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‘Why, yes. You offered your services in response to an advertisement Julian posted on my behalf in one of your English newspapers.’

He stares. ‘Linette. I did not offer my services.’

‘You did. He had your reply within the week.’

She is shocked at how pale he has become. The rain – louder now – vies for attention with the carriage clock on the mantel as she waits for him to speak once more. Finally Henry breathes out, long and slow.

‘I wrote no letter,’ he tells her firmly. ‘This position was offered to me. I had to take it. I had no choice.’

Now it is Linette’s turn to stare. Julian said that, out of all the applicants, Henry had been the best man to replace Dr Evans. And now … now it appears Henry did not apply at all, that he has been, absurdly, sent here.

Julian has lied.

The rain lashes violently against the windowpane, an angry beat against glass that matches the fraught moods of those within.

‘I don’t understand,’ she says. ‘My cousin wrote to you?’ Henry nods his head. Linette’s pulse beats fast in her neck. ‘What do you mean, then, you had to take it? Why didn’t you have any choice?’

His eyes close for a split-second. When he opens them again his brown gaze is shadowed, and for the longest time he is quiet. Then, when Linette starts to think he will not say anything at all Henry sighs, runs a hand through his hair.

‘I suppose it’s time I told you.’

He crosses and uncrosses his legs, as if readying himself for the tale. Disturbed by the movement Merlin stretches, yawns wide.

‘Back in December,’ Henry says quietly, ‘I was called into the governor’s office and asked to examine a gentleman. My reputation, apparently, had preceded me – this man heard I was an accomplished surgeon, that I was renowned for successfully treating more complex cases. My skill with the scalpel was, in Guy’s Hospital at least, unsurpassed. The man in question asked for me specifically.’

Henry stops. Linette waits.

‘He died on the operating table. It happens, in this line of work. Of course it does. Death is an accepted outcome of medicine; we trade in it every single day. But there was no reason why he should have died; his heart had been strong. I still don’t understand it. He exhibited many of the common signs of a cancer –’ he ticks them off on his hand – ‘loss of appetite and weight loss, fever and chills, tremors, nausea, vomiting, weakness, fatigue, abdominal pain, swelling! I made the decision to cut the canker out.’ Henry shakes his head. ‘I was told I’d misdiagnosed the patient. I suppose I must have. The kidney was, after all, clear of infection – there was no canker to remove. And if he’d been any ordinary gentleman, it would simply have been an unfortunate mistake.’

Linette regards him evenly. ‘But?’

‘But my patient, as it turns out, was a very important man. Not only was he a patron of the hospital, he was a viscount, a respected member of the beau monde. He held a seat in Parliament. The governor had assured his family I was the best person to treat him, that my reputation and skill were of the highest order, and so my failure was an embarrassment to the hospital. If reports were to publicly circulate that he had died within the walls of Guy’s then the hospital would have lost its funding. Even had the family not insisted I be dismissed, the board would have done it anyway.’ He grimaces. ‘Their reputation was at stake, they told me, and I was in no position to argue. I thought I could secure a position elsewhere but despite their best efforts to keep the matter secret, news of my failure somehow reached other hospitals, because my attempts at finding another post were thwarted at every turn.’

Henry’s eyes narrow. ‘It is only when I received the letter offering me a position here that I felt hope. But now?’ He clenches his fists on the table. ‘You say your cousin received a letter from me as a candidate to fill the post. But it was Julian who wrote to me!’

Linette can feel the frustration coming off him like mountain mist, can see he is striving to master himself, and she too must fight to keep her composure, but a sick sort of feeling slithers over her like an eel and tethers itself to her spine. If Julian has lied about this, what else has he lied about?

By heaven, what is going on?

As if in answer, Henry buries his head in his hands.

‘This is too much.’

Linette barely hears him, must lean in.

‘Too much?’

‘First the gatehouse, the shot in the woods. Then Dr Evans, Dr Beddoe. This. And …’ He raises his head to look at her. ‘Linette, there’s something else.’

The eel writhes. What else, after everything they have already discovered, can there possibly be?

At this moment there is the sound of carriage wheels crunching noisily across the gravel drive outside, and together they look to the window just in time to see a grey stallion pull a phaeton into the stables, a dark-haired man at its helm.

Finally. Julian is home.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Their procession to church is accomplished on the skirts of an unseasonably brisk breeze.