CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

‘I hated Penhelyg.’

Gwen Tresilian is seated now on the narrow ottoman beneath the window in the corridor, thin and waif-like in her cotton nightgown, hair coiling like rope to her waist. She looks frighteningly wan, seems scarce able to put one word after the other.

‘My mother – your grandmother – died in childbirth. With no siblings all I had for company was my father and Enaid.’ Her face splits into a rueful smile. ‘I’m sorry to say I was a resentful child. I had no friends, nothing to entertain me. I felt trapped. Soon I became precocious, in severe need of discipline which no one had the will to give.’

The smile fades into a troubled frown.

‘My father, Emyr, never remarried. He took to drink and gambling, spent weeks on end away in the city. I was jealous of that, begged him to take me with him but he never did. I think he considered children as nuisances. To be seen but only briefly, and never ever heard. Then, one day, he began inviting his English friends back here to Plas Helyg.’

She stops. The corridor is silent but for the muted churn of the grandfather clock on the landing below them, the galleon’s tipping axis.

‘The things I witnessed as a child,’ Lady Gwen whispers, ‘things I know now I never should have seen!’ She shakes her head. ‘My father did not wish me to have any dealings with his friends, but they were new to me and exciting; when everyone was abed, I would sneak downstairs. Oh, I must have been very wicked not to have been disgusted or afraid, but I confess I found your grandfather’s sordid gatherings intriguing. I’d look through keyholes and listen at doors until I became too tired and cold to keep vigil.’ Her face darkens. ‘There were names for gatherings such as Emyr Cadwalladr’s, I later learnt.’

‘Hellfire clubs,’ Henry says, and her mother – their mother – gives a resigned nod.

‘These ones called themselves the Order. They would gather here once every few months, usually at the turning of the season. Solstice or equinox, without fail they would come. To begin with they merely drank and gambled, conducted silly little ceremonies that bordered on the ridiculous. Sometimes a whore or two would join the party, and you can imagine what happened when they did. But then, when I was sixteen, they started to bring girls from the village to the house.’

At this Enaid ducks her head, but not before Linette has seen the shame writ upon her face. She knew this too, then.

‘There have always been rumours,’ Miss Carew ventures quietly from her station at the cabinet. ‘The Einions …’

‘Ah yes, the Einions.’ A pause. Pale fingers knead cotton. ‘Often the girls were enticed away on the promise of money or some favour to their families, then used in whatever way my father and his friends saw fit. All of them, all at once. Old flesh on young. Who knows how many children he and his fellow Hellfires fathered? Still, many returned to their homes relatively unscathed. Until, that is, Heledd Einion.’

‘What happened?’ Linette asks, cutting across Henry’s ‘Go on,’ and Lady Gwen sighs deeply. It is a sigh filled with sadness and regret, disgust binding the two.

‘Heledd Einion was a great beauty. She was already married with children of her own, but from what I saw she was willing enough to partake in the Order’s games. Not like the others. They were shy, unsure. But Heledd … Heledd relished in it. I’ve never been quite sure at what point things went wrong. I remember ropes, blindfolds. I remember her being eager until she wasn’t, that one minute Heledd was alive and the next she was not.’

Their mother grimaces, coughs into her hand.

‘I only saw what happened in that moment, none of what came after. It was only later I heard her naked corpse had been found on the road beneath the willow trees. The village of course was in uproar, fighting fit for blood. But Lord Pennant – who was a very young man then, one of the Order and newly appointed as the district’s magistrate – turned a blind eye. Nothing was done. The villagers had no means for recourse, and being so remote what could be done if the law refused to stand by their side?’

Their mother closes her eyes, rests her head back against the windowpane. Even from her stance at the cabinet, Linette can see the sheen of sweat on her brow, her pulse pounding hard in her neck.

How much of the tincture still runs through her veins?

‘It put a stop to Emyr’s amusements,’ Lady Gwen says weakly. ‘The Order did not come to Plas Helyg again. My father went back to his resentful moods, his prolonged absences, began to gamble Plas Helyg away stone by stone. I became angry. Obstinate. How could I stay here and watch him destroy this place and let me rot along with it? I missed the Order. I’d been given a taste of life, you see. I longed for adventure, anything that would take me away from the monotonous existence of Penhelyg. When Father finally took me to London I threw myself into the Season, became the most disgraceful flirt. I was young and foolish, I see that now, but at the time I would do anything to win someone’s hand, anything to escape.’

