Page 36 of The Shadow Key

‘Thank you,’ he says. Remembers to say it in Welsh.

‘Diolch.’

A pause.

‘Diolch,’ she returns.

The emphasis is different. He raises his head, sees the way she looks at him, her expression kindly, open, and Henry realises she is correcting him. He repeats the word, makes the i sound like an e.

This time, Mrs Morgan smiles.

The other villagers are not so accommodating; only two of the coastal cottages opened their doors. Dictionary once more employed he was able to communicate that he was a doctor, to ask if anyone needed assistance, but their response was a vigorous shake of the head and a hard slam of the door.

Henry knows he must persevere with them. If there is no life for him here, no career for him, where else can he go? What else can he do? Time, he thinks, is the only thing on his side. In time, they will accept him.

They must.

Dejected, Henry leads the cob back across the salt marsh, up through the lane. Halfway he stops, contemplates the hedgerow at his right, the glimpse of cottages beyond. What was it Linette told him? He remembers the names she gave – Bryn Parry, Bronwen Lewis. Gareth Griffiths, his wife, Catrin – all, it seems, in need of assistance.

Henry dismounts, guides Gwydion through the arched gap in the hedge, and in that moment a door from one of the other cottages opens. Out through the low-lintelled door steps a man carrying a thick walking stick crudely made from a tree branch. He is dressed all in black, from his buckle shoes to his tricorn hat. The only shot of colour is the simple white neckcloth at his collar.

‘Ah!’ the man exclaims when he sees Henry, face splitting into a wide smile. ‘You’re the new doctor, then?’ He ambles across the grass, trampling daisies in his wake. ‘Dr Talbot, yes?’

‘That I am,’ Henry replies, cautious, but he holds out his hand in greeting all the same. The man shakes it hard as though he is pulling on a bell rope. Henry tries not to flinch.

‘I’m very pleased to meet you,’ he beams. ‘I am the Reverend Mr Owain Dee, Penhelyg’s vicar. Well met, Dr Talbot. Very well met indeed!’

The vicar is lantern-jawed and steel-wigged, severe in his looks, but his hazel eyes are warm, the smile genuine, and Henry finds himself daring to relax.

‘I must say,’ he ventures, ‘it is a relief to find someone who speaks English – indeed, who is happy to speak to me at all.’

The reverend’s eyes glint with amusement. ‘Having trouble, I take it?’

Henry says nothing but he does not have to; the answer must clearly be writ upon his face for the vicar sighs, shakes his head.

‘They’re an obstinate lot, I’m afraid. Mrs Lewis there –’ and here Mr Dee nods to the cottage he has just vacated – ‘might be a little more forthcoming, but I would not disturb her today. I’ve just blessed her baby and now that the little mite has finally stopped crying his mother has taken the opportunity to sleep. She’ll not appreciate the interruption.’ Next he nods to the furthest cottage where a goat grazes in a pen. ‘You’ll get nothing out of Bryn Parry, either, but he’s always been a difficult one, stubborn as a mule. Even Dr Evans struggled to find him agreeable.’

The vicar pauses here, shakes his head.

‘Poor Wynn,’ he says. ‘Sorely missed. Sorely missed indeed.’

Henry’s senses sharpen. ‘You knew the old doctor well?’

Mr Dee brightens. ‘Very well! He was a good friend of mine. We often went walking together, climbed Cadair Idris a few days before he died. If I’d known that was the last time we were to see each other … Well, God saw fit to take him, and who am I to argue with the will of the Lord?’

The latter Henry ignores; God or the Devil, he scarce has time for either. But the former …

‘Forgive me, what is Cadair Idris?’

‘A mountain, dear boy! Over the estuary from Abermaw. A beauty of a thing it is, lots of rugged peaks. Good for the legs.’

He slaps his thighs at the last with a grin, and vaguely Henry recalls a larger mountain nestled between some others along the coastal road from Dolgellau to Abermaw the day he arrived, a cluster of oddly shaped points that reminded him, strangely, of a giant’s sleeping face.

‘Tell me,’ he says now. ‘Did you find him in good health?’

Mr Dee leans back on his heels. ‘I should say so. A little doddery at times but he made no complaint.’

Henry frowns, contemplates his next words, means to glean more information from this barrelled-bodied vicar, but then that man’s eyes catch at a point behind him.

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