Talek noticed the muscular arms and black dirt engrained around his nails.

‘What do you do?’ he asked, already knowing the answer.

‘Blacksmith by trade. I ’eard you were looking for one, but I’m willing to turn my ’and at anything.’

Talek studied the man. His hair was in need of a wash, but what labourer’s hair wasn’t? They were too busy working all the hours they could to soak in a tub for long. Their children were usually well turned out, but the man of the house left good grooming to necessity. This man didn’t appear to think that asking for employment warranted it.

‘Where are you from?’ Talek asked.

‘Near Bodmin Moor.’

Talek waited for more information. People usually learnt of a vacancy by word of mouth from family, friend or neighbour. Strangers to the area rarely just walk in and requested it. Even rarer did they get employed with no one to vouch for them. Not around this tight-knit community anyway. The man fidgeted under his steady gaze as the silence stretched.

Eventually he said, ‘I worked for old man Toby. Worked with ’im for a year, but ’e don’t need me any more.’

‘I know of no Toby. Why doesn’t he need you?’

‘’E dropped down dead whilst shoeing an ’orse. Old age they say.’

The man appeared sincere. Talek watched the cloth cap spin in his hands as he wondered why he was making the man sweat for his answer. Isaac, the shift boss, stood nearby and probably knew that Talek was just as desperate to hire a new blacksmith as this man was to work as one. Yet he still felt unsure.

He glanced at Isaac, and decided he was overthinking things too much. He gave a curt nod of his head.

‘We need a blacksmith.’ He jerked his head towards Isaac. ‘This is Mr Simmons, he’ll sort you out with the details. You can start tomorrow.’ The man was embarrassingly grateful making Talek keen to leave. He turned to go when a thought struck him.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked, turning round as he slipped on his jacket. ‘We’ll need it for the payroll?’

‘Alfred, sir. Alfred Petherbridge.’

* * *

Talek returned home to find his sister and Henry about to leave. He wasn’t sure what unsettled him the most, the fact that Amelia was going out and would be subject to stares without him nearby to protect her or that Henry was taking on the role he’d always seen as his.

As Talek watched Henry carefully lift Amelia from the armchair to a waiting wicker wheelchair, he realised something was different. Amelia and Henry’s friendship had changed. It had strengthened under his very nose and he wondered how he had not seen it before. He frowned. He’d become aware that Henry was spending more time at Roseland, but he had always assumed he was seeking the solitude and peace he himself had often found there. It was true that on several occasions, he had returned home to find Amelia quietly reading in a chair and Henry at work at Talek’s desk like an old married couple. He had even teased them about it. Yet, seeing Henry lift Amelia and seeking her company outside of work was new to him. He felt unsettled, even excluded, and did not know why. Was it just brotherly concern or was it envy that those closest to him were finally enjoying life whereas his remained staid and stale?

‘Where are you going?’ Talek asked Amelia more gruffly than he had intended, as Henry wheeled his sister through the hall.

Henry answered for her. ‘We’re going to the village. The band is playing.’

Talek followed them out into the late afternoon sun. ‘I didn’t know you held an interest in the village entertainment.’

‘Grace thought it would be good to show our faces as many of the villagers are employed at Bothick Mine,’ said Amelia. ‘Open the door, Talek. Henry can’t open the door and push me at the same time.’

‘Are you coming?’ asked Henry as they navigated past him.

Talek declined, but followed in their wake to help Amelia into the waiting trap. ‘I have no intention of being the third person on your cosy ride.’ Grace came to mind. ‘Where is Grace?’ He eyed Roseland Manor towering over them and wondered which curtain she was hiding behind this time.

‘She is already there,’ said Amelia. ‘She has been helping them decorate the hall. Come with us. It should be fun.’

Talek helped Henry lift her into the trap.

‘I have enough to do here,’ said Talek, watching his sister straightening her dress. Her fingers trembled with excitement at what was nothing more than a small, local outing. Pangs of guilt gnawed at him that his sister’s life had come to this and he could do little about it. ‘Look after my sister,’ said Talek to Henry.

Henry climbed into the trap beside Amelia. His sister beamed at her brother. Henry, on the other hand, did not.

‘You sound as if you don’t trust me, Talek. How long have you known me? I expect better from you than that.’

On a twist of a farthing, the mood between the men had changed and Talek had not seen it coming. Henry flicked the reins and the trap lurched forward, before Talek could reply. He was forced to hide his concern from Amelia behind a smile, as he watched her clutch onto her hat and wave an enthusiastic goodbye. Henry, his back stiff, his shoulders’ straight, did not look back at all. Was it his imagination that Henry’s reaction was a little extreme to what was no more than a passing request to care for his sister? Talek felt as if the ground under his feet was shifting as everyone was behaving very differently. Amelia’s desire to be out and about and Henry’s generosity to his sister had all been stirred up since Grace’s arrival. She was even immersing herself in his workers’ lives, which was never a good thing to do.

Talek walked briskly to his study and sat heavily down at his desk, aware he was behaving like a petulant child left out of a game. His gaze wandered over the polished wood surface. He could always tell when Henry had been working at his desk. He was untidy in his accounting and often left a scattering of notes scribbled with arithmetic. Talek had never voiced his frustration at Henry using his desk, or the minor destruction he left in his wake, as his accounting skills were exemplary and worth the annoyance. Talek, on the other hand, had a more organised way of working, everything in its place and the rest tidied away at the end of the day. His desk had remained as he had left it earlier. It appeared Henry was using another place to do the accounting now, perhaps their St Austell office, in order that his time with Amelia solely focused on her. He should thank the man rather than feel so unsettled.

