Page 125 of The Shadow Key

‘I didn’t know what to believe,’ their mother says, ‘nor did I care. I was happy, happier than I could ever have expected to be, except for one thing. Hugh and I had been married for nearly four years by then, but we had struggled to conceive. Yet not long after Julian introduced the sacrificial ceremonies …’ Her mouth twists. ‘Our joy, however, was short-lived. It was as if it were Julian’s triumph, not ours. He said that my pregnancy was proof anything could be achieved as long as Berith was on our side. His vehemence disturbed us. It frightened me. Hugh and I decided it was best to bow out of the Order after that.’

The chain of the cabinet begins to shake. Cadoc – who has until this moment stood so silent Linette has forgotten he is there – very carefully lowers the lid. He is looking at his mistress now with an expression Linette has never seen him wear before; a look of pity mixed with something else. Is that bewilderment she sees on his sallow face?

‘We could have refused Julian access from then on,’ her mother continues, ‘but at that point – aside from those poor hens – he had done nothing particular to cause concern. It was all talk, that’s what we thought. The club too had dwindled by then to a select few; the Pennants and Selwyns, others of their more immediate acquaintance, people in London whom Julian cultivated in order to enrich his financial and political partnerships, and so Hugh and I did not mind that they came to Penhelyg just as long as they kept themselves to themselves.’

Their mother falls silent a moment. A flash of pain in her grey-green eyes.

‘Hugh and I went to London before the birth. You weren’t due for another few weeks, and I was desperate for some distraction. Away from Julian, the Order. Plas Helyg. Even Enaid.’ Lady Gwen dips her head, squeezes the old woman’s hand. ‘She had begun to smother me, in those last months. I craved the freedom I used to have, just one last time, before the baby came. But some days later Julian followed, tried again to convince us of Berith’s power. We argued, for hours it seems, and the distress of it …’ She swallows. ‘Later that night I went into labour. Dr Beddoe was called—’

‘Beddoe?’ Henry interrupts, sharp, and Lady Gwen nods.

‘He ran a practice in London at the time. It’s how we all met. But yes, it was Elis who attended me, and when Julian saw you both he claimed it to be a miracle. Twins, he said, one boy, one girl, the surest sign that Berith had blessed us. He kept referring to an old archaic quote he’d found; something about bonds and unions, claimed the demon wanted you for his own. Julian said that if we were to make you both a sacrifice, Berith would ensure our fortunes for the rest of our lives.’

Again Linette looks at the locks of hair from the cabinet. She looks at the darker curl. Henry’s. Her brother.

Her twin.

That is why Linette became so attached to him so quickly, recognised in him a kindred spirit, a shared affinity. The same stubbornness, the same temper. She and Henry were made of the same cloth, though their resemblance is a shifting thing; Linette takes after Gwen, Henry after Hugh and in turn, Julian. All those times his expression stirred in her a feeling of recognition! She glances up at the portrait of her parents, of Julian beside them. Hugh and Julian look so similar. No wonder she recognised Henry, deep down.

‘Hugh would not stand for it,’ Lady Gwen continues tiredly. ‘He ordered Elis from the house, Julian too when he became aggressive. That very night your father visited other members of the Order, men he trusted – a Bow Street official and a member of the High Court Justice – explaining what had happened, begging them to arrest Julian. But it did no good.’

‘No good?’ Henry, this.

She shakes her head.

‘They refused to help – they were loyal to Julian and saw Berith as a way of advancing themselves, no matter the means. Men of power, they hold it all. If those of high office can turn a blind eye to such monstrosities, what could be done? We had no choice but to take matters into our own hands. It was the idea of twins that obsessed Julian, and if it was essential to his cause that you should be kept together …’

‘So you separated us.’

Lady Gwen nods.

‘It was a terrible choice to make, which one of you to lose, but in the end it was obvious. A boy would get along better in the world than a girl. A boy could make a life for himself. A safe life. There was no guarantee Linette could do the same. So I gave Hugh all my jewels to be put in trust with the Foundling Hospital so that when you came of age a suitable education could be paid for. Hugh left the pocketwatch as a token, in the hope we could be reunited in time.’

Henry removes the silver watch from his pocket and places it into the palm of his hand, the initials H T facing up, then looks down at the locks of hair in the cabinet. Watching him, Lady Gwen’s mouth twists. She looks ragged now, as if the confession has spent her strength. She sits back against the windowsill, leans her fair head against the glass.

‘Early the next morning, we began the journey back to Plas Helyg. We knew we had perhaps six hours before Julian discovered us gone. And when he did …’ She takes a shuddering breath. ‘He caught up with us a day later. He tried to flag us down, but Hugh pushed the horses harder. It had been raining, Julian would not … The carriage …’

Lady Gwen presses a shaking hand to her eyes. Beneath his breath Linette hears Cadoc swear, and she turns to him, wide-eyed. He is leaning now against the wall, looking monstrous pale. When he catches her looking, the butler shakes his head in dismay.

‘I was ill when your parents left for London. I’d caught cold during a hunting party, and Lord Hugh insisted I stay behind. When Julian turned up at the door of Plas Helyg with a screaming baby and her ladyship insensible, saying my master had been involved in an accident …’ He shakes his head. ‘O’r nefoedd, I wish I’d been there. I could have stopped this, I could have—’

‘Done nothing,’ Lady Gwen cuts in. ‘There is nothing you could have done that we had not already.’

‘I could have shot him.’

A tired smile passes her lips. ‘No, Cadoc. I am glad you were not there. If you’d been a part of Henry’s escape you would have been in danger from Julian. And who else could have protected Linette?’

He has nothing to say to that, it seems. It is Enaid who breaks the silence, and she looks at both Linette and Henry, watery-eyed.

‘After the accident, my lady was in such distress that I had trouble making sense of anything she said. She kept repeating the word Berith, over and over. It seemed she had gone mad with grief. When Julian arranged for a special tincture to calm her I thought it was to ease her pain, but I see now it was to loosen her tongue, desperate to find Sir Henry. When it became clear the tincture only muddled her mind further I think Julian must have realised it was better this way – anything she said regarding his plans would be considered mere ravings. Oh, but I should have known! I should have known!’

Lady Gwen sighs, lowers her hand.

‘You could not have, Enaid,’ she says softly. ‘Besides, I welcomed oblivion. I wanted to forget. I did not want to think about any of it. I was dependent on the tincture, in the end.’

‘But what of Dr Evans?’ Linette asks. ‘Surely he knew Mamma was being drugged?’

‘Yes,’ Enaid sighs, ‘he knew, could never understand why Julian insisted upon it. Surely, he said, it was better for my lady to grieve her husband rather than pretend none of it had happened at all? I agreed, but when she lashed out at him in one of her fits we finally accepted it was the kindest treatment.’

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