Shadows in the Moonlight

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

I find Gwen in the nursery tidying away the toys. She has not been dismissed, only reprimanded for falling asleep when she should have been watching Felix. But Cordelia is not an unforgiving woman. ‘She told me she’d been frightened for Master Felix,’ Gwen tells me. She’s no longer crying, but her eyes are still swollen and bloodshot. ‘She said it mustn’t happen again. I told her it wouldn’t.’ I wince because I know that it is going to happen again, and in only four days’ time.

Thankfully Mr and Mrs Pengower have guests that evening, so I do not join them for dinner. I am emotionally drained after the day on the beach and by my knowledge of what is to come. I wish I could speak to someone about it, but I must carry the burden alone. I feign a headache and retreat to my bedroom as soon as the boys have been put to bed.

I take the pins out of my hair so that it falls in curls about my shoulders. I use the water in the jug that has been placed beside the chest of drawers to wash, and change into my linen nightdress and robe. I then recline with my feet up on the sofa in the little sitting room adjoining my bedroom and try to read a penny dreadful I found in the drawer of my bedside table. It must have belonged to Miss Archer, the governess who worked here before me. I see the words, but they do not enter my head. How can they? There’s no space for them, for it’s already crowded with dread. If the fire was lit, I’d watch the dancing flames, for that’s restful. I’d like to listen to music, but that’s also impossible. I have nothing to do but think and my thoughts keep dragging me down to where I do not want to go.

I’m beginning to doze off when I hear a soft knocking on the door. I awake with a start. For a moment I’m not sure where I am. ‘Come in,’ I reply. The door opens slowly and Cavill slips through it. He quietly closes it behind him. I’m caught off guard; in the turmoil of the day I completely forgot that he was coming.

I get up off the sofa and go to him. He pulls me into his arms and, without a word, kisses me. I forget about Felix and the future and through the power of my senses, root myself firmly in the moment. I’m aware only of his lips on mine, the taste of wine on his tongue, his arms around my body, the feeling of strength in his embrace.

He takes my hand and leads me to the sofa where we sit together. ‘I was so frightened today,’ I tell him, relieved to articulate my fear and wanting so very badly to be reassured even though there is no reassurance to be had.

He runs his fingers down my hair. He’s never seen me in my nightclothes and I can tell that he’s pleasantly surprised. ‘He is found, my dear Hermione,’ he murmurs softly, but I can see from the desire in his eyes that he’s not thinking about Felix. ‘You must not worry about it any more.’

But how can I not?

Cavill kisses me again and I realise that he does not want to talk. I grow warm as his kisses become more urgent and the heat intensifies between us. I remind myself that I am Hermione Swift, not Pixie Tate. It’s already improper that he is here, in Hermione’s room, kissing her in her nightdress.

I must not forget that I am she.

It takes all my inner strength to pull away, because I know I must not allow this to go further than it already has. I get up and go to the window. He follows. We look out into the sky that extends in its eternity above St Sidwell Manor. A frontier of dark cloud is moving in slowly over the trees, extinguishing the twinkling stars, one by one. We sit together. The window is open wide and the moon shines onto the garden below and also onto our faces, casting us in its mysterious silver light. ‘How small we are down here,’ Cavill says softly. ‘How keenly I feel God’s presence on a night like this.’

‘The wind has changed,’ I remark, and so it has. Everything will change with it.

‘I thank God for bringing me you,’ he says, and pulls me closer.

I stare into his eyes, wondering how far I dare go. Then I take his face in my hands and trace his cheeks with my thumbs. ‘Cavill, look at me.’

‘I am looking at you.’ He laughs. ‘I love everything I see.’

‘Can you see beyond the physical? Can you see the real me, the one who is looking out?’

He frowns. He must think I’ve gone mad. ‘Of course, I can see you,’ he replies.

‘One day this body will die, but the real me will live on. The real you will live on, too. Will we recognise each other when we no longer have our physical bodies? Will we recognise each other when we are made of light?’

He’s concerned now. ‘My darling. What are you saying? Are you talking about the soul?’ He smiles reassuringly. ‘Of course, I will recognise your soul. I’d recognise your soul if it was a ray of light among a thousand rays.’

Cupping his face, I press my lips to his. I close my eyes and a tear squeezes through the lashes. In three days’ time I’ll say goodbye and never see him again. Not in this life. Does he love me, or does he love Hermione? How deep does his love go?