He pulled out the drawer and reached in deep to locate Margaret’s photograph. He had pushed it well back the last time he had looked at it so it was not on show should the drawer be opened. His fingers touched the silver frame, confirming it was where he had left it, but this time he did not withdraw it. What would Grace think if she knew he still had his former fiancée’s photograph hidden in his desk? Would she think he was behaving like a lovesick youth lamenting for a lost love?

Grace’s face teased his mind. She was laughing at him, with her soft throaty laugh, which he had often heard but she had yet to share with him. He thought of her vibrant auburn hair shining in the sun. Any desire he had to see Margaret’s photograph drained away at the realisation that Grace seemed to like everyone but him. It was a revelation that left him with a deep ache in his gut.

He withdrew his empty hand and sat back in the chair, the photograph all but forgotten. He had refused Amelia’s invitation to join them, despite knowing that he would enjoy listening to the musicians playing their fifes, accordions and mandolins as they paraded through the village. Why? Because Grace had not invited him, said a nagging voice in his head, and that disappointed him more than he cared to admit. The result meant that he had stubbornly refused Amelia’s invitation, yet what good had it done him? The house was empty, but for a few staff lurking in the shadows, while everyone who lived within a three mile radius was enjoying a country gathering in the shadows of the sky tips. And in the midst of them all was Grace Kellow, a woman who had accused him of murder, could not undertake a short train journey a child could navigate and had only been resident in clay country for three months. The reason why she left home and cut her hair off was something he did not want to dwell on too deeply. Daniel Kellow had said she would be no trouble and he had taken him at his word — although perhaps, he thought smiling to himself, he should have asked for his definition of the word ‘trouble’ before he agreed to offer her a job.

* * *

The ancient Cornish dance, ‘The Snail Creep’, was in full swing. Grace did not join the villagers, preferring to watch from the side of the road as the band led a procession of couples dancing to its lively tune. The first pair held aloft branches cut from the old village oak. The swaying wood symbolised the eye stalks of a snail, whereas the villagers formed its body, dancing in ever-decreasing circles until the spiral was so tightly entwined they were forced to turn and retrace their steps to unravel the coil again. The procession snaked through the centre of the village and took up a new position. The road, framed by a scattering of cottages and terraced houses, was normally quiet between the times when the miners arrived and left for their shifts. Today, on the 150th anniversary of the discovery of clay in mid-Cornwall, the road was swarming with the villagers and local inhabitants who had cared enough to travel.

Children ran in and out of the small groups gathering to watch, playing imaginary games made up on the spur of the moment. The dance eventually filed into an adjacent field and the remaining folk followed, keen to sample the succulent, roasted hog waiting for them on a spit. Grace watched them leave the centre of the village as distant grunts and cheers from workers straining at Tug o’ War, carried over the hedge to Grace’s stall. She’d volunteered to help serve mugs of tea and saffron buns for the price of a penny, and although trade had been brisk at first, the demand had now slowed and she was able to rest. She wiped her forehead with the back of her arm and was briefly reminded of her short hair. She had forgotten how she must look, thanks mainly to the fact that not one person brought attention to it. They had accepted her odd look, which kicked against expectations of a woman of her standing, and she felt a flutter of freedom that she hadn’t felt since the day she sat at Hel Tor. It was the day she had seen Talek Danning for the first time. After that everything had begun to change.

‘Are you comin’ to the field?’ asked Tommy. Grace turned to find both Tommy and Billy beside her, Tommy looking at her with his wise old eyes as Billy, head bowed, stabbed at the scattered crumbs on the table. He has done this before, smiled Grace as she watched him expertly pick up each crumb with a moist single finger and pop them into his mouth.

‘In a bit. Would you like a bun, Billy?’

Billy looked up. ‘Can’t miss. Don’t ’ave no money. Gave me wages to Mother.’

‘Well my mother don’t need mine where she is,’ said Tommy, winking at Grace. ‘Been dead twenty years!’

At first Grace was unsure how to respond, but when Tommy and Billy both began to laugh, she found herself smiling too. Eventually their laughter settled.

‘Let me treat you to a bun,’ said Tommy, handing over a penny and selecting the biggest. ‘You need a big one. This will put muscles on you.’ Tommy touched his cap in farewell to Grace. ‘’Ope to see you in the field later, miss,’ he said. She nodded in reply as he turned to walk away. Billy hurried in his wake to catch up.

‘Buns don’t make you grow muscle, Tommy,’ said Billy through a mouthful of food.

‘Buns made with saffron do, boy. What do I always tell ya?’

Billy must have swallowed his bun, for his mimicry of the old man was loud and clear to Grace, despite the growing distance between her and them.

‘ “Stick with me boy an’ I’ll look after you an’ teach you all you need to know.” ’

Grace smiled as Tommy rubbed Billy’s cap into his hair. The old man and boy had a friendship to envy, a bond as strong as any father and son. She thought of her own and felt the familiar ache of sadness rise up inside her. She gave herself a little shake and looked up to the sky. The sun was shining and there was music and laughter in the air. This was not the place to become maudlin.

Grace began to tidy her stall. She was pleased that Amelia and Henry had visited, although only briefly. Amelia appeared happy during the visit and Henry, who looked less so, had attended to her needs in an efficient and caring manner. Grace could tell that caring for an invalid didn’t come naturally to him, but at least he was showing a willingness to try. Talek, on the other hand, hadn’t come at all, which Grace thought was ill-judged. He should show an interest in what his workers did in their spare time. She began to clear her stall with an efficiency only frustration and an eagerness to catch up with the band could supply. She glanced up to find herself staring at the man who occupied her thoughts, as he weaved amongst the last of the hangers-on. Her stomach flipped as he came striding towards her, a mixture of surprise, pleasure and anxiety tying itself in knots inside her to an almost painful degree.

‘You came.’