Page 38 of The Shadow Key

‘’Tis a great pity,’ he says over his shoulder, ‘they are not more welcoming. It will take a while, I fear, for my flock to make their peace with your presence.’

‘So I’ve already been advised,’ Henry returns. ‘I cannot fathom why. Linette Tresilian says it is because I am English, but I find it hard to believe they hate me just because of that.’

Mr Dee stops, turns. He and Miss Carew share a look.

‘I’m afraid there’s a little more to it.’ He cups the wooden head of his staff with both palms. ‘Ancient history, you see.’

‘No,’ Henry says. ‘I don’t see.’

‘Hmm.’ The reverend’s open face closes briefly. ‘The villagers have had some troubling interactions with Plas Helyg over the years. For the household to employ an Englishman, well … it is unlikely they should warm to you easily.’

‘I still don’t understand.’

They have reached the square. Three young women pass behind the vicar, tilting their yokes. They stare at Henry, eyes narrowed, speak between them without even attempting to lower their voices. Miss Carew says something to them in Welsh, and visibly reluctant the girls move on.

The vicar turns then, raises his whorled stick to point.

‘You see the church?’

Henry looks to where the Reverend Dee is signalling. Through the copse of willow trees – across the fields – he spies a distant stone roof, a Celtic cross on its top set in relief against fat clouds.

‘I see it.’

‘My cottage is across the way,’ the vicar says. ‘I am ministering to the poor today so cannot invite you now, but do come to tea sometime soon for I shall be glad to speak with you further. I’m sure you will appreciate a friendly ear.’

Henry would.

‘Thank you. I shall come as soon as I can.’

Mr Dee’s lantern jaw splits into a toothy smile. ‘Splendid. Splendid! In the meantime I shall do my best to alleviate the villagers’ fears. Take heart, Dr Talbot. God is on your side.’

Henry bows his head in farewell, watches the reverend make his way across the square and knock on the door of one of the houses on the other side. A breeze picks up, on its tail the sharp scent of cut grass, Miss Carew’s lavender perfume.

‘Had you come from the Morgans’?’ she asks him now, and Henry turns to her.

‘I did.’

‘And how is Tomas?’

Henry hesitates. The herbs she gave him clearly did not work – it is only by his own direction that Tomas Morgan begins to improve. Still, he cannot bring himself to say so.

‘He does better,’ he says instead.

She smiles. Her teeth are straight except for one crooked incisor in her upper jaw that overlaps the front left tooth, but instead of marring her beauty, to Henry, it adds to it.

‘I am glad.’

‘Good.’ Henry pauses. ‘Forgive me, I had not meant to belittle your ways. To offend you.’

‘You did not offend me,’ she replies. Soft, like feathers. It sends his pulse racing.

A line of ducks crosses the square. Distractedly Henry tracks their meandering progress, watches them disappear behind a stone lean-to before speaking again.

‘I do wonder why Dr Beddoe did not do more for him. If he had …’

Henry trails off deliberately and, as he hoped, she nods her head.

‘Dr Beddoe lacks patience, ’tis true. Have you met him yet?’

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