Linette stares, unsure what to feel. Her mother is not the woman she thought she was. The knowledge that she was once part of Julian’s own club, the implications of it, this is something that has niggled at the back of Linette’s mind for days, a distasteful truth she has tried so hard to ignore, but there is no ignoring any of it now. Her mother is revealing herself, piece by sordid piece …

‘When Father lost the slate mine to Julian in a game of cards,’ she continues, ‘it made him desperate to secure me a match. Thankfully Julian’s elder cousin Hugh had enough money to buy Plas Helyg six times over which of course was all that mattered to my father, and I was married off before the Season was finished.’ Lady Gwen shivers, wraps the shawl tight about her bony shoulders. ‘I remember those to be the happiest months of my life. I moved to Hugh’s townhouse in London, found the excitement I’d always craved. Hugh was all I could have wanted in a husband: handsome, passionate, amusing, with a talent for intelligent conversation. He showed me what life could be like, all the pleasures it afforded. Everything I had missed living here in Penhelyg he returned to me threefold. We grew to love each other. Then …’

‘Then?’

Lady Gwen sighs at Henry’s question.

‘Julian created his own club.’

She waits for her children to say something more, but when they do not she lifts her chin in a gesture of defiance, and Linette braces herself for the fall.

‘It transpired that my father had spoken to Julian of the Order. I suppose, after what happened to Heledd, I should have been opposed to joining it but here – finally – was a chance to experience everything I had only fantasised about.’

Their mother bites her bottom lip, chews at a dry flake of skin.

‘Continue,’ Henry says softly. ‘Please.’

Enaid takes her mistress’ hand, squeezes it, and this action propels her on.

‘Julian rented rooms in Covent Garden where we would meet every week. We played cards and drank beyond what was proper and danced until dawn. We … we also indulged in things polite society frowned upon. I enjoyed such attentions, enjoyed the thrill. It felt revolutionary. Finally, after so many stagnated years, I felt free .’

Linette’s stomach churns. She shuts her eyes against the image but opens them again when the dark canvas of her eyelids only makes it worse.

‘What changed?’ she whispers, and Lady Gwen raises her eyes to hers.

‘Father died. We returned to Plas Helyg. Hugh began restoring the estate. Julian went travelling in Europe, and we did not see him again for over a year. But when he came back, he was different. He was excited in a way we had never seen him before, spoke of a great power that would bring us luck and fortune.’

Henry frowns. ‘A great power?’

‘He spoke of talismanic magic, the lore of Solomon, ancient rites of passage. We dismissed it all at first as one of Julian’s fantastical ideas, for he’d spouted off many of them during those days in London. All those books he collected! But then he proposed we rename the club the Order of Berith, and hold our gatherings here in Penhelyg. The London Hellfire clubs, you see, were coming under scrutiny; Francis Dashwood’s Friars had already been forced to move to Medmenham Abbey to ensure their privacy. Julian too wanted somewhere remote, like in Emyr’s day. Hugh was disinclined to allow it, but I must admit I had begun to grow restless. Hugh was in his element here restoring the house and lands, but I longed for the excitement I’d left behind. So he agreed. However, he had conditions – no village girls, and the mansion itself could not be used. London, he said, was one thing, but Plas Helyg was our home and he wanted to keep the gatherings here separate.’

‘Then where did you go?’ asks Henry, and at this she offers a weak smile.

‘There are tunnels under this house,’ Lady Gwen replies softly. ‘They lead to underground caverns where Cadwalladr ancestors used to store smuggled goods. We let Julian use them. And all went well, at first. It was as things ever were, except Julian brought more ceremonial elements to the evenings. Elaborate costumes, ritualistic tools, that kind of thing. To me it was just a game, but it soon became clear how seriously Julian took it. He was obsessed with a book he had begun to curate on his travels. A grimoire. The Shadow Key , he called it. The symbol on its front—’

‘Berith,’ Linette provides.

Lady Gwen shivers and shuts her eyes, as if the very name has made her cold.