It’s unfair to ask him that, of course. It’s unfair to expect him to distinguish between two when he believes there is only one ‘me’.

I look up at the stars. They are the same stars in my time too. The same sky, the same moon, the same planets and the same eternal space. It’s all the same. The universe seems not to change, it’s only we who change within it. We come and we go, and our lives are brief. What is it all for? Love. Only love endures. Only love lives on. Love is the only thing we take with us when we depart. And I shall take my love for Cavill with me when I go.

It’s of little consolation, however. Shortly, we’ll be separated by one hundred and eighteen years. I can hardly bear it.

It’s insurmountable.

Cavill wraps his arms around me, but he cannot imagine that when we say goodbye, it’ll be for ever. And I cannot tell him.

It’s one in the morning when I sneak down to the library. The moon is almost full so I have no need for my gas lamp, but I bring it with me for I’ll need it to illuminate my way in the tunnel. Cavill left my room a little after midnight. I did not want him to go, but I was fearful that if he remained I would fail in my duty of care to Hermione and allow things to get out of control. It’s bad enough that we’ve kissed.

Tonight, I have an important mission. I need to find out where the priest hole goes.

I wait for Cordelia in my usual place behind the curtain and hope that she won’t come. The clock chimes twice and still she does not appear. The house is as silent as a museum. I gingerly emerge and hurry across the rugs to the bookcase. My senses are alert for any sound, but all I can hear is the pounding of blood at my temples and the frantic beating of my heart. I fumble for the lever and pull it. The door pops open. I slip through and close it behind me. Once inside and out of danger, I strike a match and light the lamp.

I see before me a narrow stone staircase. The place smells musty and old, like a crypt. I sense a heightened energy and wonder how many terrified Catholics escaped persecution through this tunnel. They certainly left their fear here, trapped in this airless burrow to fester and stagnate. It makes the hair on my arms bristle. With the lamp to light my way I reach the bottom. It’s colder down here and damp. I’m surprised, though, by the care of the workmanship for the bricks are neatly laid along the walls and the barrel ceiling. The floor is made of stones and they are smooth, as if polished by hundreds of treading feet. I have to stoop a bit, and if I was with others we would have to walk in single file.

The tunnel must be a couple of hundred yards. At the end are steps leading to a wooden trapdoor. I push it and find myself peering into a shed. I climb out and look through a window. I see the stable block, resting quietly beneath the stars. This shed must be a storage shed or workshop. There’s no way that Cordelia is the only person who knows about this tunnel. Anyone who comes in here can see the trapdoor. Sure, the place is full of old sacks and bailer twine, and shelves of paint pots and other paraphernalia, but the trapdoor resembles something you might find in the cellar of a pub and is certainly not hidden or disguised. Perhaps the stable boys assume it’s a storage space or a cellar, and don’t bother to investigate, but if any of them have an ounce of curiosity they will have explored it.

I’m one hundred per cent certain that Felix is carried out through this tunnel. The question now is by whom and why? The travellers, the miners, a disgruntled local, or someone closer to home whom I haven’t yet thought of?

I feel an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. How on earth am I going to find out who takes him in the little time that remains?

The following morning, Mr Pengower summons the boys. Gwen and I bring them down to the hall where their father is waiting for them with Mr Bray. ‘I’m taking them to the mine,’ he declares. ‘It’s about time they knew what their papa does.’

I stare at him in astonishment. This is exactly what Cordelia fears. I wonder whether she knows. Do I have time to tell her? Before I can work out what to do, Cavill appears. He’s dashing in a sky-blue coat and black boots. He smiles at me, the light still warm in his eyes from the night before. ‘Good day, Miss Swift,’ he says. His gaze is probing, and I recall the intimacy we shared with a frisson of pleasure. However, I’m caught off guard by Mr Pengower’s plans that I can barely smile back. Cavill frowns at me inquisitively, but I’m unable to voice my fears without Mr Pengower overhearing me. Cavill turns to the children. ‘Right, you two little devils. Are you ready for an adventure?’

