CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

It is rare that Linette Tresilian finds herself at a loss for words. One of her many failings (so she has been often told), is her inability to keep her mouth shut as a lady should, but at this precise moment she finds herself struggling to force the words from her tongue.

It had been no mean feat to ready Dr Evans’ house for the new doctor’s arrival. It took a week alone to clear it of decades of clutter, to sort and remove the old man’s personal effects, then another week still to clean it top to bottom, to polish the floorboards, redecorate where needed. Then, of course, there was the ordering of fresh linens and curtains, the restocking of the larder, a whole life erased in order for a new one to replace it. Indeed, such a monumental task had been a painful one, not just for herself but the servants, too.

‘It has been destroyed,’ she says again, as the two men sitting before the fireplace simply continue to stare. ‘The windows. The door! Even from outside I could see the wreck in the hallway. I can only assume the rest, but if the exterior is any indication …’

Linette must take a breath, and in that gasped beat her cousin stands. He must clutch the cushioned arm of the chair to support his weakening frame and the new doctor (it must be him, for no one else is expected), half-rises from his own to support him. But Julian, with a grimace, waves him down again. ‘What do you mean?’

She releases her clutch from the door frame. She was gripping it so hard the wood has marked narrow gullies on her palms.

‘The gatehouse, of course,’ Linette says, quite unable to keep the waspishness from her voice. ‘What else would I speak of?’

A look of displeasure crosses Julian’s pale features, as it always does when she speaks in so forthright a manner.

‘Linette,’ he scolds, and gestures to the man at his side, standing too now, looking most perplexed. ‘We have company.’

‘So I see,’ she says, casting her gaze to said company, just long enough to mark how young the new physician is. She was expecting someone far older, Dr Beddoe’s age at the very least. ‘How do you do, Dr Talbot.’

‘A pleasure,’ he returns.

‘I regret to say it is not,’ she answers fast. ‘Certainly under such circumstances.’

‘Linette,’ Julian says, ‘pray, it is late. What are you saying?’

Has she not just indicated? Dear heaven, her cousin is no more attentive of her when they do converse than when they do not! Swallowing down a sigh, Linette rubs the fading marks on her hands.

‘The gatehouse has been destroyed.’

Julian is silent a moment, licks port-stained lips. Then, ‘Ring for Mrs Evans. She will have to make a room up.’ He turns to the new doctor, proffers an apologetic smile. ‘I hope you do not object, but it seems you must stay here at Plas Helyg, at least for tonight. Don’t you agree, Cousin?’

It would hardly matter if she did or not; the decision, it seems, has already been made. Dr Talbot, for his part, still looks perplexed, but he shields this with a polite smile.

‘I am sorry indeed to hear this news. But I could not prevail upon your hospitality without her ladyship’s express permission.’ He looks at Linette. ‘Do I have it?’

She blinks, not expecting this polite recognition; it softens her somewhat.

‘I fear there is not much else to be done.’

And so Enaid is rung for, the situation explained, instructions given.

The housekeeper ducks her capped head. ‘Dr Talbot may have the green room. It is already made up.’

Her voice shakes, and no wonder. But Julian does not notice, only turns to the younger man once more.

‘I’m sure you have as many questions as we do but I know you’re very tired. Perhaps you would like to retire now? Things will be clearer in the morning, I have no doubt.’

Another gracious smile has stitched itself upon Julian’s lips. The new doctor is shaking the hand Linette’s cousin proffers.

‘Thank you.’

‘Of course.’ Julian dips his dark head. ‘Linette, stay. Mrs Evans, if you will?’

The old woman conceals it well, but Linette sees plain the anguish in Enaid’s eyes, understands all too well the cause of it. She wants to reach out and squeeze her hand to comfort her but Linette knows that here, now, she cannot.

‘This way,’ Enaid says in a voice so quiet it is bare above a whisper. The new doctor looks between the two women, marking it seems their mutual unease, but without a word he makes toward the door and Linette steps aside to allow him room to pass. At the threshold hers and Dr Talbot’s eyes meet; she senses him take her measure, feels the familiar knot of indignation tighten her stomach.

What, exactly, has Julian told him?

Enaid pulls the door shut behind them. The fire cracks, licks the grate with a violent spitting flame. Sensing her discomfort Merlin presses against her leg and she lowers her hand for him to lick.

Julian sinks back down into his armchair, removes a silver case from his inner coat pocket, flips the lid. He selects a thin cigarillo from the top, leans over to light it from the fire, and Linette watches the end glow red at the take. He inhales a steady draw before sitting back again, regards her in that detached way of his which makes her feel as if he were looking through a pane of glass rather than at a fellow human being.

