CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

‘Tell me everything you know about it.’

They are in the vestibule of Plas Helyg, standing in front of the vast fireplace. Until now, Linette has rarely thought about the symbol. It has always been familiar to her, of course; on the Tresilian portrait upstairs, on the book in Julian’s study displayed so grandly inside its glass cabinet, on his ring … All this she marked years ago. Until now, the only other place Linette knew it existed was on the fireplace:

The symbol was simply here , as familiar to her as Plas Helyg’s creaking gate and smoking chimneys, the stained-glass window in her bedroom depicting the white and red dreigiau of Dinas Emrys. Indeed, she had accepted it without a second thought. So why should Dr Beddoe possess a ring with the Tresilian crest?

Linette tries to consider whether she ever noticed him wearing a ring before, but she is not in the habit of taking particular interest in a person’s hands, nor does she encounter Dr Beddoe enough to mark his. The last she saw of him was the other week on his final visit to Penhelyg when she paid him his extortionate fee. Did he wear a ring then? Linette cannot remember. Whether she marked it or not, Henry has, and yes, there can be no denying it is most unusual. But despite this strange discovery, that is not what concerns Linette at present. No indeed … what concerns her is the deadly nightshade found in the vial, and Henry’s terrible suspicions.

A surge of sorrow overtakes her then, followed closely by anger. Dr Evans. Poisoned! He had no enemies – the old doctor was liked by everyone. And though he sometimes did not agree with Dr Beddoe, the latter would have no reason to kill him. What motive, after all, could there possibly be?

‘Linette?’

Henry’s hand on her wrist brings her back with a jolt, and she releases a shaky breath.

‘All I know is that it’s the crest of the Tresilians.’ She gestures to the stone in which the symbol has been carved. ‘The original stone was replaced with this one once my father took over the estate. It was a willow tree before.’

‘A willow tree?’

‘ Pen means head, helyg means willow, plas means mansion. Essentially then, the village name loosely translates to Head of the Willows, or Village at Willow’s Head, and the house itself is Willow Mansion.’ Linette frowns, angles her face to look at the symbol again. ‘I often thought it sacrilege that Plas Helyg’s Welsh connections should be removed in favour of the Tresilians. But after I inherited it seemed too much effort to change it, not to mention the expense. The needs of my tenants were my priority.’

Beside her, Henry looks thoughtful.

‘And that’s it?’ he asks. ‘That’s all you know?’

‘I’m sorry, yes.’

‘Then let us look at something else.’

He is crossing the vestibule before Linette has a chance to register what his intentions are. She rushes to catch him up.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Where do you think?’

He is already through into the corridor, striding down it to reach Julian’s study at the far end, and as they cross the threshold Linette looks about it with distaste.

It is, she thinks, an unhappy room. While Julian might consider it elegant with its shades of red and mahogany, Linette finds it dark and sombre. The religious paintings are foreboding, the baroque globe a muddy ball on its axis, Julian’s trinket cabinet a profligate display of his wealth.

But it is the books at the far end she likes even less.

As a book lover herself it seems silly she should be so adverse to this ornate collection, yet as Linette and Henry approach those five rows of shelves filled to the brim with ragged tomes, she finds herself looking upon them with resentment.

All they are, all they have ever been, is a reminder that Julian cares more about them than he ever has about her.

Henry clears his throat.

‘Your cousin told me these were his collection of books on hermetic philosophy.’

A hazy memory is spooling at the back of her mind. Strange circles, complicated star charts, obscure banks of tightly packed text, and Linette shrugs with uninterest.

‘Yes. He showed me them once when I was ten.’

Henry reaches out his finger to tap the glass that holds the large tome within its own compartment, Julian’s gold-flecked stone glinting dully before it.

‘Why would an ancient book of philosophy have on it the Tresilian crest? It makes no sense. Such a crest would more likely appear on a family Bible but you have one of those in the cabinet upstairs, and no such symbol appears on that .’

Linette stares at the book’s black leather bindings, the symbol jutting from the cover like veins in a hand.

‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m saying, is this symbol a crest at all?’

She frowns. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Think about it. The likelihood of Beddoe wearing a ring that matches Julian’s – a ring with the Tresilian crest on it – is low, unless someone in your family gave him one, which would hardly be appropriate. What gentleman would wear the crest of a family not their own? As I said, it makes no sense. Besides, it doesn’t look like a crest. What if, then, this symbol is something else entirely?’

‘I still don’t understand. Are you accusing Julian now?’

At this Henry frowns, as if it were a new consideration.

‘You did say,’ Linette points out, ‘that your Mr Fielding always considered the facts and took note of all the people who link to them. It seems you’re suggesting that my cousin plays some part in this because of a connection to Dr Beddoe?’

He blinks, opens his mouth, shuts it again.