‘I am!’ Felix exclaims. He’s jumping up and down excitedly. It’s not often that he’s included in these excursions. My stomach churns with anxiety. My suspicions are aroused. I’m like a dog who senses danger. Why is Mr Pengower taking them to the mine? Why is he taking Felix? I notice Mr Bray is looking concerned, but Cavill seems in favour of it, laughing with the boys. Perhaps I’m worrying over nothing. Maybe Mr Pengower simply wants to show his sons his business. Or does he want to show the miners his sons?

I look about for Cordelia, hoping she will appear. Surely, she is aware of this. I know she will disapprove. It will put the fear of God into her. It seems that everyone knows the mines are unsafe, except for Mr Pengower, who perhaps knows but does not want to acknowledge it. There’s nothing I can do. The boys are thrilled. Felix, especially. Robert is none too happy that his little brother is going with him, but he’s pleased nonetheless to be taken away from his studies. I imagine there will be more lectures about the importance of being a Pengower.

I’m about to retreat upstairs when Mr Pengower informs me that I’m to go as well. ‘To keep an eye on Master Felix,’ he says. I want to warn Cordelia, but don’t know where to find her and I have no time. I look about for Gwen, but she’s disappeared and there’s no sign of Symons. There’s no one I can ask to deliver a message to Cordelia. We are leaving right away.

Reluctantly, I accept Mr Bray’s hand and climb into the carriage. He follows after and takes the place beside me. Mr Pengower and Cavill sit opposite us, Felix sits on his uncle’s knee. As a treat, Robert rides on the box with Mr Grantly. I catch Cavill’s eye and recall the evening before with a virgin’s blush, the irony of which is not lost on me.

The weather has been hot since I arrived the previous Wednesday and has been getting increasingly humid. Indeed, a heaviness hangs in the air, as thick as fog, but transparent like vapour. It’s close and getting closer, like the tentacles of that dark evil that is slowly making its way through the house.

The carriage wheels turn on the gravel and I’m struck at once by the sensual smell of jasmine that grows up the wall of the house. It’s sticky and strong. There’s no breeze to blow it away, so it has gathered, intensifying in the heat of the sun. All around me the shrubs, flowers and trees glow with vitality. Everything is full of life. The birds tweet merrily, the bees buzz, the butterflies flutter and the dragonflies dart, and yet my heart is heavy with the knowledge of what is to come. The beauty of St Sidwell Manor is almost an affront, in the light of the ugliness gathering in the wings.

It’s not long before we reach the mine. It’s a drab hamlet of stone huts, cylindrical-shaped towers and what looks like frames of scaffolding built on the cliffs overlooking the sea. The sky darkens but it’s not with cloud. A brick tower belches black smoke into the air, choking the sunshine and soiling the land, which is barren. Nothing grows here. Not even a blade of grass. It’s as if the earth is diseased.

The boys fall silent. Felix gazes upon the place with wide eyes and an open mouth. I don’t know whether he’s fascinated or horrified. Mr Pengower is talking to Mr Bray. They’re speaking a language I don’t understand. Mr Bray is very grave. His face is still etched with concern, but he seems to be keeping his reservations to himself and listening dutifully to Mr Pengower. I look at Cavill for reassurance. He smiles at me. ‘I do not imagine you have ever been to a mine, Miss Swift,’ he says.

‘You imagine right,’ I reply. ‘You will have to explain everything to me.’

‘It will be my pleasure.’

‘I hope it is safe,’ I add, trying to communicate my apprehension with my eyes.

‘It is safe,’ he replies with a frown. ‘I can assure you, neither you nor the boys will be put in any danger.’

But with every fibre of my being I want to get out of this place. It’s dark and sad and desolate. There’s no beauty anywhere, except for the sea, but even that looks as if it’s covered in soot beneath a flat grey sky.

We climb out of the carriage. Cavill lifts Felix down and then offers me his hand. I take it and step down onto the baked earth. I notice the men watching us and feel horribly conspicuous in my elegant white blouse and black skirt.

Men emerge from the wooden sheds in grubby trousers and shirts, their heads protected by hats that look woefully inadequate. One or two are smoking pipes, some look as if they’re still boys. Their faces are grimy, their expressions weary, and hostile. Their dark, mistrustful eyes watch us, and I fear for Robert and Felix. This is not a safe place for them. Those eyes are full of resentment. I sense it in their body language and snarling mouths. These people do not like Mr Pengower. They do not like him at all.