‘Honestly, Linette,’ he says, smoke-wisps escaping his mouth. ‘What a first impression to make! And to burst in here most unbecomingly …’ He sweeps a derogatory glance at her masculine clothes. ‘Where is the green dress I gave you this morning? Well, ’tis done now.’

Defensive, Linette folds her arms across her chest. Never has he approved of her clothes, but what harm does it do him that she wear her father’s old shirts and trousers? The pretty dresses he gives her are simply not fit for purpose, not here, where it rains seven out of the twelve months a year and she spends more of her time outside Plas Helyg than in it. Linette is sure he would feel far more affronted if she ruined all those expensive taffetas and silks on which he has wasted his precious coin! Besides, each and every one of them is damned uncomfortable. Julian certainly would not like it if he felt garrotted by whalebones and ribbons.

‘Perhaps it makes better sense this way,’ he is saying now.

Linette frowns. ‘What does?’

‘Indeed, it would be very unfair to leave the poor man to manage at the gatehouse alone, at least to begin with. He is new to Penhelyg, far away from all he knows. It is the mark of politeness to offer him a room here until he is settled.’

Politeness, perhaps, but Linette does not like the idea of a stranger under her roof. Still, Julian has a point and so she says, grudgingly, ‘I suppose you are right.’

Julian levels her with a stare. ‘I’m glad you agree.’ He twists the cigarillo. ‘The gatehouse, though. Who might have done such a thing? One of the villagers, I expect,’ he murmurs. ‘Hardly surprising, of course.’

At this accusation Linette must press her tongue. She wants to defend them, but Julian’s comment gives her pause. Is there merit to his words? The thought troubles her, just as much as the other that has been niggling at the back of her mind. Merlin snuffles at her thigh. With effort Linette steps forward. That she must ask him this favour, that she is forced to do it, is humiliating.

‘I’ve not the money spare to make repairs,’ she says quietly. ‘What little savings I had left in Plas Helyg’s coffers I spent making the gatehouse up in the first place.’

There is a beat as the import of her declaration sinks in. When it does Julian sighs, and she hears on it the tenor of his disapproval.

‘I did warn you about the risk of spending so much on your tenants.’

Linette does not reply. Julian takes one last drag of the cigarillo; he blows out the smoke, and they both watch its snake-like skein take shape.

‘Very well,’ he says, stubbing the cigarillo out into his empty glass. ‘Go down tomorrow morning, make me a list of what you need. I’ll arrange it all when I’m back in London.’

‘Thank you, Cousin.’

He makes her feel like a child, not at all the independent woman she has always striven to be, and her face flushes red with shame. When he says nothing more she turns to leave, Merlin close at her heels.

It is only as she reaches the door that Julian calls her name. One word, two syllables, yet he manages to drag it out. Linette turns. He is watching her with curious eyes.

‘How did you come to know of the gatehouse?’

Linette lifts her chin.

‘I was on my way home and wanted to offer my greetings to the new doctor. I thought he would be there.’

‘I see. And what were you doing out so late?’

‘I was with Tomas Morgan.’

‘Who?’

She clenches her jaw.

‘A tenant,’ she replies. ‘He’s been sick. I was merely doing my duty, Cousin.’

Linette thinks of the young fisherman, how his body had wracked itself with unrelenting shivers. For near half an hour Tomas coughed up bile the colour of pomegranate peel before settling, exhausted, on the bed. Linette gave aid where she could; she helped keep the water warm as his mother bathed him, she read to them both once he had settled. Mair asked for biblical passages since the words were a much-needed comfort, though Linette set no store on the healing power of scripture.

She knows firsthand it does not work.

‘Well,’ Julian says, breaking into her thoughts. ‘You’d better eat something. Mrs Phillips has kept a plate back, though it will have spoilt by now, I’m sure.’

Linette nods. Hesitates.

‘What is he like, the new doctor?’

A pause. ‘He will do. He will do very well indeed.’

Linette’s heart sinks. What manner of man has Julian employed? A self-satisfied Englishman, just like him? The villagers, then, will resent Dr Talbot’s presence most keenly. They will resent her too for allowing it, resentment she could well do without. Has Linette not fought hard to gain their trust?

Merlin whines, impatient to be gone.

‘Goodnight, Cousin,’ Linette says, turning away.

He does not answer, nor does she expect him to. She opens the study door and then, feeling spiteful, deliberately leaves it wide behind her.