‘Yes. Berith. A Canaanite demon of the old world. It is said that he could turn all metals into gold, ensure riches and power for those who worshipped him. Julian bred black hens,’ she continues, ‘started to use them during the ceremonies as blood sacrifices. And as much as that sickened me, there can be no denying we all became rich beyond anything we could have imagined. Julian expanded across the valley, and the mines started to yield copper ore. One day Julian’s workers found a piece of gold, and he became convinced Berith was behind it.’

At this Linette sucks in her breath. Slate to copper, copper to gold . When she shares a look with Henry, his mouth twists into a sneer.

‘Did you believe it?’

‘I didn’t know what to believe,’ their mother says, ‘nor did I care. I was happy, happier than I could ever have expected to be, except for one thing. Hugh and I had been married for nearly four years by then, but we had struggled to conceive. Yet not long after Julian introduced the sacrificial ceremonies …’ Her mouth twists. ‘Our joy, however, was short-lived. It was as if it were Julian’s triumph, not ours. He said that my pregnancy was proof anything could be achieved as long as Berith was on our side. His vehemence disturbed us. It frightened me. Hugh and I decided it was best to bow out of the Order after that.’

The chain of the cabinet begins to shake. Cadoc – who has until this moment stood so silent Linette has forgotten he is there – very carefully lowers the lid. He is looking at his mistress now with an expression Linette has never seen him wear before; a look of pity mixed with something else. Is that bewilderment she sees on his sallow face?

‘We could have refused Julian access from then on,’ her mother continues, ‘but at that point – aside from those poor hens – he had done nothing particular to cause concern. It was all talk, that’s what we thought. The club too had dwindled by then to a select few; the Pennants and Selwyns, others of their more immediate acquaintance, people in London whom Julian cultivated in order to enrich his financial and political partnerships, and so Hugh and I did not mind that they came to Penhelyg just as long as they kept themselves to themselves.’

Their mother falls silent a moment. A flash of pain in her grey-green eyes.

‘Hugh and I went to London before the birth. You weren’t due for another few weeks, and I was desperate for some distraction. Away from Julian, the Order. Plas Helyg. Even Enaid.’ Lady Gwen dips her head, squeezes the old woman’s hand. ‘She had begun to smother me, in those last months. I craved the freedom I used to have, just one last time, before the baby came. But some days later Julian followed, tried again to convince us of Berith’s power. We argued, for hours it seems, and the distress of it …’ She swallows. ‘Later that night I went into labour. Dr Beddoe was called—’

‘Beddoe?’ Henry interrupts, sharp, and Lady Gwen nods.

‘He ran a practice in London at the time. It’s how we all met. But yes, it was Elis who attended me, and when Julian saw you both he claimed it to be a miracle. Twins, he said, one boy, one girl, the surest sign that Berith had blessed us. He kept referring to an old archaic quote he’d found; something about bonds and unions, claimed the demon wanted you for his own. Julian said that if we were to make you both a sacrifice, Berith would ensure our fortunes for the rest of our lives.’

Again Linette looks at the locks of hair from the cabinet. She looks at the darker curl. Henry’s. Her brother.

Her twin.

That is why Linette became so attached to him so quickly, recognised in him a kindred spirit, a shared affinity. The same stubbornness, the same temper. She and Henry were made of the same cloth, though their resemblance is a shifting thing; Linette takes after Gwen, Henry after Hugh and in turn, Julian. All those times his expression stirred in her a feeling of recognition! She glances up at the portrait of her parents, of Julian beside them. Hugh and Julian look so similar. No wonder she recognised Henry, deep down.

‘Hugh would not stand for it,’ Lady Gwen continues tiredly. ‘He ordered Elis from the house, Julian too when he became aggressive. That very night your father visited other members of the Order, men he trusted – a Bow Street official and a member of the High Court Justice – explaining what had happened, begging them to arrest Julian. But it did no good.’

‘No good?’ Henry, this.

She shakes her head.

‘They refused to help – they were loyal to Julian and saw Berith as a way of advancing themselves, no matter the means. Men of power, they hold it all. If those of high office can turn a blind eye to such monstrosities, what could be done? We had no choice but to take matters into our own hands. It was the idea of twins that obsessed Julian, and if it was essential to his cause that you should be kept together …’

‘So you separated us.’

