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‘Ah!’ Lord Pennant exclaims, buoyant again. ‘Dr Talbot also dislikes that vicious sting in your tongue. Do you, my dear doctor, not see the merit in our plans? Expansion, investment, that’s the ticket! These are rich lands, to be sure, and I do not think the scheme so far outside the realms of reality.’

‘Perhaps not, sir, but matters of safety must be considered. These mines are already over-crowded and I see precious few measures in place to secure the workers’ protection. Some of them are mere children. I’ve already been advised there have been accidents. Deaths. Dr Evans set some broken arms this past year, so I understand, and two years ago one lad – a Cai Jones – broke his leg and has been unable to work since. If you wish to expand, such considerations must be made.’

At his son’s name Rhodri had looked up and stared at Henry, hard. It is a shame, Linette thinks, that the man does not understand how Henry came to Cai’s defence just then. Lord Pennant, however, does understand Henry’s words but has no care for them – Linette can tell by the stubborn pout of his lip, the dismissive nodding that makes the tight curls of his mousy wig bob.

‘That,’ he says, ‘is all by the by. There’s no shortage of men available for challenging work—’

‘Not here,’ Linette cuts in. ‘The only men left in Penhelyg are the farmers, and you cannot employ them.’

‘The shortfall can be employed across the border, if the Welsh will not oblige. Further afield, if necessary.’

‘But not everyone will agree to work in such conditions. We do not have slaves here, unlike in your Jamaican plantations.’

Lord Pennant hesitates. He did not, it seems, realise she knew.

‘How do they fare, by the way?’ Linette adds drily. ‘I would have thought that with the abolitionists gaining ground your days of easy money are numbered. I wonder, sir, if that is why your ships are such a commodity? You must be rather desperate to fatten your pocketbook nowadays.’

Again, Henry touches her back, but she cannot help it – it is one of Linette’s few pleasures in life, to watch men like Lord Pennant squirm. Indeed, despite the dimness of the cavern she can see his cheeks have reddened to puce.

‘Your tongue will get you in trouble, one day,’ he says softly. ‘It is a shame that you have such a narrow-minded attitude. Your cousin is completely the opposite, a truly enterprising man.’

Linette presses her lips. Henry drops his hand from her back. Rhodri, still hovering at the cavern entrance, sniffs loudly, clearly impatient at listening to a conversation he does not understand, and Mr Lambeth notices, tucks the leather folder underneath his arm.

‘Time to go, I think.’

‘Yes,’ Lord Pennant returns. ‘I believe I’ve gleaned all I can here. Shall we?’

With one last pointed look at Linette, Lord Pennant turns on his heel and the men retreat from the cavern, Rhodri leading the way, leaving Linette and Henry alone. She turns to him, fully expecting him to scold her, but strangely he is staring at the far end of the cavern into the deep dark, eyes narrowed into slits.

‘Henry, what is it?’

‘I … I thought …’ He sounds confused. ‘I thought I saw some lights.’

‘Lights?’

‘Like candles, but somehow …’

Linette steps past him, looks into the murk.

‘I can’t see anything. Candles, you say?’

‘Yes,’ Henry murmurs, ‘but they were different colours. Two red, one blue. Of course, that’s ridiculous.’

Uneasy, Linette stares at him.

‘A trick of the light,’ she murmurs. ‘The tunnels must go further back, and you saw some miners crossing one of the paths. That is all.’

Henry stares a moment longer, then shakes himself as if coming to his senses.

‘You’re right, of course. The enclosed space must be playing tricks on my mind.’

His words are firm, but Linette can see from his face he does not believe them.

‘Come,’ she says. ‘Let us go back before we cannot see our way out.’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Henry sleeps fitfully, his mind too alive to settle properly, and at a quarter to one o’clock he finds himself wide awake, staring up at the ceiling and its ornamental grooves. Absently he presses the rough points of the whelk shell Mrs Morgan gave him with his fingers; he finds it soothes him, helps ground his perilous thoughts, nature’s own little anxiety relief.