Page 101 of The Shadow Key

‘I would not,’ her cousin continues, ‘ascribe rainbows to bridges or earthquakes to beasts, nor would I consider magic an unexplained science. I rather subscribe to the notion that science and arcane magic are two very real and separate things.’ Julian twists his ring. ‘As you’re aware I’ve collected many books over the years that speak of ancient scientific arts and spiritual awakening, texts which offer a more nuanced and broader view of the world and its many mysteries. Henry and I spoke of it a few days ago, did we not?’

Linette looks sharply at him. He meets her gaze, does not look away, and again she is conscious of what secrets he keeps. What else is Linette not privy to? Henry offers a tight-lipped smile.

‘You mentioned alchemy, but I did not realise you considered it to be magic.’

‘Nor do I. I consider alchemy a science. But if that science were to combine with the mystical knowledge the ancients held, well. Think what might be achieved. Such a powerful combination of the two has not yet been seen.’

Mr Dee frowns deeply at him. ‘Forgive me, my lord. I do not understand.’

‘Gold,’ Julian says softly, ‘is the world’s most precious commodity, is it not?’

He gestures to a space behind him, at nothing in particular it would seem, but Linette sucks in her breath, realising in that instance precisely what he is referring to. A piece of stone stored within a glass cabinet, the shining yellow flecks that sparkle within it …

‘Think of the possibilities. Slate to copper, copper to gold. The world at one’s feet. This is why we must keep up our work in the mines, despite its dangers.’

Linette stares. Expansion, investment; that is what Lord Pennant said. Is this what he meant? Julian is not looking for gold, then, but a fresh vein of copper. Copper to turn, somehow, into gold, and a fissure of fury spindles up her spine.

‘My God, Cousin,’ Linette breathes. ‘Three people are dead, many others injured. Some have been maimed for life. Was that all for this?’

Her ribs hurt against the corset, chest tight in its laces. Julian merely regards her over his wine glass, his expression a perfect blank.

‘I fear,’ he says softly, ‘that the conversation might be taking an unfortunate turn. Come, Linette,’ and here he smiles in that way of his she has grown to hate. ‘Let us not ruin this evening by quarrelling. This is a night of celebration.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

It is just as well Cadoc and Angharad come to clear the plates at that moment, for if they had not Linette is quite sure her temper would have spilt itself over without restraint.

Beside her, Mr Dee touches her arm.

‘Are you all right, my lady?’

‘Yes,’ Linette whispers.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, vicar. I am well.’

With a frown – for it is clear he does not believe her – Mr Dee settles back into his seat, and clutching at her wine glass, Linette takes a steadying sip as the conversation steers into safer waters; Sir John shares his ambition of cultivating an Arab line of horses for the King’s guards, which naturally leads on to how the Pennants’ youngest son gets along under Horatio Nelson’s captaincy. While Henry and Mr Dee are able to engage with the discussion in a limited and markedly subdued manner, Linette contributes nothing at all.

Nor does Miss Carew.

As Linette pours herself another glass of wine, that woman catches her gaze across the platter of salmagundy, offers a shy smile. There is a gentle sympathy in Miss Carew’s amber-brown eyes, but Linette – her resentment and anger still simmering so quietly beneath the calm mask she wears – does not have the energy to smile back. Instead she merely stares at Miss Carew until that sweet smile slips and she turns her face away to answer something Henry has asked, their heads bent together in quiet conference. He is gentlemanlike, attentive, looks at Miss Carew as if she were some rare and otherworldly being, or a crystal vase that might shatter at the smallest touch. With Miss Carew his face is more open, his voice lighter; he does not act on edge as if a blade presses into the soft hollow of his neck. With Miss Carew, Henry is a completely different man.

Jealousy – and it is jealousy, Linette acknowledges that now – twists in the pit of her stomach. Henry and Miss Carew share something in which she has no part; something more than friendship, something that hints of a feeling which Linette has never had the opportunity to feel with anyone, sheltered as she has always been. Not even that silly adolescent attraction she experienced with Tomas all those years ago comes close.

But, Linette remembers, as Henry whispers something in Miss Carew’s shell-like ear, that is not the only thing they share.

Between them lies a secret.

What was the other vial he gave her that day in the churchyard?

So many unanswered questions, so many things left unsaid. That unaccounted-for vial, the one found at the gatehouse. Undoubtedly the two are connected. Linette steals a look down the table at Dr Beddoe where he leans across his plate speaking with Mr Lambeth. How can Henry sit so calmly at the same table as the man he considers responsible for Dr Evans’ murder? It is as if he no longer cares.

She does not understand.

Suddenly Linette feels sick, does not want to finish the wine, does not want to be here at this table at all. The conversation around them is an incessant buzz, a troubling distraction, and if it were not for her inability to focus, Linette might have noticed the dining-room door swinging slowly open sooner than she did but it is too late to warn them, too late to prevent her mother padding barefoot across the ornate rug as if in a dream.

The table falls silent, though the atmosphere is charged with anticipation. Across from her Henry stiffens in his seat; she sees in him the same concern that has clamped itself to her ribcage.

---