Page 64

No reply. Instead the sound moves off, retreats down the corridor like a whisper. Henry swings his legs out of bed, swiftly moves to the bedroom door. Opens it.

Nobody there.

Uncertain, Henry steps out into the corridor. The moon is waxing; he can tell for the corridor is bright, and he shifts to look at the view from its windows.

There is a whiteish light across the willow trees. The silhouettes of mountains stand tall against a royal blue sky, marred only by a thin whisp of silver cloud, and Henry presses his face to the window. Stars blink down at him like milky eyes. He is amazed how bright they are, and it occurs to him then that this is the first time he has ever seen the stars look like this. Did he even see them in London? Did he ever dare look up? Or had he always been too distracted by work, too preoccupied with flesh and bone than nature’s more palatable gifts?

He turns away, walks the corridor. The family portraits stare down at him, and he comes to a stop beneath the one of Gwen, Hugh and Julian. Again he regards its unusual detail. His eyes pass over the gleaming coins, the sapphires, the skull, rest then on the gold dagger. Henry sucks in his breath. Again, that symbol: it has been painted on the dagger’s blade!

Suddenly a muffled cry breaks the silence from the floor above, and there comes then the sound of a door, thundering feet that beat across the upper corridor. They rush down the stairs with all the ferocity of a bull, and then the small door leading to the third floor flies open with a bang.

Enaid Evans stands at the threshold in her nightdress, eyes bright with fear.

‘Dr Talbot!’ she cries upon seeing him. ‘The mistress – she’s gone!’

‘Gone?’

‘I woke up and she was not in her bed!’

Henry takes her soft arm. The old woman trembles in his grasp, the frills of her lace nightcap trembling with her.

‘I’m sure she’s not gone far,’ Henry soothes. ‘I heard a rustling at my door not five minutes ago. It must have been her.’

‘You don’t understand!’ the old woman cries. ‘She’s been known to wander outside at night. We must retrieve her before she gets to the front door!’

‘Enaid?’

Linette – eyes heavy with sleep – appears at the bottom of the stairs. She is pulling an oversized dressing gown around her lean shoulders, trapping her long hair underneath its collar so it looks as though it has been cut short at her neck. Henry can smell that now familiar hint of vanilla on the air.

‘What is it? What has happened?’

‘Your mother’s out of bed,’ Henry provides, and Linette pulls the strings of the gown tight around her waist.

‘Why didn’t you lock the door?’ she asks Enaid, to which the old woman wrings her hands again.

‘I did! She took the key when I wasn’t looking!’

Linette sighs, meets Henry’s gaze across the old woman’s head.

‘She does this sometimes. Will you help?’

Henry inclines his head. ‘You know you need not ask.’

They find Gwen Tresilian in the vestibule, though she is not attempting to open Plas Helyg’s wide front door as Mrs Evans had feared. Instead she stands, motionless, in front of the chasm-like fireplace.

The housekeeper sighs with relief.

‘My lady! Come, now, come back to bed.’

Lady Gwen is swaying. Henry approaches her cautiously on one side, Linette on the other, and he is struck with the notion of them stalking innocent prey, a cruel game of cat and mouse.

‘Can you hear them?’ she whispers.

‘I can’t hear anything,’ Henry says. ‘What is it you hear?’

‘Wings. Beating. Poor, poor thing!’

Henry shares a look with Linette. She shakes her head tiredly.