CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The main entrance to the mines is reached by taking a north-eastern track out of Penhelyg, deep into the valley of Cwm Nantcol. The way is orderly and well-maintained, free of stray rocks and errant branches, allowing Ivor Morgan's cart to trundle up without incident – it is the one good thing Linette's cousin has done for the miners, although in truth he had Mr Lambeth build the path for his ease and requirement rather than theirs; Julian never travels in anything but a carriage or his own phaeton if he can possibly help it.

Torn down in the name of industry, no trees grow here on this path, but it is banked by buttercup meadows and affords a pleasant view of the valley; down in the fields can be seen lush copses of vegetation that border the farmlands of Linette's hill tenants, and she can spy the finials of Plas Helyg peeking from the dense woodland that surrounds it.

The mine is in a unique position – built horizontally into the lower reaches of the mountains, the spoil-heaps face out to sea. Nowhere else in North Wales can one emerge from caverns in the heart of the rock to find oneself confronted by a grand expanse of ocean, and as Ivor guides the pony and cart upward, Linette twists in her seat. The mid-morning sun is high in the turquoise sky, casting the water into shades of deep cornflower blue, and the brisk wind causes waves to break the surface in long curling crests.

‘White horses,' she murmurs, and beside her Henry quirks a brow.

‘I'm sorry?'

‘White horses. It's a term for how the waves look when they rise and fall on a choppy sea. Look how the white ridges appear like a horse's mane?'

The glance Henry spares her is laced with impatience.

‘Another superstition?'

‘No,' Linette says, drawing the word out. ‘Just a metaphor.'

She keeps her eyes on those foam-ridged waves, yawns deeply into her hand. Sleep had not come easily last night, for all Linette could think of was poor Dr Evans. Before supper she had asked Enaid, as promised, and was not surprised when the old woman only stated with evident confusion (how cruel to keep such dreadful secrets from her!) what Linette already knew: there was no love lost between Dr Beddoe and her brother, but certainly nothing to cause concern – the two men simply had differing opinions of professional practice. Yet while Linette had not been surprised by the revelation (or lack of, in this case) Henry had been most disappointed. When she told him Enaid's answer his expression turned grave and contemplative, his conversation grew less and less as the evening drew on, so that in the end dinner had been such a stilted affair Linette had excused herself to bed earlier than was her habit. Today Henry has been vexing irritable, right from breakfast to the very moment they boarded Ivor's cart, so she is relieved when Ivor finally brings them to the cavern entrance.

Perhaps meeting the miners will distract them both.

Linette raises her hand in greeting to where the miners are sifting through the yield. She expected them to smile and wave back as they have always done, but now they simply stare as the cart is brought to a stop. Even beneath their dirty faces Linette sees their hostility, the nasty curls of their lips, the pointed stares. Not just the men, but the boys as well.

She jumps down from the cart. Henry follows, slapping straw from his trousers. The air falls silent with an unspoken threat, tempered only by the muted hammering that echoes up from the caverns below, the waterwheel by the entrance, and Linette marks now what Henry did from the very start: their dislike is unreasonable, unprovoked and dangerous, and it fills her with deep-seated dread.

‘Good day,' she says in Welsh over the sound of rushing water. ‘The doctor and I have brought refreshments – won't you rest a little?'

The miners shift on their scuffed boots, look almost as if they might refuse her, but then to Linette's relief they lay down their tools. The overseer – Cai Jones' father Rhodri – rings the bell at the mouth of the cavern, and the echoing sounds from within come to a stop.

Linette steps closer to Henry. The look he gives her is clear – I told you so – and she cannot quite meet his eye.

‘Let us set up over there.' She points to a large block of stone that she has always used as a makeshift table. ‘We won't stay long.'

In silence they unload the cart, spread out Mrs Phillips' fare – baps and cured meats, cheeses and bara brith – on cloths of muslin. Henry and Ivor (who, Linette was gratified to note, greeted Henry warmly this morning) manoeuvre between them the barrel of cwrw brought up from the tavern, and all the while the miners watch him, like red kites on the hunt. It is customary for the men to line up with their tin cups, to take their food from Linette with a smile and a pleasant word, and it was her intention that Henry should serve the miners by her side. She hoped the familiarity of the act would help them thaw to their new doctor, help them see him as a decent man, but the miners continue their frosty-faced silence, and Linette begins to question the merit of her plan. As she and Henry serve them not one of the men says thank you and worse, to her dismay, not one of them will look her in the eye, either. All the while Linette keeps the conversation light, asks after their health, their families, but even though they respond in kind the rapport she has always felt with them seems to slip further and further away. As the line lengthens and more miners emerge from the cavern, the atmosphere turns from uncomfortable silence to something like an unspoken threat, and Linette wants to shout at them for their belligerence.