Lady Gwen nods.

‘It was a terrible choice to make, which one of you to lose, but in the end it was obvious. A boy would get along better in the world than a girl. A boy could make a life for himself. A safe life. There was no guarantee Linette could do the same. So I gave Hugh all my jewels to be put in trust with the Foundling Hospital so that when you came of age a suitable education could be paid for. Hugh left the pocketwatch as a token, in the hope we could be reunited in time.’

Henry removes the silver watch from his pocket and places it into the palm of his hand, the initials H T facing up, then looks down at the locks of hair in the cabinet. Watching him, Lady Gwen’s mouth twists. She looks ragged now, as if the confession has spent her strength. She sits back against the windowsill, leans her fair head against the glass.

‘Early the next morning, we began the journey back to Plas Helyg. We knew we had perhaps six hours before Julian discovered us gone. And when he did …’ She takes a shuddering breath. ‘He caught up with us a day later. He tried to flag us down, but Hugh pushed the horses harder. It had been raining, Julian would not … The carriage …’

Lady Gwen presses a shaking hand to her eyes. Beneath his breath Linette hears Cadoc swear, and she turns to him, wide-eyed. He is leaning now against the wall, looking monstrous pale. When he catches her looking, the butler shakes his head in dismay.

‘I was ill when your parents left for London. I’d caught cold during a hunting party, and Lord Hugh insisted I stay behind. When Julian turned up at the door of Plas Helyg with a screaming baby and her ladyship insensible, saying my master had been involved in an accident …’ He shakes his head. ‘ O’r nefoedd , I wish I’d been there. I could have stopped this, I could have—’

‘Done nothing,’ Lady Gwen cuts in. ‘There is nothing you could have done that we had not already.’

‘I could have shot him.’

A tired smile passes her lips. ‘No, Cadoc. I am glad you were not there. If you’d been a part of Henry’s escape you would have been in danger from Julian. And who else could have protected Linette?’

He has nothing to say to that, it seems. It is Enaid who breaks the silence, and she looks at both Linette and Henry, watery-eyed.

‘After the accident, my lady was in such distress that I had trouble making sense of anything she said. She kept repeating the word Berith , over and over. It seemed she had gone mad with grief. When Julian arranged for a special tincture to calm her I thought it was to ease her pain, but I see now it was to loosen her tongue, desperate to find Sir Henry. When it became clear the tincture only muddled her mind further I think Julian must have realised it was better this way – anything she said regarding his plans would be considered mere ravings. Oh, but I should have known! I should have known!’

Lady Gwen sighs, lowers her hand.

‘You could not have, Enaid,’ she says softly. ‘Besides, I welcomed oblivion. I wanted to forget. I did not want to think about any of it. I was dependent on the tincture, in the end.’

‘But what of Dr Evans?’ Linette asks. ‘Surely he knew Mamma was being drugged?’

‘Yes,’ Enaid sighs, ‘he knew, could never understand why Julian insisted upon it. Surely, he said, it was better for my lady to grieve her husband rather than pretend none of it had happened at all? I agreed, but when she lashed out at him in one of her fits we finally accepted it was the kindest treatment.’

She lapses into silence. Below them, the grandfather clock ticks.

Henry swallows, Adam’s apple hard at his throat.

‘When did you remember all this?’

He addresses their mother, but it is Enaid who answers.

‘Only this very morning. After you left, my lady asked about your pocketwatch. I told her you were a Foundling, and it all seemed to come flooding back. The birthmark she saw that night; she recognised you then, although she did not know it. Imagine my shock when she told me the truth!’

Silence again. Only the clock speaks, a solemn knock as the galleon swings back and forth, back and forth, back and forth …

‘Julian Tresilian is a fiend,’ Cadoc murmurs. ‘All these years, wasted. I’ve cursed every single day that his lordship was lost to us.’

‘Hugh is not lost.’

The words are said so softly Linette scarcely hears them, and they each look to Lady Gwen once more, sitting so pale and wan on the fraying ottoman.

‘He stands here, in front of us, in his son. My Henry. My dear Henry. Come home, at last.’