An eye for an eye …

Mr Pengower seems oblivious to the palpable antipathy in the atmosphere. He’s in a very good mood. ‘Come along, boys,’ he shouts cheerfully, putting out his hand for Felix, who takes it. His voice is so loud it’s as if he wants the entire mine to hear. ‘And you, too, Miss Swift. No dallying. This is an exciting day. An opportunity to see how tin is mined. To see how these clever people excavate the earth for treasure.’ He strides on, a spring in his step. Robert, with an air of importance, straightens his shoulders, lifts his chin and walks beside his father. Cavill, Mr Bray and I follow behind, listening to Mr Pengower’s booming voice telling his sons about the mines.

‘Now you listen to me, Robert and Felix. This mine was built in seventeen ninety-one. It began as a small enterprise but now employs three hundred men, forty-four women and one hundred and eighty-six children. Yes, boys only a little older than you. Imagine that!’

I really don’t want to. I’m appalled that children work in those tunnels so far beneath the ground.

Mr Pengower continues. ‘The workings extend below the water table and about a mile out under the sea. When your grandfather bought the mine back in eighteen fifty-seven, they had to walk down precarious paths in the cliffs and enter through openings in the rock. Now we are much more efficient. We have man engines, run by steam, that carry the miners up and down. You, Robert and Felix, are going to experience what it is like to be a miner and go down into the earth on one of those man engines.’

I turn to Mr Bray in panic, and panic further when I see the alarm on his face. ‘Is that wise, Mr Bray?’ I ask.

He shakes his head. ‘It is not wise at all,’ he replies briskly.

I turn to Cavill. ‘Is he really going to take the boys into the mine?’

Cavill’s brow creases into a deep frown. He glances at Mr Bray. ‘I will talk to him,’ he says and his voice is deep and serious. The gaiety has evaporated. Only Mr Pengower thinks this is a good idea.

Cavill strides ahead and talks to his brother in a low voice. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I can tell from the irritated expressions on both men’s faces that Cavill is unhappy about his brother’s plans, and his brother is not happy to be contradicted.

Mr Pengower strides on regardless. Felix is skipping excitedly beside him. Robert is walking tall, pretending to be a grown-up. Cavill is failing to change his brother’s mind.

‘They’ll be all right,’ says Mr Bray, settling his kindly eyes on mine. ‘However, Mr Pengower said nothing about taking the children down the mine. Had I known, I would have tried to persuade him otherwise.’

I realise suddenly that my suspicions are not unfounded. Mr Pengower wants to show the miners how safe the tunnels are, and how better to prove their safety than to take his own sons down them? I’m horrified at the negligence of such an act. Mr Bray is unhappy about the condition of the tunnels, and nothing has been done to improve them since the disaster of last year where people lost their lives. It seems staggeringly irresponsible to put two small children in danger in this way, simply to hoodwink the poor miners. No one should be going down those tunnels. No one.

We group together at the entrance of a stone building and Mr Pengower looks me up and down. ‘You wait here, Miss Swift. The mines are no place for a woman dressed like you.’

I’m relieved I don’t have to go down. As Pixie, I wouldn’t hesitate; I’m not afraid of small places. But I’m aware of my responsibility towards Hermione. It would be wrong of me to put her in danger. I’m fearful, however, for the children. I think of Cordelia. Does she know now where they’ve gone? Is she at home, worrying?

Mr Bray has no option but to carry out Mr Pengower’s orders. He takes charge, summoning the men. They’re clearly surprised to see the two children but pleased to be chosen to assist. They greet Mr Bray and Mr Pengower politely and then disappear into the building. The men who have not been selected to help stand around, watching warily. Some whisper to each other. By the curling of their lips and the hostility in their eyes, I don’t imagine they’re saying anything nice.

‘I will take care of the boys,’ Cavill reassures me before following the group into the building.

‘And take care of yourself,’ I add. But I know that he’s not in danger. The danger he faces is to come.

Time goes slowly. The heat is intense. The air is thick with smoke, I feel polluted with every breath I take. I tell myself that I don’t need to worry about the children’s safety. Felix does not disappear today, and Robert lives on to marry and father a daughter, Emily. What concerns me more than the danger in the mine is the danger in the men. They are boiling with rage. I understand their bitterness. They are poor, they work long hours, their labour is hard and the conditions of those tunnels are insufferable. Many of their wives and children work here too. The children are young and spend most of the day in darkness underground. I don’t imagine they get paid very much. It’s pure exploitation. But Victorians thought nothing of putting their children to work, sending them up chimneys and into the sewers to search for treasures. I think of the priest hole that leads directly into the house. These men think nothing of venturing into an underground tunnel. Will one of them use it to access the manor and steal Felix away?