It is as the line begins to dwindle that there comes the loud rumble of wheels. Peering over the shoulders of the remaining miners, she feels her stomach sink.

‘ O na .'

Henry looks to where Linette stares.

‘What is it?'

‘An unwelcome visitor.'

Indeed, the sight of the small black carriage that has just come to a stop by Ivor's cart is most unwelcome. The fine-legged horse which pulls it tosses its head in the heat, and Rhodri – noting the sweat that dampens its coat like dew – places a tin bowl of water down on the ground. The filly bends its head to drink. As the driver expresses his thanks the carriage door opens and his master Lord Pennant steps down, Julian's agent Mr Lambeth following closely behind.

They lock eyes. Linette has never liked Lord Pennant. Though a Welshman by birth he is just as uninterested in his workers as Julian is, and she scowls at him from beneath the wide brim of her hat. Lord Pennant disguises his surprise at seeing her with a look of amusement. Mr Lambeth – whom she likes even less – shakes his head in disapproval. Linette turns to Henry.

‘Will you be all right a moment?'

She glances at the miners. Only ten or so left.

Henry nods. ‘I hardly think any of them will try to kill me here, do you?'

There is a sardonic twinkle in his eye. Linette feels a tug at her lip.

‘You're incorrigible.'

She does not wait for him to answer. Instead, Linette wipes her hands on the front of her trousers, stalks over to the two men with as much dignity as she can muster.

‘What are you doing here?'

The remaining miners loiter, sullen eyes flicking between Linette and the finely suited men. An element of fear has crept into the air now that was not there with Henry alone, and Linette can well understand it for Mr Lambeth is a nasty weasel of a man with a tongue as sharp as shale.

‘Get back to work,' he snaps in clipped mispronounced Welsh. In his gloved hands he holds a leather folder and pencil. A report book, no doubt, and Linette narrows her eyes at him.

‘They deserve a rest, surely? One hour's respite will do no harm.'

The agent says nothing, merely lifts his mouth into a sneer. Lord Pennant steps forward, fingers tucked around the wide lapels of his dress coat. A gold ring on his fifth catches in the noonday sun, and Linette's breath falters in her throat.

Has he always worn one? But of course, many men of his station do. It means nothing at all.

‘Linette, my dear,' Lord Pennant says now, cloying as treacle. ‘Gracious as ever. A beautiful day, is it not?'

‘Lord Pennant,' Linette says with every ounce of patience she possesses. ‘You have no business here.'

‘I do, as a matter of fact.' The older man licks a fingertip, teases a stray hair of his brown coiled wig back into place. ‘But I might ask you the same thing. The mines are your cousin's concern, not yours.'

‘I bring my tenants refreshment,' she replies, scathing. ‘I also thought it an opportunity to show Dr Talbot the mines.'

Linette gestures to where Henry serves the last of the miners. One of them snatches his tin cup back the moment it has been filled, and stalks away into the shaded canopy of a stony outcrop. She can see the hard jut of Henry's jaw, the effort it must be taking him to keep his temper, and Linette is sorry now they ever came at all.

‘Ah, the elusive Henry Talbot!'

Henry looks up at the sound of his name.

‘What a relief to finally see him here,' Lord Pennant adds, preening almost. ‘Will you not introduce us? I should very much like to meet Penhelyg's new physician.'

She would very much like to push him over the spoil-heaps, but with a tight smile Linette beckons to Henry, and with an expression bordering on relief he joins them.

‘This is Lord Pennant. His lordship owns the shipbuilding business in Abermaw and is Plas Helyg's nearest neighbour.' The men shake hands. Pointedly, the other man clears his throat. ‘And this is Mr Matthew Lambeth, Julian's agent.'

‘A pleasure,' Henry says, and Linette is gratified to hear he does not sound pleased.

Lord Pennant releases Henry's hand, looks him up and down as if he were a specimen in a bell jar.

‘Well, Dr Talbot,' he says, ‘your new charges are fortunate indeed to have such a young and hearty-looking fellow take on the position. Beddoe was telling me only the other week how frail old Evans had become, near the end.'

Beside her, Henry goes very still. ‘Indeed?'

‘Indeed so,' comes the answer. ‘I saw him up at Selwyn's place, treating one of her ladyship's migraines –' here he leans conspiratorially in, and Linette detects the piquant scent of garlic on his breath – ‘she worries most dreadfully, poor thing, and we spoke of it then. We both agreed Penhelyg needed an able-bodied doctor, not one who seems likely to keel over the moment a gust of wind touches him. And here you are!'

He laughs. Mr Lambeth joins in. All Linette can do is scowl.

