Page 60 of The Shadow Key

‘Is that so? Well, I never knew him personally, of course. We followed very different social circles, you see. Very different!’

They laugh again, and a stone of dislike slams into the cushion of Linette’s gut.

‘I confess,’ his lordship resumes, ‘I think Beddoe should always have had the role as part of his practice. And your cousin does pay uncommonly well – Sir John is far less generous, I’m afraid.’ His lordship sighs dramatically. ‘Still, no matter! Everything has turned out beautifully for here you are, and just the ticket too!’

Linette steals a glance at Henry, his narrowed eyes. Is this what he might call motive? Not trusting herself to hold her tongue, she turns her face away toward the sea. Far out she spies the white sails of a coasting brig, a schooner heading into high waters.

‘Of course,’ Lord Pennant continues, falsely commiserating, ‘I imagine you must be having some difficulty acclimatising. The language is devilishly hard!’

‘I agree, but Miss Tresilian is teaching me.’

After their less than fruitful visit to Julian’s study, Henry suggested they begin their lessons. Linette had chosen the green book of Welsh folklore for him to translate, to which Henry’s response was to look at her sourly.

‘Are you trying to vex me?’

‘Not at all,’ she returned. ‘I’m trying to make you understand.’

‘I don’t need to understand your folklore,’ he replied stubbornly. ‘Just your language.’

‘But they are one and the same. Our language is part of our identity, and with that identity comes an understanding of our past. This,’ she added, giving the book a tap, ‘is our past. You cannot learn one without the other.’

Henry had looked dubious. ‘Even so—’

‘You don’t need to believe them,’ Linette replied with more patience than she felt. ‘You don’t even need to appreciate them. You just need to acknowledge them.’ She opened the book of folklore to its first story. ‘You may begin with “The Lady of the Lake”.’

In truth, Linette finds many of the tales fanciful herself – how, for instance, can a woman live at the bottom of a lake and bring forth from it a whole herd of cows? Yet while she may not accept them as truth, she can never dismiss the stories completely. As she told Henry, legends must come from somewhere, and to be blind to them would be to turn her back on her homeland, something Linette is unable to do.

Now she turns her face back, and Lord Pennant is pinning Linette with a smile that does not reach his beady eyes.

‘Is she now? Well, I commend you, doctor, though I hardly think it necessary.’

‘I can’t do my job without the language,’ Henry responds, sharp. ‘It seems a necessary requirement to me.’

‘Are you sure?’ Mr Lambeth, this, his mid-county burr in full force. ‘The people of Wales must learn English at some point. It is the future.’

‘Then how do you manage, as agent?’

Mr Lambeth shrugs. ‘I know enough Welsh to give orders. That’s all that is required, and thankfully mining is not a difficult job. Even dogs know how to follow simple instructions.’

Linette’s anger begins to boil, a hot ache in her throat that has her fists clenching. Henry moves imperceptibly; she feels the warning touch of his hand in the small of her back.

‘What business do you have here, my lord?’ Linette manages. ‘You did not answer.’

‘I didn’t, did I?’

Henry removes the pressure of his fingers. The older man clucks his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He and Mr Lambeth share a look.

‘Well,’ he says with a shrug, ‘it’s no secret. Your cousin is expanding again, plans to go deeper. He has asked me to inspect the lower caverns for the new pulley systems. I need to know how much wood to provide for the job.’

Linette stares. ‘He plans to expand again?’

It is the last thing the miners need. It is the last thing the mines need – have they not been unsafe for years? But before she can voice her concerns, Henry does it for her.

‘Surely it would depend on the capacity of the mountain and what is safe for the workers?’

‘Very true,’ Lord Pennant replies, ‘but we have requirements, a very particular vision to fulfil. Is that not so, Lambeth?’

The agent smiles, gives Henry a long appraising look.

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