‘No, that wasn’t—I did not—’

‘Because such a thing is ridiculous. My cousin barely gave Dr Evans any mind. How could he, when he was never here?’ Linette presses her bottom lip with her teeth. ‘The Tresilian crest is unusual, I admit, but it has nothing to do with Dr Evans’ death, and surely that is where our focus should lie?’

A muscle ticks in Henry’s jaw.

‘I am not accusing your cousin of anything. But you have to admit Beddoe has behaved suspiciously and the significance of his ring is perplexing.’

‘Perhaps you were mistaken in that! A fleeting glimpse, you said.’

He falls silent, and Linette can see from his expression that doubt has crept its way in. He looks once more at Julian’s book.

‘All you’re doing is chasing shadows,’ she reasons. ‘The only thing we can both be sure of is the vial and what it contained, and it is that we should be pursuing.’

At this Henry’s expression grows pensive, and Linette can imagine his thoughts turning like cogs within his head.

‘You said Dr Evans and Beddoe argued?’

Linette considers. ‘They exchanged the odd disagreeable word about Mamma’s treatment. But Henry, that can hardly be a reason why he would want Wynn Evans dead.’

‘Even so, Beddoe is the only link we have, so we must contrive a way to find out more. Discover if he had a motive, even if one is not immediately obvious.’

‘All right,’ she agrees. ‘I shall ask Enaid, see if there is anything she might know about the nature of their relationship.’

‘And I can ask the reverend. Mr Dee said himself they were good friends.’

‘There then. We can always ask Julian on his return to enlighten us as to the mystery of the rings, if you did indeed see what you thought you saw.’

Henry chews his inner cheek. Linette sighs.

‘Come. We gain nothing by staying here.’

In the soft grip of her hand he reluctantly allows her to lead him away, and together they cross Julian’s sitting room. Near the armchairs, however, he pauses. Narrows his eyes.

‘What is it now?’

Without a word Henry squeezes past, and it is only when he stops to stand at Julian’s gun cabinet that Linette realises what he is about.

‘No one here shot at you.’

She comes to stand next to him where he is staring at the pistol behind the glass in consternation.

‘How do you know?’

‘Because my servants would never do such a thing.’

He throws her a frustrated look. ‘And I ask again, how do you know ?’

Before she can reply Cadoc Powell appears at the door, carrying an empty decanter between both gloved hands. The butler stops when he sees them, ducks his head in acknowledgement, his stiff wig making him look like a stern judge.

‘Miss Linette. Dr Talbot. Might I be of assistance?’

Linette and Henry share a glance.

‘I wanted to look at the flintlock,’ Henry says, and one of Cadoc’s bushy eyebrows quirks.

‘To what purpose?’

‘I wished to hold it, that’s all.’

There is a pause. The butler looks to Linette for permission and grudgingly, she nods her assent. Cadoc crosses the room, places the decanter on a silver tray set upon the marquetry table beside Julian’s armchair. Then he removes a chain from within his waistcoat, from which in turn dangles a set of keys which unlock the cabinets that hold the Cadwalladr heirlooms.

Cadoc selects a tiny brass key from the chain, inserts it into the cabinet’s minuscule lock. Carefully he removes the pistol, places it into Henry’s waiting hands. Linette watches him admire the barrel’s inlay of tortoiseshell. It is a beautiful thing, more a decorative piece, not suited for hunting at all. Linette cannot understand why he should think this was the gun which had been used.

‘How do you load it?’

Cadoc frowns, looks to her. Linette shrugs.

‘Show him.’

The butler takes the flintlock back from Henry, turns it over. He does not seem to know how to open the barrel, is frowning in concentration, but then he pushes his thumb against a curved node at the top, something clicks, a canister opens, and five bullets roll into the butler’s gloved hand.

For a moment Henry does not speak. Is he relieved? Disappointed? From the blank expression on his face, Linette cannot tell.

‘Thank you,’ Henry says faintly. ‘That’s all I wanted to see.’

There is a pause in which Cadoc stares at him. Then the butler neatly reloads the pistol, returns it to the cabinet, turns the key.

‘If that will be all, Miss Linette?’

‘Yes, Cadoc. That will be all.’

The butler looks between them. She cannot read the expression on his face, either, but she can feel the force of Cadoc’s disapproval coming off him in waves.

‘Very good.’

He stares at them each in turn one final time before leaving the room. It is only when the heavy door swings shut behind him that Linette turns to Henry.

‘Would you mind telling me what that achieved?’

‘The shot was fired from a pistol,’ he says, eyes fierce. ‘One that would be fired at close range. A flintlock.’

‘How can you know that?’

‘I know bullets. I used to remove them regularly in my line of work. I recognise a flintlock ball when I see one. Still,’ he says, begrudging. ‘Flintlocks only carry five bullets.’

‘Exactly. The one here still has all five.’

‘Yes.’ He runs a thumb over his lower lip. ‘It could have been reloaded.’

She says nothing to this. Cannot.

Suspecting Cai Jones is one thing – her servants, quite another.