‘It is my understanding,' replies Henry, ‘that Dr Evans was fit as a fiddle.'

There is a beat of silence. Lord Pennant raises his eyebrows in a show of surprise.

‘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.

‘Just so, my lord. I used to be a stonemason, many years ago – I know how best to make stone yield safely. But perhaps, Dr Talbot, you would like to see for yourself?'

The caverns are cold.

It is a peculiar feeling, to experience such cloying heat and then – as if by the turn of a wheel – a coolness that seems to strip heat from bone. Linette's shirt (which outside had started sticking between her shoulder blades) is chill now against her skin, and she begins to unravel the full sleeves to cover her forearms, shivering into her necktie.

She has never been down the copper mine before. The cavernous ceiling is high; in the moss-lined eaves pigeons coo in their stone roosts, and as they continue their descent down narrow steps the colour of rust Linette is reminded of a holy shrine, a natural cathedral. All around her are the sounds of water droplets tapping rhythmically down from the rock, and she can hear the different cadences of them – a metallic tick when they hit a cart or tool, a light slick when they land on stone, a dull thud when they fall on the lip of her hat.

Ahead, Lord Pennant pats his coiled wig.

Rhodri leads them down into the lower caverns, pebbles skimming beneath their boots. The echoing sounds that could be heard from above grow louder for they are in the thick of it now, and as they reach the bottom of the steps the light becomes denser. Linette looks over her shoulder. Above, the cavern entrance is now a crescent moon; the rock ceiling has reduced by half, and the only light is from the guttering candles on the miners' tin hats. As they pass by them their faces are thrown into devilish relief, making the scowls that line their faces more pronounced. This time, though, those scowls are directed at all of them, not just at Henry. As they squeeze past a windlass, Linette worries her bottom lip.

Colder now. The chambers begin as large and spacious caverns – remnants of earlier dig sites with no more yield – and in some Linette catches a glimpse of strange formations like rough downward spears.

‘What are they?' she calls up to Rhodri, and his voice throws echoes behind him.

‘Stalactites, milady. Nature's taking the mine back. We've not worked those particular caverns for years.'

The deeper they go, however, the more oddly shaped the chambers become, making it necessary to walk in single file and duck their heads to fit through. How many years has it been since they began mining for copper here? Twenty? More? So many empty caverns! No wonder Julian wishes to go deeper into the mountain. As they pass even smaller caverns veering off from the silt track, Linette spies blocked-off doorways barred with timber, others with offerings of food and water for the bwcaod and coblynau . With a wry smile Linette wonders what Henry will think of those when he reads about them in her book.

That is not all she sees. The too-narrow way is cluttered with wooden carts led by hunch-backed donkeys, the ground littered with discarded pickaxes, chisels and shovels. The walls and lowering ceilings are held up in places with large pillars of wood which, to Linette's mind, cannot safely secure them. Shooting off the tapering path are more active chambers, every one filled with a crowding of dirty-faced miners. Some kneel at the bases of walls, a mutton-fat candle at their side, but others – to reach the higher walls of the caverns – hang suspended from chains around their left leg, balancing their weight on the other as they chip away at the stone. Linette swallows as a younger lad bows over a large crevice in one of the upper corners, chain swinging precariously.

The path inclines briefly before slanting down again. They pass under carved-out vents in the ceiling, the air growing cooler the deeper they go, and a sharp sort of cold settles uncomfortably between Linette's ribs. For a moment she experiences a sense of claustrophobia, and though she can see Rhodri's candle leading the way she runs a hand along the rough-hewn walls to keep her bearings in the semi-dark. Beneath her palm the stone is slick with water and algae, and while the air is sharply fresh, every now and then there comes a faint sulphuric smell.

‘Nearly there.'

Mr Lambeth's voice trips itself down the line. Linette swallows in relief. How, she wonders as they continue down, can the miners bear it? Even though she knew generally what mining entailed she has never seen them at work, and the reality of it claws at her heart.

Finally, the group reach a chamber, three barrels propped against its entrance. Rhodri guides them in. It is deathly quiet. Two candles are set on some wooden planking beside a pair of rusting cartwheels. The walls are extremely rough here, barely chiselled out from the rockface, red and ochre-tinged. This final cavern is only high enough to stand in with their heads tilted at an angle, but Lord Pennant – a much smaller man – can remain fully upright with no trouble at all, and he looks about the chamber with interest.

‘Hmm. I see.' He taps a fingernail to his weak chin. ‘I imagined the deeper into the mountain we went, the larger the caverns would become. Getting the wood down here will be monstrous difficult.' Lord Pennant spreads his hands in a sweeping gesture. ‘I pictured a wonderful open cave, a little like the one we entered through, with pulleys and levers that would send the miners up and down, allowing them to work across a much wider area. The mines, as I'm sure you must agree, would benefit greatly from such a system.'

