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Perhaps she was mistaken. It is perfectly possible. But Linette is sure – absolutely sure – that the strange word she heard uttered on the last lingering screech of a gull, was Berith.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Late afternoon inched into night. By ten o’clock four more miners were recovered from the cavern, leaving another four yet to be found. The atmosphere had been solemn, the air filled with such fearful melancholy that Linette could almost taste it, and it was not until one in the morning that she and Henry returned to Plas Helyg. On Linette’s invitation Miss Carew accompanied them – it was not right, Henry said, to let her walk up to Moelfre alone at such an hour – and after all she had done to assist them that day, Linette felt it uncharitable to refuse.

Sleep, though, was an elusive promise. Ink blue turned to steel grey as dawn crept up over the mountains, and the sun had barely risen as Linette and Henry made their way back up to the mine, the servants’ trap in tow. Again Linette gave succour where she could, while Miss Carew tended to those possessing more superficial cuts and grazes. To her dismay Dr Beddoe did not come, the letter Linette hastily wrote the day before pleading for help ignored, and Henry was, in the main, left to deal with the miners by himself.

At nine, young Alwyn – Arthur Lloyd’s lad – was found. Cold and hungry, a broken rib, yet, miraculously, otherwise unscathed. It gave Linette hope the others would be found in no worse a condition.

But no such luck was to be had.

She and Miss Carew were serving refreshments the moment the shouts came some hours later. Heart in her mouth Linette had rushed to the cavern entrance where Henry was tying off a stitch on the knee of one of the donkeys. Below, the darkness within the tunnels flickered with candlelight, getting brighter and brighter as footsteps splashed noisily in puddles on the path. ‘Doctor, dewch ar frys!’ called one of the men. ‘Rydyn ni wedi dod o hyd iddyn nhw!’ shouted another, and Linette swallowed hard.

Doctor, come quickly. We have found them.

The wait for Henry to return was torturous. Minutes passed in which the premonition in the pit of her stomach clenched so painfully Linette felt sure she would soon be sick. Indeed, she almost was when the bodies were finally brought up on their meagre pallets. All were covered with thick mine dust, could be mistaken for stone statues had it not been for the fact that Linette knew who they were.

The first body was a man of indeterminable age, whiskers caked with dried blood; his mouth fell oddly, teeth missing, tongue bitten near in half. The next was no more than a year or two older than Henry. Punctured lungs, he told her softly with a sad shake of the head, an agonising way to die. But the last … A boy of thirteen. There was no question of what killed him; his skull had been crushed, an ugly pit in the left side of his head the size of a fist.

Pedr and Hywel. Afan.

One of the other miners covered the bodies with a blanket, wiped his eyes with the cuff of his dirty sleeve. For a long moment neither Henry nor Linette spoke, the horror of it all too poignant.

‘Where were they found?’ she managed at last.

‘That final cavern,’ Henry replied, a haunted expression on his face, and Linette sucked in her breath.

Two men and a boy.

Two red, one blue.

Did Henry remember what he saw down there that day? Those strange flickering lights?

Both Linette and Henry tried to delay the welcome dinner that evening, but Julian would not hear of it. Their argument – that such a meal would be in bad taste under the circumstances – fell on deaf ears. Would you have the servants’ efforts go to waste? her cousin lectured, and to that she had no answer. Now, standing in the vestibule to await their guests, Linette shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot.

Her skin itches, her ribs hurt. Linette sighs, twists her shoulder, tries to unpick the dress from her armpit. It is the pretty full-skirted affair of green silk which Julian gave her for her birthday, but she hates it – why suffer so, when she has the means to be comfortable in her father’s old clothes? But Julian, says he, will not have it. Not tonight.

Tonight, he says, is special.

Next to her he is everything elegant, from his coiled black hair to his neat slippers, his formal suit of satin to the cloying cologne that sticks in Linette’s nostrils. He appears completely at ease, embodies perfectly the lord of the manor, but then, Julian is in his element in formal situations. He dines with the upper echelons of society, drinks with politicians, the cream of the beau monde. He need not suffer people he does not like, nor need he wear a too-tight corset of whalebone and stockings that pinch behind his knees. It is just as Linette moves to prise the offending garment from her leg that Julian whips around sharply, his patience clearly at fray.

‘Please stop fidgeting,’ he snaps.

‘Forgive me, Cousin,’ Linette bites out. ‘But you know I am not used to wearing a dress.’

He looks at her then, slides a considering gaze up and down her figure, before raising it to the full-bloomed gorse flower Enaid has placed in her pomaded hair.

‘A pity, you know, considering you can look rather lovely when you make the effort.’ Julian pushes a finger beneath her chin to raise it, and Linette stiffens. ‘Yes,’ he murmurs. ‘A great pity indeed.’ He releases her then, looks toward the staircase. ‘Where’s our guest of honour? I’ll be most put out if he is late to his own dinner.’

As if on cue Henry appears at the top of the stairs, Merlin at his heels. Tall and handsome in a simple yet elegant suit of fine black wool, Henry is concentrating on taking one step after the other so he might not trip, but halfway down he looks up. The polite smile on his face slips as he takes Linette in.

She feels embarrassed, ashamed. Henry has only ever seen her wearing old unflattering garments, garments in which Linette feels completely at ease, but this attire makes her feel like a trussed-up doll, a sham of herself. A fraudulent fool.

Henry comes to stand in front of them, bows stiffly in greeting.

‘Good evening.’ He nods politely at Julian, then looks to Linette. For a moment he appears not to know what to say. ‘You look …’ Henry ducks his head, catching himself. ‘Forgive me, Linette. I’m not used to seeing you like this.’

‘I was just saying so myself,’ Julian says. ‘Is she not a picture?’