘Oh?’

A sharp breeze cuts her cheek; she tastes salt on her tongue. In the distance the coastal cottages have appeared, spotted between trees bent with the long push of sea wind. Beneath her Pryderi huffs, and gently Linette reaches out to run her fingers through his tangled mane.

‘As a young girl I spent my days exploring Plas Helyg’s lands. I loved the call of the sea, the hills, the woods, and would spend hours in its wilderness. Wales is a place of uncommon beauty, Dr Talbot, as I’m sure you can see.’ Linette smiles now, wistful. ‘Over the years I saw how the people of Penhelyg lived. I’ve come to know them, respect them. They in turn have given me their trust.’ She gestures at the houses ahead. ‘The winter after I turned eighteen these lands suffered from severe flooding – homes were damaged, crops destroyed. When I offered to help, the people told me what they needed, what Mr Lambeth, Julian’s agent, had failed to provide. Supplies of food, temporary shelter, men to clear and renew the land. I went to him but he did nothing. I wrote to Julian, and still nothing was done. They were left to manage, alone. So, as soon as the estate passed to me, I dismissed Mr Lambeth. I trust no one to look after Penhelyg. Only myself.’

She meets his eyes. Dark brown, she realises.

‘I care for my people, Dr Talbot. They’re the only true family I have.’

The Morgans’ cottage is a small holding set within a patch of sandy land bordered by a fence made of driftwood. Shells of all shapes and sizes hang from the sea-worn beams with string and tinkle merrily in the breeze; nature’s very own wind chimes. Henry Talbot pauses to look at them, reaches a hand out to cup a grey scallop shell as he passes, a little chip at its fan.

His mouth lifts slightly at the corner, but Linette cannot decide if it is a smile or a sneer.

She knocks on the door. As they wait for an answer Linette glances across at the sand dunes dotted with yellow-wort and sedge, at Tomas’ small fishing boat moored on the makeshift quay beyond. Its mast rises tall like a javelin, its tattered sail quipping in the breeze. Dr Talbot follows her gaze.

‘He’s a fisherman, then?’

Before she can answer, the door opens a crack. When Mair sees it is Linette she begins to open the door wider, but pauses when she notices the man standing beside her.

‘It’s all right,’ Linette says, mollifying. ‘This is the new doctor – I’ve brought him to help.’