It feels like an eternity, but at last I hear Felix’s cheerful chatter. The small group emerges from the building at last. Felix is jumping about like a spring rabbit. Robert is lagging behind with Mr Bray, both of them solemn and pensive. Mr Pengower is talking to his brother. His gait is buoyant. He is chipper. Whatever they did, Mr Pengower considers it well done.

Felix scampers up to me, his face aglow with pleasure. ‘We went into the tunnels!’ he informs me, his voice pitched high with excitement. ‘We were like moles under the ground. I want to be a miner when I grow up!’

I force a smile. ‘I’m sure you’ll make a good miner,’ I tell him, putting my hand on his head and ruffling his hair. My heart aches because I know he will never have the chance to make a good anything.

‘Master Felix is fearless,’ Mr Pengower tells me proudly. ‘You should have seen him, Miss Swift, scurrying up and down the tunnels like a mole. Yes, a mole, I tell you! You should have been there. Like his father, he is.’

‘How about you, Master Robert,’ I ask, turning to the boy. ‘Do you want to be a miner when you grow up, too?’ His face is pale, and I see that he is shaking. He’s clearly terrified.

‘No.’ He scowls. ‘But not because I was afraid. I don’t need to be down there. I’ll be in charge of it all.’

I look at Mr Pengower, self-satisfied and arrogant, and think how foolish he is. By taking the children down the mine, he will have rubbed salt into the wound of the poor father whose child was killed in the catastrophe. I wonder how Cordelia could have married him. I wonder too whether, deep down, she wishes she hadn’t.

I’m relieved when the carriage leaves the mine behind and carries us into the sunny countryside once again. I relish the sight of lush green fields, of yellow buttercups and pink campion, of white cow parsley and daisies. I relish the sight of life, after the sterile landscape of the mine.

Cavill’s gentle gaze settles on mine and holds it for a long moment. I daren’t smile for fear of giving myself away. But Mr Pengower is not interested in me. He’s listening to Felix, who is entertaining us with his breathless descriptions of the mine and endless questions that please his father. ‘What is the blue stuff on the walls, Papa?’ he asks.

Mr Pengower is thrilled by his son’s interest. ‘That’s copper, my boy, leaching out of the rock. How clever you are to notice it. A true Pengower, full of interest and curiosity.’

‘I want to go down again,’ says Felix, basking in the praise he’s getting from the father who perhaps has never really noticed him before. ‘Please, Papa, can I go down again?’

‘Of course you can, Felix.’

‘I want to be a mole and dig about. Can I dig a tunnel, Papa?’ Taken by the idea, he adds, ‘I am going to dig a tunnel in the garden. A proper tunnel, like a proper mole.’

Mr Pengower laughs. ‘Do you hear, Cavill? Felix wants to be a mole. I dare say he will make a very fine mole. The finest mole in St Sidwell.’ Felix beams at his father and his eyes shine with happiness.

‘You see, Miss Swift,’ the child says with a grin. ‘I am the finest mole in St Sidwell!’

Mr Bray, who is sitting beside me, is preoccupied. He rests his elbow on the side of the carriage and thoughtfully rubs his chin thoughtfully. He’s still cross that Mr Pengower insisted on taking the boys down the mine. I can feel his fury, even though he’s doing a good job of containing it. I glance at Robert, who’s sitting up on the box with Mr Grantly. He’s quiet too. He’s not saying a word. I wonder what’s going through his head. But Robert is no concern of mine. Felix is, and I must watch him closely.

As we turn into the gates of St Sidwell Manor, I notice for the first time, on one of the pillars, the smudged remains of the graffiti Miss Prideaux told me about. Someone has tried to wash it off, but the red paint can still be seen on the stone. An eye for an eye … the thought of it turns my blood to ice. Mr Pengower doesn’t look at it, but Mr Bray does. He looks at it and then he looks at me. His eyes seem to darken with concern, and I feel his fear roll over me like a prickly wave.

