Page 10 of The Shadow Key

Julian sinks back down into his armchair, removes a silver case from his inner coat pocket, flips the lid. He selects a thin cigarillo from the top, leans over to light it from the fire, and Linette watches the end glow red at the take. He inhales a steady draw before sitting back again, regards her in that detached way of his which makes her feel as if he were looking through a pane of glass rather than at a fellow human being.

‘Honestly, Linette,’ he says, smoke-wisps escaping his mouth. ‘What a first impression to make! And to burst in here most unbecomingly …’ He sweeps a derogatory glance at her masculine clothes. ‘Where is the green dress I gave you this morning? Well, ’tis done now.’

Defensive, Linette folds her arms across her chest. Never has he approved of her clothes, but what harm does it do him that she wear her father’s old shirts and trousers? The pretty dresses he gives her are simply not fit for purpose, not here, where it rains seven out of the twelve months a year and she spends more of her time outside Plas Helyg than in it. Linette is sure he would feel far more affronted if she ruined all those expensive taffetas and silks on which he has wasted his precious coin! Besides, each and every one of them is damned uncomfortable. Julian certainly would not like it if he felt garrotted by whalebones and ribbons.

‘Perhaps it makes better sense this way,’ he is saying now.

Linette frowns. ‘What does?’

‘Indeed, it would be very unfair to leave the poor man to manage at the gatehouse alone, at least to begin with. He is new to Penhelyg, far away from all he knows. It is the mark of politeness to offer him a room here until he is settled.’

Politeness, perhaps, but Linette does not like the idea of a stranger under her roof. Still, Julian has a point and so she says, grudgingly, ‘I suppose you are right.’

Julian levels her with a stare. ‘I’m glad you agree.’ He twists the cigarillo. ‘The gatehouse, though. Who might have done such a thing? One of the villagers, I expect,’ he murmurs. ‘Hardly surprising, of course.’

At this accusation Linette must press her tongue. She wants to defend them, but Julian’s comment gives her pause. Is there merit to his words? The thought troubles her, just as much as the other that has been niggling at the back of her mind. Merlin snuffles at her thigh. With effort Linette steps forward. That she must ask him this favour, that she is forced to do it, is humiliating.

‘I’ve not the money spare to make repairs,’ she says quietly. ‘What little savings I had left in Plas Helyg’s coffers I spent making the gatehouse up in the first place.’

There is a beat as the import of her declaration sinks in. When it does Julian sighs, and she hears on it the tenor of his disapproval.

‘I did warn you about the risk of spending so much on your tenants.’

Linette does not reply. Julian takes one last drag of the cigarillo; he blows out the smoke, and they both watch its snake-like skein take shape.

‘Very well,’ he says, stubbing the cigarillo out into his empty glass. ‘Go down tomorrow morning, make me a list of what you need. I’ll arrange it all when I’m back in London.’

‘Thank you, Cousin.’

He makes her feel like a child, not at all the independent woman she has always striven to be, and her face flushes red with shame. When he says nothing more she turns to leave, Merlin close at her heels.

It is only as she reaches the door that Julian calls her name. One word, two syllables, yet he manages to drag it out. Linette turns. He is watching her with curious eyes.

‘How did you come to know of the gatehouse?’

Linette lifts her chin.

‘I was on my way home and wanted to offer my greetings to the new doctor. I thought he would be there.’

‘I see. And what were you doing out so late?’

‘I was with Tomas Morgan.’

‘Who?’

She clenches her jaw.

‘A tenant,’ she replies. ‘He’s been sick. I was merely doing my duty, Cousin.’

Linette thinks of the young fisherman, how his body had wracked itself with unrelenting shivers. For near half an hour Tomas coughed up bile the colour of pomegranate peel before settling, exhausted, on the bed. Linette gave aid where she could; she helped keep the water warm as his mother bathed him, she read to them both once he had settled. Mair asked for biblical passages since the words were a much-needed comfort, though Linette set no store on the healing power of scripture.

She knows firsthand it does not work.

‘Well,’ Julian says, breaking into her thoughts. ‘You’d better eat something. Mrs Phillips has kept a plate back, though it will have spoilt by now, I’m sure.’

Linette nods. Hesitates.

‘What is he like, the new doctor?’

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