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‘In short, I feel that Linette is merely a woman of strong beliefs who takes great pride in her role as mistress of Penhelyg. Indeed, I have a deep respect for her – I’ve never known a woman as enterprising as she is. You should be very proud of everything she has achieved here.’

Some emotion darkens Julian’s face. The fire cracks. He places his glass on the marquetry table between them.

‘I see. Well. I confess myself relieved, then, on that score.’ Julian tosses the stub of his cigarillo into the fire, steeples his fingers together. ‘Neglect is a harsh word, Henry, but perhaps not completely undeserving. I confess, I never much liked children, and by the time Linette came of an age to be interesting … well, the damage, so to speak, was done.’ He smiles softly. ‘It’s a comfort to know you have succeeded in gaining her trust and friendship where I could not. Still, I see now it is not appropriate for the pair of you to be so much in each other’s company.’

The last was said in a decidedly pointed tone, and the implication makes Henry sit up in his seat.

‘Surely you do not think Linette and I have formed an attachment?’

Julian reaches for his glass again and takes a sip, swills the port around his mouth before swallowing, Adam’s apple rising sharp above his cravat.

‘You asked if my business was productive,’ he says, ignoring Henry’s question. ‘While in London I also arranged for the repairs to the gatehouse. A ship follows mine at the port in Abermaw – I never do travel by road, far too slow and uncomfortable – and it should be here tomorrow. Work will begin as soon as the men arrive, and I’d like to see you established there before the week is out.’

Henry’s surprise at Julian’s suspicion in regards to the nature of his and Linette’s relationship pales in comparison to this unwanted news. He had not expected the repairs to be under way so speedily, and to leave Plas Helyg would be a risk. If Enaid Evans is as dangerous as he now suspects, then it would not be prudent to leave Linette and Lady Gwen alone.

Especially Gwen.

And of course, there is the matter of Julian, his dishonesty surrounding Henry’s employment. He looks at the older man sitting opposite him, his harsh features, those black eyes that reveal nothing at all …

‘I had not thought to quit Plas Helyg so soon,’ Henry says slowly. ‘I would not want your men to hurry with the gatehouse. I’d be quite content to stay here for the coming weeks while they carry out the repairs.’

Julian shakes his head. ‘The men are fast workers; I employed them for that very reason. No, I think you’d be much more comfortable there. The sooner you remove to Dr Evans’ old haunt, the better.’

If there was an ideal moment to bring up Dr Evans’ death and, indeed, the matter of his employment it is now, but instinctively Henry knows to hold his tongue.

Observation. Contemplation. Interrogation.

Watch and wait.

Henry strokes the pocketwatch that still rests in his hand, thumb scuffing over the filigree engravings, the H and T of his name. Julian gestures to it with his glass.

‘A most unusual timepiece. Might I see it?’

Julian does not wait for permission, reaches across the Turkish rug, and Henry is obliged to unclip the watch from his waistcoat. As Lord Tresilian takes it, Henry’s eyes drift once again to his little finger.

‘If you don’t mind me asking, that signet ring you wear—’

‘Mm? What of it?’

His lordship is still examining the watch, its swirling filigree patterns on the dial, the engraved initials.

‘Linette thought it was the Tresilian family crest, but I saw a similar ring on Dr Beddoe, which I found odd since the symbol is also on that large book of yours in the cabinet.’

Julian is silent a little too long. When he looks up it is in a way that makes Henry distinctly uneasy.

‘You have a knack of noticing things others do not,’ he says, ‘but I suppose as a surgeon that is hardly surprising.’ A beat. ‘You’re right, it’s not a family crest.’

‘What is it, then?’

‘What is it? Well now …’ Julian grows thoughtful. ‘What would you say if I told you I’m part of a select gathering of people who subscribe to a more open philosophy of thinking?’

‘A club.’

He does not say the words that come next, though they echo loudly in his head: Hellfire.

‘A club, yes.’

Henry nods. Dares.