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‘It would be my pleasure,’ the vicar replies. ‘That is, if Lady Linette is agreeable?’

Beside Julian, however, Linette has gone very still. Another dinner, another evening of flowered insults delivered by her cousin’s caustic friends. But what can she do? What can she say? Nothing, as always, except play her part.

‘But of course, Mr Dee,’ Linette says with a smile she hopes does not appear forced. ‘Henry will be glad of your company.’

As the men discuss what days might suit the reverend best, Linette searches for Henry in the dwindling crowd. For a moment she does not see him, but then – over the head of one of the miners – she spots him standing at the lychgate with Miss Carew. Their heads are bowed together, intimate. Then, Henry hands Miss Carew a small glass vial. Linette squints. Not the one he found in the gatehouse; this vial is full, not empty. He says something more and Miss Carew nods, slips the bottle into her reticule before disappearing into the lane. Julian presses her elbow.

‘Linette?’

Both men are looking at her.

‘I’m sorry, what was it you said?’ and her cousin purses his lips.

‘I asked if Wednesday was convenient?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Linette says faintly, ‘of course,’ and the reverend shifts his bulk beneath the arch.

‘Then if you will excuse me. So much to do, and a sermon this evening as well. The Lord’s work never ends.’

The men bow. Linette curtseys. As they turn it is to find Henry approaching them, hands buried deep inside his pockets.

‘Ah, Henry,’ Julian says. ‘Are you ready to return to the house? I’m keen to hear your thoughts on what we discussed before I left.’

Henry goes very still. For a moment Linette does not understand, but when a look of unease crosses his face the answer suddenly clicks into place. After everything else, she has forgotten. What was it Henry told her?

Your cousin has asked me to take my professional measure of you.

‘Very well,’ he says, and Linette can hear the deep reluctance in his voice.

‘Splendid. Linette, my dear, I’m sure you can manage without Henry for an hour or two?’

Julian does not wait for an answer. Instead he turns on his heel, heads in the direction of the road.

‘I’m sorry,’ Henry murmurs, as they follow behind.

‘’Tis not your fault,’ she replies.

Her tone is subdued, but he does not reply. Linette licks her lips.

‘What were you discussing just now with Miss Carew?’

His hesitation is obvious. ‘Nothing of consequence,’ he says, and avoiding her gaze he needlessly adjusts the rim of his hat.

Linette stares. Why, she wonders, should he lie about such a simple thing?

Suddenly, she does not want to go home. On the one hand she should stay close, perhaps find a way to listen to Henry and Julian’s conversation unobserved. On the other, she does not want to be near either of them.

‘Cousin,’ she calls, and the tall man turns. ‘I feel like walking home today.’

‘Walking?’ Julian scorns. ‘In all this mud?’

‘Ie, Cousin. A little peace.’

Julian stares at her. She thinks for a moment he will object, but then he simply shrugs his shoulders, turns his head.

‘As you please.’

It is not the comment that stings but Henry’s lack of reaction to it, and with a scowl Linette strides past them between the sinking gravestones of Penhelyg’s dead, through the lychgate on the other side.