When we arrive home, I leave the children with Gwen and go in search of Cordelia. I find her sitting alone on a bench in the garden, a basket of sunflowers at her feet. She’s wearing a wide-brimmed sunhat and looks for a moment as if she’s dozing. But then she sees me and beckons me over with a wave of her elegant hand.

‘You are back,’ she says and forces a wan smile.

I sit beside her. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t have time to warn you.’

‘I knew he would take them,’ she says dully, and knits her fingers in her lap. ‘I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop him. At least it is done now, and they are home and safe.’

‘I think Mr Pengower will always do just as he pleases.’

‘He is so stubborn. I begged him not to take them. They are too young. What are they to gain from such an expedition?’

‘Maybe it was beneficial for them to see how the mine works?’

Cordelia sighs. ‘At a different time, I would have agreed with you. But things have changed. The miners are resentful and angry. Did you see what was written on the gate?’

‘I did.’

‘Someone wants to do us harm.’

‘I’m sure no one would do that,’ I tell her, but the truth is I’m not sure at all. ‘If they want to hurt their master, I’m sure they would not do it by hurting his child. What person would do that? It’s unthinkable.’

She wrings her hands. ‘Because he hurt one of theirs.’ Her eyes fill with tears.

‘Oh, my dear Mrs Pengower,’ I exclaim. ‘He did not do it on purpose. It was an accident.’

She looks at me fiercely. ‘It was negligence,’ she replies, spitting out the word like venom. ‘Carelessness. It could easily have been avoided. Mr Pengower is a stubborn man. When he gets an idea into his head there is no shifting it. He will not be challenged. He is very set in his ways. I know it is not my place to argue with him, but sometimes gentleness is a more effective way of getting the best out of people than severity. Mr Pengower does not understand that, to his cost.’ She laughs through her unhappiness and drops her gaze to her fingers that are now pulling at her white lace handkerchief. ‘Do you know the story of the sun and the wind, Miss Swift?’

‘Aesop’s fable,’ I reply. ‘I know it well. But tell me again.’

‘They were arguing, the sun and the wind, you see. The wind was boasting of his strength whereas the sun was explaining that there is great power in gentleness. They spied a man on the path below. He had on a heavy coat. The wind said he would prove his strength by blowing the coat off. He blew and he blew, and the leaves flew off the trees, but the man held his coat ever more tightly about him. He would not let it go. Eventually, the wind went quiet, and the sun shone warmly upon the man, who grew so hot that he took off his coat himself.’ She chuckled sadly. ‘I wish my husband would take heed of those words. I read that story to the boys every now and then and hope that the lesson might be learnt. There is, indeed, great power in gentleness. I have found, in my own small way, that kindness brings out the best in people.’

‘And you are right,’ I agree. ‘Mr Pengower will learn, in time. But it might take something …’ I hesitate, not wanting to alarm her. ‘Something painful to wake him up.’

‘I do not wish that on him,’ she says.

‘Of course not. You are a positive influence on him. If each of us has a purpose in our lives, perhaps yours is to encourage him to find his gentler side.’

She laughs softly. ‘That would be quite an achievement, Miss Swift. I am not sure I will fulfil it.’ She turns to me and there’s a knowing look in her eyes. ‘But let us talk of happier things. Mr Cavill is very fond of you.’ She smiles. ‘I think you are rather fond of him, too.’

‘He is kind and sensitive,’ I reply carefully, my cheeks flushing. ‘I do not think I have met a more admirable man. But he is above my station; it is unthinkable.’

‘Don’t be so sure! Let me tell you a secret, Miss Swift,’ she whispers conspiratorially. ‘I was a governess once, just like you. I was tutoring two young girls at a house in Somerset when Mr Pengower came to stay for a shooting weekend. The man I worked for happened to be his godfather. A girl like me would not have dreamt of marrying a man like Mr Pengower, but I was fortunate, he chose me, and I was flattered.’ She sighs. ‘I did not love him, but it pleased my mother. Like you, my father had died and my mother depended on me. I believed that in time I would grow fond of him.’ She turns to me and smiles bitterly. ‘One does not always fulfil one’s intentions. He is a difficult man. I try to feel fond, but I’m afraid I fall short. God forgive me, but there is little in him that inspires fondness.’

I feel an ache in my heart. I envisage her stuck in Felix’s bedroom as an earthbound spirit and pity her. ‘I’m sorry your life is so difficult,’ I say. ‘We all want to love and be loved in return.’