The candle Rhodri holds flickers. In the wake of it, Henry clears his throat.

‘Do the mines need expanding?'

‘Oh yes!' Lord Pennant exclaims. ‘And we shall, I'm sure, find a more lucrative yield by doing so.'

‘More lucrative than copper?'

He looks inordinately pleased with Henry's question.

‘More copper, certainly. But …'

Lord Pennant and Mr Lambeth share a look.

‘Gold.'

Linette laughs then, cannot help it. The older man narrows his eyes, the pandering smile he has been wearing slipping like water over slate.

‘Not this again,' Linette says, quite unable to keep the scorn from her voice. ‘My cousin has been searching years for such a yield without success. You're both fanatical.'

Mr Lambeth regards her coldly.

‘And you, Miss Tresilian, would do wise to keep a civil tongue in your head.'

‘A little difficult when his lordship speaks such nonsense.'

Beside her, Henry lets out his breath. ‘Linette …'

‘Ah!' Lord Pennant exclaims, buoyant again. ‘Dr Talbot also dislikes that vicious sting in your tongue. Do you , my dear doctor, not see the merit in our plans? Expansion, investment, that's the ticket! These are rich lands, to be sure, and I do not think the scheme so far outside the realms of reality.'

‘Perhaps not, sir, but matters of safety must be considered. These mines are already over-crowded and I see precious few measures in place to secure the workers' protection. Some of them are mere children. I've already been advised there have been accidents. Deaths. Dr Evans set some broken arms this past year, so I understand, and two years ago one lad – a Cai Jones – broke his leg and has been unable to work since. If you wish to expand, such considerations must be made.'

At his son's name Rhodri had looked up and stared at Henry, hard. It is a shame, Linette thinks, that the man does not understand how Henry came to Cai's defence just then. Lord Pennant, however, does understand Henry's words but has no care for them – Linette can tell by the stubborn pout of his lip, the dismissive nodding that makes the tight curls of his mousy wig bob.

‘That,' he says, ‘is all by the by. There's no shortage of men available for challenging work—'

‘Not here,' Linette cuts in. ‘The only men left in Penhelyg are the farmers, and you cannot employ them .'

‘The shortfall can be employed across the border, if the Welsh will not oblige. Further afield, if necessary.'

‘But not everyone will agree to work in such conditions. We do not have slaves here, unlike in your Jamaican plantations.'

Lord Pennant hesitates. He did not, it seems, realise she knew.

‘How do they fare, by the way?' Linette adds drily. ‘I would have thought that with the abolitionists gaining ground your days of easy money are numbered. I wonder, sir, if that is why your ships are such a commodity? You must be rather desperate to fatten your pocketbook nowadays.'

Again, Henry touches her back, but she cannot help it – it is one of Linette's few pleasures in life, to watch men like Lord Pennant squirm. Indeed, despite the dimness of the cavern she can see his cheeks have reddened to puce.

‘Your tongue will get you in trouble, one day,' he says softly. ‘It is a shame that you have such a narrow-minded attitude. Your cousin is completely the opposite, a truly enterprising man.'

Linette presses her lips. Henry drops his hand from her back. Rhodri, still hovering at the cavern entrance, sniffs loudly, clearly impatient at listening to a conversation he does not understand, and Mr Lambeth notices, tucks the leather folder underneath his arm.

‘Time to go, I think.'

‘Yes,' Lord Pennant returns. ‘I believe I've gleaned all I can here. Shall we?'

With one last pointed look at Linette, Lord Pennant turns on his heel and the men retreat from the cavern, Rhodri leading the way, leaving Linette and Henry alone. She turns to him, fully expecting him to scold her, but strangely he is staring at the far end of the cavern into the deep dark, eyes narrowed into slits.

‘Henry, what is it?'

‘I … I thought …' He sounds confused. ‘I thought I saw some lights.'

‘Lights?'

‘Like candles, but somehow …'

Linette steps past him, looks into the murk.

‘I can't see anything. Candles, you say?'

‘Yes,' Henry murmurs, ‘but they were different colours. Two red, one blue. Of course, that's ridiculous.'

Uneasy, Linette stares at him.

‘A trick of the light,' she murmurs. ‘The tunnels must go further back, and you saw some miners crossing one of the paths. That is all.'

Henry stares a moment longer, then shakes himself as if coming to his senses.

‘You're right, of course. The enclosed space must be playing tricks on my mind.'

His words are firm, but Linette can see from his face he does not believe them.

‘Come,' she says. ‘Let us go back before we cannot see our way out.'