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She begins to descend. Henry takes a breath and she stops again, gives him a questioning look.

‘I do not wish to cause you pain,’ he says, keeping his voice as gentle as he can, ‘but I was told you found Dr Evans’ body.’

A small intake of breath. A sudden sheen to her pale blue eyes. ‘Ie.’

‘He was discovered on the threshold of the gatehouse, I understand?’

Mrs Evans looks away, swallowing hard. He thought she would be angry at his prying, but the question appears instead to have weakened her. She stares down into the vestibule, into the fire that burns brightly in its cavernous grate.

‘It was like he had seen the Devil himself.’

Henry frowns.

‘The Devil, madam?’

‘Ie, as if he worked his way in. Wynn’s face …’

Henry’s fingers tingle with a strange premonition.

‘His face, Mrs Evans?’

The old woman bites the cushion of her lower lip, and it takes a moment for her to compose herself.

‘I never knew my brother to be scared of anything in his life, Dr Talbot, but there was no mistaking the expression on his face.’ She looks at him, eyes fraught with an urgent light. ‘Wynn looked terrified. As if he had been frightened to death!’

‘Are you coming or not?’

Together both he and Mrs Evans jump. Guiltily, Henry turns his head.

Linette Tresilian stands at the bottom of the stairs, the grey lurcher at her side. She stares up at them, features haughty and impatient, arms folded across her chest.

‘I’ll take my leave,’ the housekeeper says. Her voice is stronger now, the look of pain and panic on her face gone as if they were never there, and before Henry can respond the elderly woman is climbing the stairs. Reluctant, he takes her cue and walks in the opposite direction to meet his frowning hostess.

‘What were you saying to Enaid?’

Henry toys with a lie but Linette Tresilian raises one of her finely arched eyebrows.

‘I will ask her later, if you do not tell me now.’

‘I have nothing to conceal. I was asking about Dr Evans.’

Her expression shifts into one of annoyance.

‘You had no right.’

‘I did not realise the subject was forbidden.’

She purses her lips, breathes out hard through her nose. The dog – who has been staring up at him, wiry tail wagging – makes a grumbling noise, a little throaty brrr.

‘Who is this?’ Henry asks, and the woman in front of him sighs.

‘Your attempt to divert my attention is noted,’ she retorts, one side of her mouth lifting in what Henry thinks might be a smile. ‘But I am famished and have no mind to argue. This is Merlin.’

‘Merlin,’ Henry echoes.

‘I told you. All the animals here are named after Welsh folklore.’

‘So you did.’