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‘In terms of her general health,’ he says, very carefully it seems, ‘your mother appears as well in her person as you or I. A little too thin and pale, but her blood is strong and I see no other cause for concern.’

‘But?’

He hesitates again. ‘She is sensitive to light, yet I cannot fathom a reason for it. Can you?’

She shakes her head. ‘Mamma has always been that way, I’m afraid. Why?’

‘Sensitivity to light is not a common complaint, and I cannot recall an illness that would not present itself in an obvious way.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Only that such a condition would show in the eyes as inflammation, dryness, lack of pigment, none of which your mother possesses.’

Linette lifts a shoulder. ‘I do not find that so surprising. We’ve already established that my mother’s ailments stem from a malady of the mind. Perhaps she merely imagines it.’

Still, Henry looks thoughtful. Chews his bottom lip. Then, ‘You said your mother sometimes leaves her room to walk the grounds?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you ever mark an improvement in her then? Does she appear calmer?’

Linette frowns. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘You see,’ he says, switching his satchel from one hand to the other, ‘I wonder if by escaping her room for a spell the fresh air tires her. When someone with a mentality such as your mother is subjected to confinement for long periods, the body becomes weak. You,’ he adds, gaze flicking up then down (Linette knows he is once again marking her masculine attire), ‘are robust, healthy. Your mother, on the other hand, has decreased muscular integrity, evidently eats like a bird—’

‘So you think that affects her outbursts?’

‘Possibly, yes.’

‘You believe, then, more fresh air would be beneficial?’

‘It can certainly do no harm.’

Linette frowns. Nothing can exercise the mind like the outdoors; has she not found comfort in nature and its gifts, the rolling fields, the snow-capped hills? For years Linette has been taunted with the idea that if her mother is mad then it must surely run in the family and she has – as Henry observed – kept her mind and body active to prevent it. Just in case. But now, the more she thinks of it, the more Linette cannot understand why this was not suggested by Dr Evans himself. Neither did any of those other doctors, Dr Beddoe included, have the inclination to propose such a remedy. No, each one suggested only restraints, leeches, bodily purges. Failing that, an institution. A place where Linette might pretend her mother does not exist.

Thanks to Julian’s refusal, she was spared that, at least.

Henry touches her arm, pulling her from her morbid train of thought.

‘I think I shall go into Penhelyg today, visit as many of the villagers as I can.’

Linette blinks. ‘Oh?’

‘Considering how they may well be disinclined at present to ask for my help I feel it would be better I go to them instead. It’s the best way, under the circumstances.’

She hesitates. Linette knows more than anyone the grievances of her tenants. She should tell him, of course, meant to last night before her mother submitted to her inner demons. And yet, now, here in the shadowed corridor … well, what use would it be? It is, after all, unsubstantiated village gossip, and would only serve to prejudice Henry against them even further.

‘I would not,’ she says carefully now, ‘presume to tell you what to do. But remember what I told you last night – they will not take kindly to the intrusion of an Englishman. Are you sure you won’t allow me to accompany you?’

‘I am absolutely sure.’

‘But how will you manage the language?’

‘I have my dictionary.’

He really is trying stubborn, and Linette must repress a frustrated sigh.

‘You have to understand,’ Henry says, clearly marking her irritation. ‘I must command respect. If I cannot do that then I shall be of no use here at all.’