‘I want you to leave.’
‘We make butter from the milk and sell it. It is one vat. We have six in all. We distribute butter and cheese to shops all over Cornwall and more beyond. I visited the White River the other day. It reminded me of an incident in my childhood.’ Grace ignored his stony stare. ‘A farmer brought us some contaminated milk once. It was a mistake on his part. When he realised he informed us immediately . . . but it was too late. It had already been poured into a vat. One of our workers thought he knew which vat he had contaminated, but he wasn’t sure.’ Grace remembered her father, looming tall and solid in her child’s eye, when he found out. ‘My father immediately ordered for all the vats to be emptied. He wanted every drop to be drained away.’
Henry had grown impatient. ‘I have letters to write. You are taking up my valuable time.’
Grace ignored him. ‘We watched the milk flow through the yard and away over the sloping fields. I asked him why he had chosen to throw it all away. He told me that once a reputation was lost, it was hard to regain it and he would not take the risk by producing contaminated dairy products.’
Henry’s gaze lowered to a distant spot on the far side of the room. Grace leant towards him. ‘Henry,’ she pleaded, ‘the shipment from Stenna Pit bears the name of Celtic Clay. Your business’s reputation is at risk.’ Her voice almost broke as she pleaded, but Henry didn’t appear to notice. Instead he rested his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes.
‘You can’t ignore this. This is not something that will go away. I will not go away.’
The door creaked behind them, causing Henry’s eyes to fly open. Grace looked over her shoulder and caught a fleeting glimpse of the woman, with jet-black hair, before she retreated into the shadows of the hall.
‘Excuse me a moment,’ said Henry, rising to his feet and leaving the room. He pulled the door closed behind him but failed to shut it completely. Grace followed, interested to see who had caused him to momentarily forget his injuries in order to speak with her.
The door remained slightly ajar, no more than a finger’s width, yet it gave Grace an unhindered view of Henry and the mysterious woman. She was beautiful, with eyes the colour of rich walnut and dark arched eyebrows, which promised both teasing seduction and haughty conflict in equal measures. Just as she suspected, she had seen her before. She was the woman standing by the window on her previous visit.
‘I told Wicks that we were not to be disturbed,’ snapped Henry.
The woman raised a haughty brow. ‘I have not seen Wicks. Besides, I can go where I please. Who is that woman?’
‘She is Amelia’s live-in companion.’
‘What is she doing here?’
‘She is here to teach me about the clay industry despite having no experience of her own.’ He jerked his head towards the door. Grace quickly withdrew behind the door, so she could not be seen.
‘Talek has asked her to take over the accounts while I recover. As you can tell, I’m not in the mood to humour her. Now, please leave us alone. I’ll speak with you later.’
A short silence followed, drawing Grace from her hiding place to see if the woman had left. To her surprise, fine cords of sinew had tightened the woman’s elegant neck, as she considered Henry’s request, her gaze dropping and rising, to take in the full length of him.
‘You would like nothing better than for me to leave. You’re afraid of what I might say. Afraid that I will betray your secrets.’
‘And by doing so you will betray your own.’
They continued to stare at one another, the challenge laid out between them, yet neither giving way. The tension was palpable and caught at the breath in Grace’s throat.
‘Sometimes those are the best secrets to hear,’ the woman replied, in a glacier tone, before turning briskly and leaving the hall.
Grace quickly retreated to the window and pretended to admire the view.
‘My cousin is a wilful woman,’ said Henry on his return, ‘but she has no place in this discussion.’
‘Discussion? So you are willing to consider what I have said?’
Henry went to the fire and coaxed it back to life. He straightened and watched the flames rise, his body blocking the heat radiating from the grate. Eventually he turned away, went to his chair and eased himself back into it, wincing slightly at the discomfort in his ribs. His earlier haste had been without thought, now he was suffering the consequences as the pain had returned with a vengeance. However, his weakened state did not change his mind on the matter in hand.
‘We will see.’
Grace lifted her chin. ‘If you don’t tell Talek, then I will be forced to.’
Henry tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he studied her.
‘Your interest in our business dealings puzzles me. Why would a woman trouble her pretty mind with such things? At first I thought it was born from a desire to have the numbers tally. There is nothing more galling to a mathematician than when numbers misbehave. The drive to solve the problem can both infuriate and invigorate.’ He smiled. ‘I see that you are surprised I know how it feels. You see, Grace, people like us prefer things to stay organised and in their place. Numbers are so less confusing than people.’
He refilled his glass. ‘Laudanum has a way of calling a man back to it,’ he said, adding a scattering of drops to his drink. He turned back to her and lifted the glass in a toast.
‘To my good health,’ he said, before taking a noisy gulp. ‘I think you must have a fondness for Talek to be so concerned. It must be very confusing for you to have your heart overruling your head. Does your heart pound as a result of some inconsequential action on his part? My poor Grace . . . it must be unsettling for you to find no logic in how your body reacts to his presence.’
Grace’s eyes widened. She wasn’t sure what shocked her the most — how intimately he was speaking to her or that his words so accurately reflected how she felt.
Henry smiled. ‘I’m right, aren’t I? You are in love with Talek and it is this that drives you. You have been presented with a problem and you are desperately trying to solve it for him. Let me relieve you of that burden.’ He opened his arms in mock innocence. ‘It is not your problem to solve. Go home to Bodmin Moor. Leave the clay lands to those who know about clay.’
Grace did not move. ‘If you don’t tell him, I will. I promised Amelia I wouldn’t, but I don’t think I can live with myself if I don’t.’
Henry sighed. ‘Amelia has more sense than you. You, on the other hand, are as troublesome as a gnat at dusk. Talek is an honourable man, but you’re right, reputation is important to him. In fact I would go as far as to say that it is everything to him. Imagine his disappointment should he find out about you.’
The room moved about her. Only Henry’s smiling face, taunting and smiling, anchored her with its clarity.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I saw you that day, hiding from a dirty blacksmith. Alfred Petherbridge,’ he mused, ‘a nobody with a tale to tell. And he was willing to tell it. Only too willing. He must really hate you. Of course, I paid him to keep quiet. It wasn’t for your benefit, you understand, more for mine. The information he provided was a valuable commodity. It is far better to keep it in one’s arsenal for a more fitting time.’
Henry waited for her reply. Grace said nothing, unsure how much he really knew.
‘Come, come, Grace. Are you not going to ask me what he said? No? Then let me tell you anyway, because if you continue your stupid quest of stirring up trouble, I’ll have no choice but to tell every person I meet that your father was a brutal rapist. They say bad blood will out. Doesn’t make you very good breeding stock, does it? Talek would want nothing to do with you, if he knew, and he wouldn’t want Amelia near you. The association would be unthinkable.’
‘You can’t know that for sure.’
