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‘Will you be all right a moment?’

She glances at the miners. Only ten or so left.

Henry nods. ‘I hardly think any of them will try to kill me here, do you?’

There is a sardonic twinkle in his eye. Linette feels a tug at her lip.

‘You’re incorrigible.’

She does not wait for him to answer. Instead, Linette wipes her hands on the front of her trousers, stalks over to the two men with as much dignity as she can muster.

‘What are you doing here?’

The remaining miners loiter, sullen eyes flicking between Linette and the finely suited men. An element of fear has crept into the air now that was not there with Henry alone, and Linette can well understand it for Mr Lambeth is a nasty weasel of a man with a tongue as sharp as shale.

‘Get back to work,’ he snaps in clipped mispronounced Welsh. In his gloved hands he holds a leather folder and pencil. A report book, no doubt, and Linette narrows her eyes at him.

‘They deserve a rest, surely? One hour’s respite will do no harm.’

The agent says nothing, merely lifts his mouth into a sneer. Lord Pennant steps forward, fingers tucked around the wide lapels of his dress coat. A gold ring on his fifth catches in the noonday sun, and Linette’s breath falters in her throat.

Has he always worn one? But of course, many men of his station do. It means nothing at all.

‘Linette, my dear,’ Lord Pennant says now, cloying as treacle. ‘Gracious as ever. A beautiful day, is it not?’

‘Lord Pennant,’ Linette says with every ounce of patience she possesses. ‘You have no business here.’

‘I do, as a matter of fact.’ The older man licks a fingertip, teases a stray hair of his brown coiled wig back into place. ‘But I might ask you the same thing. The mines are your cousin’s concern, not yours.’

‘I bring my tenants refreshment,’ she replies, scathing. ‘I also thought it an opportunity to show Dr Talbot the mines.’

Linette gestures to where Henry serves the last of the miners. One of them snatches his tin cup back the moment it has been filled, and stalks away into the shaded canopy of a stony outcrop. She can see the hard jut of Henry’s jaw, the effort it must be taking him to keep his temper, and Linette is sorry now they ever came at all.

‘Ah, the elusive Henry Talbot!’

Henry looks up at the sound of his name.

‘What a relief to finally see him here,’ Lord Pennant adds, preening almost. ‘Will you not introduce us? I should very much like to meet Penhelyg’s new physician.’

She would very much like to push him over the spoil-heaps, but with a tight smile Linette beckons to Henry, and with an expression bordering on relief he joins them.

‘This is Lord Pennant. His lordship owns the shipbuilding business in Abermaw and is Plas Helyg’s nearest neighbour.’ The men shake hands. Pointedly, the other man clears his throat. ‘And this is Mr Matthew Lambeth, Julian’s agent.’

‘A pleasure,’ Henry says, and Linette is gratified to hear he does not sound pleased.

Lord Pennant releases Henry’s hand, looks him up and down as if he were a specimen in a bell jar.

‘Well, Dr Talbot,’ he says, ‘your new charges are fortunate indeed to have such a young and hearty-looking fellow take on the position. Beddoe was telling me only the other week how frail old Evans had become, near the end.’

Beside her, Henry goes very still. ‘Indeed?’

‘Indeed so,’ comes the answer. ‘I saw him up at Selwyn’s place, treating one of her ladyship’s migraines –’ here he leans conspiratorially in, and Linette detects the piquant scent of garlic on his breath – ‘she worries most dreadfully, poor thing, and we spoke of it then. We both agreed Penhelyg needed an able-bodied doctor, not one who seems likely to keel over the moment a gust of wind touches him. And here you are!’

He laughs. Mr Lambeth joins in. All Linette can do is scowl.

‘It is my understanding,’ replies Henry, ‘that Dr Evans was fit as a fiddle.’

There is a beat of silence. Lord Pennant raises his eyebrows in a show of surprise.