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‘It is.’

‘But he does not sound Welsh.’

‘No. He comes from a local wealthy family so does speak the language when it pleases him, but he was educated – like you – in London. There are many Welshmen like him in these parts; some hold a profession, others do not. Sir John Selwyn and Lord Pennant are two. I mentioned them before, remember? They own the estates neighbouring Plas Helyg.’

‘Did Beddoe and Evans ever work together?’

The question surprises. ‘No, not really. Julian asked him to offer a second opinion on Mamma’s condition, and Dr Evans was present for that. But otherwise …’

‘How did they get along?’

Linette hesitates. ‘They had different opinions, different methods.’

‘They argued?’

Again, Linette thinks of the leeches. Dr Evans was appalled, but under Julian’s orders he could do nothing.

‘Sometimes,’ she says.

Henry looks thoughtful. Linette frowns.

‘Why all these questions?’

He pauses, seems to contemplate his next words.

‘I believe there is more to Dr Evans’ death than you originally thought.’

Linette sighs. ‘Oh, for pity’s sake, not this again.’

‘Yes, this again!’ he hisses, and his hard tone makes her stare. Henry marks it, pulls back. ‘Forgive me, but can you honestly expect me to believe he should die so suddenly, with no previous intimations of ill-health? You yourself said he did not appear sick, and Mr Dee told me that he and Dr Evans climbed a mountain a few days before he died. A man who would endeavour such a thing does not strike me as a man of poor constitution.’

‘Who’s to say that signifies? Climbing mountains is hardly preservation against premature death. He died because he was old!’

‘Did he?’

She is about to scold him, to tell him his imagination is running wild, when Henry produces from his pocket a small and strangely wrought glass vial. Linette stares at it in the semi-dark.

‘What is that?’

Henry hands it to her.

‘I found it in the gatehouse,’ he replies, and Linette vaguely remembers how – after giving Angharad and Aled their instructions – she found the doctor sifting through the wreckage on the gatehouse floor.

‘Did Dr Evans ever use a vial like this?’

Linette turns it in her hand, presses her thumbnail against the unusual gold stopper.

‘Not that I ever saw.’

‘What of Beddoe?’

‘I don’t know.’

Henry sighs, runs his fingers through his hair.

‘Listen. I know something isn’t right here. If Dr Evans did not use such vials, then someone else certainly did, and my betting is on Dr Beddoe.’

‘But why?’