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‘Just so, my lord. I used to be a stonemason, many years ago – I know how best to make stone yield safely. But perhaps, Dr Talbot, you would like to see for yourself?’

The caverns are cold.

It is a peculiar feeling, to experience such cloying heat and then – as if by the turn of a wheel – a coolness that seems to strip heat from bone. Linette’s shirt (which outside had started sticking between her shoulder blades) is chill now against her skin, and she begins to unravel the full sleeves to cover her forearms, shivering into her necktie.

She has never been down the copper mine before. The cavernous ceiling is high; in the moss-lined eaves pigeons coo in their stone roosts, and as they continue their descent down narrow steps the colour of rust Linette is reminded of a holy shrine, a natural cathedral. All around her are the sounds of water droplets tapping rhythmically down from the rock, and she can hear the different cadences of them – a metallic tick when they hit a cart or tool, a light slick when they land on stone, a dull thud when they fall on the lip of her hat.

Ahead, Lord Pennant pats his coiled wig.

Rhodri leads them down into the lower caverns, pebbles skimming beneath their boots. The echoing sounds that could be heard from above grow louder for they are in the thick of it now, and as they reach the bottom of the steps the light becomes denser. Linette looks over her shoulder. Above, the cavern entrance is now a crescent moon; the rock ceiling has reduced by half, and the only light is from the guttering candles on the miners’ tin hats. As they pass by them their faces are thrown into devilish relief, making the scowls that line their faces more pronounced. This time, though, those scowls are directed at all of them, not just at Henry. As they squeeze past a windlass, Linette worries her bottom lip.

Colder now. The chambers begin as large and spacious caverns – remnants of earlier dig sites with no more yield – and in some Linette catches a glimpse of strange formations like rough downward spears.

‘What are they?’ she calls up to Rhodri, and his voice throws echoes behind him.

‘Stalactites, milady. Nature’s taking the mine back. We’ve not worked those particular caverns for years.’

The deeper they go, however, the more oddly shaped the chambers become, making it necessary to walk in single file and duck their heads to fit through. How many years has it been since they began mining for copper here? Twenty? More? So many empty caverns! No wonder Julian wishes to go deeper into the mountain. As they pass even smaller caverns veering off from the silt track, Linette spies blocked-off doorways barred with timber, others with offerings of food and water for the bwcaod and coblynau. With a wry smile Linette wonders what Henry will think of those when he reads about them in her book.

That is not all she sees. The too-narrow way is cluttered with wooden carts led by hunch-backed donkeys, the ground littered with discarded pickaxes, chisels and shovels. The walls and lowering ceilings are held up in places with large pillars of wood which, to Linette’s mind, cannot safely secure them. Shooting off the tapering path are more active chambers, every one filled with a crowding of dirty-faced miners. Some kneel at the bases of walls, a mutton-fat candle at their side, but others – to reach the higher walls of the caverns – hang suspended from chains around their left leg, balancing their weight on the other as they chip away at the stone. Linette swallows as a younger lad bows over a large crevice in one of the upper corners, chain swinging precariously.

The path inclines briefly before slanting down again. They pass under carved-out vents in the ceiling, the air growing cooler the deeper they go, and a sharp sort of cold settles uncomfortably between Linette’s ribs. For a moment she experiences a sense of claustrophobia, and though she can see Rhodri’s candle leading the way she runs a hand along the rough-hewn walls to keep her bearings in the semi-dark. Beneath her palm the stone is slick with water and algae, and while the air is sharply fresh, every now and then there comes a faint sulphuric smell.

‘Nearly there.’

Mr Lambeth’s voice trips itself down the line. Linette swallows in relief. How, she wonders as they continue down, can the miners bear it? Even though she knew generally what mining entailed she has never seen them at work, and the reality of it claws at her heart.

Finally, the group reach a chamber, three barrels propped against its entrance. Rhodri guides them in. It is deathly quiet. Two candles are set on some wooden planking beside a pair of rusting cartwheels. The walls are extremely rough here, barely chiselled out from the rockface, red and ochre-tinged. This final cavern is only high enough to stand in with their heads tilted at an angle, but Lord Pennant – a much smaller man – can remain fully upright with no trouble at all, and he looks about the chamber with interest.

‘Hmm. I see.’ He taps a fingernail to his weak chin. ‘I imagined the deeper into the mountain we went, the larger the caverns would become. Getting the wood down here will be monstrous difficult.’ Lord Pennant spreads his hands in a sweeping gesture. ‘I pictured a wonderful open cave, a little like the one we entered through, with pulleys and levers that would send the miners up and down, allowing them to work across a much wider area. The mines, as I’m sure you must agree, would benefit greatly from such a system.’

The candle Rhodri holds flickers. In the wake of it, Henry clears his throat.

‘Do the mines need expanding?’

‘Oh yes!’ Lord Pennant exclaims. ‘And we shall, I’m sure, find a more lucrative yield by doing so.’

‘More lucrative than copper?’

He looks inordinately pleased with Henry’s question.

‘More copper, certainly. But …’

Lord Pennant and Mr Lambeth share a look.

‘Gold.’

Linette laughs then, cannot help it. The older man narrows his eyes, the pandering smile he has been wearing slipping like water over slate.

‘Not this again,’ Linette says, quite unable to keep the scorn from her voice. ‘My cousin has been searching years for such a yield without success. You’re both fanatical.’

Mr Lambeth regards her coldly.

‘And you, Miss Tresilian, would do wise to keep a civil tongue in your head.’

‘A little difficult when his lordship speaks such nonsense.’

Beside her, Henry lets out his breath. ‘Linette …’