She takes my hand and squeezes it. ‘How sweet you are, Miss Swift, to care like you do. You’re becoming a dear friend to me.’ Her eyes shine with tears. ‘I have made my bed and I must lie in it. But I can confide in you. I have, in dark moments, entertained the idea of leaving my bed and no longer lying in it. Of taking control of my destiny and living the way I choose.’ She sighs and drops her shoulders in defeat. ‘But it is impossible, of course. I have too much to lose. However, I know I am loved.’ I imagine she means by her children, because she cannot mean by her husband. ‘Perhaps that is enough. Just to know it. One cannot have everything, can one? Sometimes one has to accept one’s lot and be grateful for the small glimpses of light that shine through the shadows.’

She lets go of my hand and wipes her eyes. The conversation is over. She picks up her basket of flowers. ‘Come, let us go inside,’ she says, standing up. ‘I’m sure the boys will want to tell me about their adventure. I will have to pretend that I am happy to listen.’

That night, I decide to read to Robert. He’s had a difficult day being outshone by his little brother and I want to make him feel better. I choose a book of Aesop’s Fables. I start the story about the north wind and the sun, but he puts his hand on the page and grumbles that he has heard that one already. He prefers stories with foxes in them. Reluctantly, I read The Fox and the Grapes . He’s satisfied with that and asks me to read more. At length, I close the book and say goodnight. It is time for me to dress for dinner. As I’m walking towards my room, I meet Cordelia on her way to say goodnight to her boys. She takes the opportunity to ask me to join the family this evening. ‘I have spoken with Mr Bray,’ she tells me in a low voice. ‘He was unaware of Mr Pengower’s plan to take the boys down the mine and is very unhappy about it. He is coming to dinner tonight and I fear there is going to be an argument. Mr Bray says that the men have taken it badly. They don’t feel reassured at all, they feel resentful. They think Mr Pengower takes them for fools.’

And they are right. ‘Mr Cavill tried to talk to him at the mine,’ I reply. ‘But he wouldn’t listen. I know that Mr Bray was unhappy about it too.’

She sighs. ‘My husband doesn’t listen to anyone, but I shall try again. It makes me shudder to think of another accident happening when it can so easily be avoided.’

I go to my room, bathe and change. When I come down I find Cavill on the lawn. He’s standing alone on the terrace with a tumbler of whisky in his hand, looking out over the gardens. Mr Pengower and Cordelia have not appeared, and Mr Bray and Mrs James have not yet arrived.

It’s another hot evening. The air is thick with midges and the sweet scents of the garden. The sun is the colour of a blood orange sinking slowly towards the treetops, setting their tips aflame. It’s beautiful but melancholy, as the end of the day often is. I feel a heaviness in my heart. I have but one day left with Cavill before he leaves. Then I will never see him again.

‘Cavill,’ I say. He turns and his delight at seeing me lights up his face and lifts my deflated spirit.

He comes towards me. ‘Hermione,’ he replies softly. ‘I was just thinking about you.’

‘Oh?’

‘I found myself wishing that I could turn the clock forward and instead of leaving on Friday, I could be returning instead.’

‘I wish for that too,’ I whisper. A lump lodges itself in my throat because I know he will never return.

‘I will write to you, whilst I am away,’ he says fervently, and his eyes burn. ‘I will tell you about my adventures and you will write back and keep me in touch with life here at St Sidwell.’

‘Oh, Cavill, I …’

At that moment Cordelia steps out onto the terrace in a pretty duck-egg-blue dress. She is smiling at us, a knowing smile, and looking upon us with affection. ‘Isn’t it a beautiful evening?’ she says, joining us.

‘It is all the more beautiful with you two lovely ladies in it,’ says Cavill with a grin, and Cordelia beams.

‘Doesn’t he always say the right thing?’ She laughs.

‘He thinks flattery will get him everywhere,’ I add, trying not to flirt in front of Cordelia.

She gives me a quizzical look and Cavill chuckles. I realise that that might be an expression they haven’t heard before.

Mr Pengower appears with Mr Bray and Mrs James. I sense that the two men have already had words because neither is looking particularly happy. I feel Cordelia stiffen at my side.

I catch Cavill’s eye. He takes a breath and blinks. It’s going to be one of those nights where we all pretend everything is fine, while the subject of Felix and Robert being taken to the mine sits in the middle of the dining table like a festering carcass that no one wants to acknowledge is there.

