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Again, Linette translates. One of the other miners steps forward immediately, sinks to the ground on Rhodri’s left side. Linette settles down on his right, and Henry looks at her in surprise.

‘Are you sure?’

She smiles a little with some of her old wry humour. ‘Don’t vex me, Henry.’

‘Then I hope you have a strong stomach.’

‘It’s strong enough.’

He is as fast as safety will allow. The small circular saw is placed above the compression fracture, and he twists with as much pressure he thinks the skull will stand without cracking further. It is the noise that is the worst, its harsh scrape and grind against bone. Linette shuts her eyes, turns her head away. Rowena presses her hand to her mouth. Someone, somewhere, vomits.

It is a hard task. At one point Henry fears he might lose his grip on the instrument, his hold on Rhodri’s head. His upper lip beads with sweat at the strain of it and his palm becomes sticky, but he dare not ask for help lest his concentration slips. But it is Cai who recognises this, Cai who holds his father’s head with a calmness that belies his earlier panic. It is Cai who watches intently as Henry stays true and the saw eventually eases through the skull with a raw dull snap. Blood starts to pool around the circular line.

‘Scalpel.’ He points at the instrument with his free hand. Cai passes it to Henry handle first, then takes the trepan saw from him and places it almost reverently on the ground. The air is filled with an unbearable tension, a tension that simmers through all those who watch.

If he were to slip now, if he does not exert the utmost care, then it will all be over.

Henry turns the scalpel between his fingers, poises its deadly point above Rhodri’s skull. Then, very carefully, Henry prises away the disc of bone. Immediately the blood flows loose and ready, and Linette passes Henry a cloth to stem the deluge. It soaks through almost instantly, but when Henry lifts it he sees the hole is clean, tidy, the healthy pulse of pink brain-matter visible beneath. And then, then, Rhodri stirs between them.

There is a release of collected breath, a shout of laughter. Cai begins to cry.

‘Henry,’ Linette whispers, her voice full of wonderment, but Henry will not bask in it. He knows how crucial these next steps are and so he stitches fast, cleans the blood from Rhodri’s hair and scalp, bandages his head tight.

‘Tell them,’ he says when he is done, ‘that they must keep him still on the way back down the hill as best they can. No jolting to the head, keep it cushioned. He must, must, be kept to his bed until I say he can leave it. Tell them to watch for signs of fever. I shall visit tomorrow.’

Linette does as he asks, and Rhodri – gaining consciousness now – is slowly carried from the field, Cai trailing behind. At the gate the lad turns, stares at Henry as if he does not know what to make of it all. Henry wonders if he means to say something, to thank him perhaps, but then Lord Pennant’s carriage clatters up the hill behind him stirring dust in the wake of its wheels, and the moment passes like a great hand over the face of the sun.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

‘But how bad is it?’

At the cavern entrance Julian is flanked by Mr Lambeth and Lord Pennant. Their voices – high-strung and urgent – carry on a breeze tinged with bracken and the faint stench of sulphur, and together Linette and Henry pick up pace.

‘It’s only the lower cavern,’ the agent stutters. ‘A setback to be sure, but—’

‘How long will it take to clear the debris?’

Her cousin’s voice snaps like a whip. Mr Lambeth – whom Linette always took to be a belligerent, acerbic man – seems to quail in the face of it, and if the situation were not quite so fraught she would exact some pleasure in his discomfort.

‘Some days,’ he says quietly. ‘Perhaps even weeks.’

‘Weeks! What do I pay you for, Lambeth?’

The agent pales further, flips uselessly through the leather folder he clasps close to his chest. ‘I don’t … it’s not … The gunpowder, you see—’

‘Is the mine safe?’ Lord Pennant intercedes in a more lucid tone. ‘Is the site secure beyond the damage to the lower cavern?’

‘We don’t know yet, the miners are still—’

Julian cuts him off sharply with a curse, stamps his cane, turns his face, and the expression on it makes Linette stumble. The anger is pure, unadulterated. Never has she seen him like this, with wildness in his black eyes, a shot of colour spreading high on his cheeks like a claret stain, and when he marks Linette and Henry’s approach he does not bother to shield his temper.

‘Linette, what the hell are you doing here?’

‘These are my tenants, Cousin. Of course I am here.’

‘But they are my workers. This is no place for you.’

She opens her mouth to respond, but before she can do so Henry has placed a warning hand at the small of her back.