And so it is. On the surface, the conversation is light; Cordelia is charming, Cavill witty, Mrs James a delight as she laughs at everything Cavill says. But beneath the cheerful surface, the atmosphere is tense. Mr Bray is reticent. Mr Pengower grudgingly agreeable – his foreman has offended him with his criticism, and he does not want to forgive him. I notice he has two large glasses of whisky, neat, and asks for a third. Perhaps it is the whisky, but, towards the end of dinner Mr Pengower decides to assert his authority and explain why he decided to take the boys down the tunnels. ‘What you do not realise,’ he begins, looking at Mr Bray and Cavill in turn, ‘is that the men look to me for leadership. If I give in to their demands I will only make a cross for myself that I will have to carry for years to come. They want more pay.’ He waves his glass in front of him and slurs his words. ‘If I give in, what is to stop them asking for more in, say, six months’ time? And then more in, say, eight months’ time? And so on. I have to be strong as my father was before me. He ruled them with a rod of iron. That is the only way. They are a rowdy lot and capable of rising up and making a great nuisance of themselves. Today, my dear Mrs Pengower,’ he turns to his wife with a snarl on his lip. ‘I took the boys down the mine to show the men that I deem the tunnels safe. If they are safe enough for my sons, they are safe enough for them. It was a show of strength, not weakness.’ He smiles triumphantly. ‘Did you see Felix? What courage that boy has. What vim! Scampering along those tunnels like a rabbit. Like a rabbit he was, I tell you.’ He chuckles.

Mrs James laughs with him. ‘Was he really, my dear? Like a rabbit?’

‘Indeed, he was, Mother. Like an intrepid little rabbit. Never been so proud of him.’

Cavill arches an eyebrow. ‘Better late than never,’ he says.

Cordelia doesn’t smile. She plays with the stem of her wine glass. ‘It is a shame that it took a potentially dangerous excursion for you to see his value.’

Mr Pengower’s face darkens. ‘My dear, I am growing weary of your nagging. You are beginning to sound like a fishwife.’ He drains his glass and slams it on the table.

‘Ivan.’ Cavill bites back on Cordelia’s behalf. ‘We are all concerned about the potential danger in those tunnels.’

‘Then you need to find something else to complain about, because I am weary too of repeating myself. It is my estate. My mine. My men and my jurisdiction to do what the hell I like. Mr Bray, Cavill, Mrs Pengower? Is that understood?’ There is fire in his eyes, blazing out of his dark and furious face. We sit in stunned silence. I want to tell them that on Saturday night, someone will take Felix. That they will steal him out of his bed and spirit him away through the priest hole into the night and he will never be seen again. That would shut Mr Pengower up. If I told him there’s a very strong chance that the perpetrator is a disgruntled miner, would he see sense and do as Mr Bray, who is obviously both sensible and compassionate, suggests?

I bite my tongue. This is one of those moments where I can only sit back and observe. I am now pretty convinced that Felix is taken by a miner – and it appears to be his father’s fault.

Mrs James turns to Cordelia. In a sweet and placid voice, she says, ‘Will you play the piano again, my dear?’

‘Of course,’ Cordelia replies, getting up from her chair. I realise that everyone is relieved that they will be permitted to sit in silence and listen to music until it’s time to go to bed.

Night has only just fallen when we retire to our rooms. Twilight has given way to darkness and the moon shines upon the gardens with a melancholy light. The air is heavy and moist, hanging over the grass and shrubs like a damp blanket. I feel there’s going to be a storm. This weather will have to break at some point and there will be rain, and lots of it. The men don’t remain in the drawing room smoking, but retire also. Mr Bray escorts Mrs James home without shaking Mr Pengower’s hand. It appears that the two men are at odds and will be for some time. I wonder how this will pan out. Will Mr Bray be proved right when one of the miners steals Felix from his bed? I push the thought away.

Tomorrow is Thursday. I can slide through time, that is magic, but I cannot, even with all the will in the world, slow it down.

It’s not long before Cavill’s familiar knock is heard upon the door. I wish I had the strength to turn him away. But I can’t. I open it and he slips in as he did the night before. We don’t speak. He presses his lips to mine and wraps his arms around me, and I close my eyes and commit myself with all my heart to the eternal present.