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would be lucky to arrive at Plas
    Gwyn with her ankles intact, and was thankful she was not
    burdened with the additional hazard of her overnight case.
    She rounded a corner and the house lay in front of her. It was a
    rambling two-storey building, half-timbered and obviously very old.
    Moss and lichen had gathered on the slate-covered roof, and the
    small square windows under the heavy eaves seemed to slant at
    crazy angles. It was very still, the only sign of life coming from the
    faint thread of smoke issuing from one of the chimneys. Davina
    walked forward uncertainly. There were two small lawns in front of
    the house, bordered by a low white fence. On one of them a
    cream-coloured nanny goat had been tethered and she looked up
    with bright, acquisitive eyes as Davina opened the squeaking gate
    and approached the front door.
    The door stood slightly ajar and she pushed it open tentatively and
    went in. She found herself in a large square hall. A wide staircase in
    dark polished wood curved away to the upper storey on her right.
    The walls were panelled in wood too, and there was a big stone
    fireplace, swept and polished, its wide hearth filled not with logs
    but an attractive arrangement of dried grasses and leaves.
    On the left a passage stretched away to the back of the house, and
    around the hall were three doors, all tightly closed. Davina looked
    around her a little helplessly. A big oak table stood on the left-hand
    wall, holding a small brass gong and what appeared to be a visitors'
    book. After a moment's hesitation, she trod across to the table and
    struck the gong lightly.
    Almost before the echoes had died away, a voice behind her said
    coolly, 'Yes, can I help you?'
    Davina turned sharply, conscious of relief that it was at least a
    female voice. The girl facing her was, she judged, younger than
    herself, tall and slim with a cloud of dark hair hanging on her
    shoulders. She wore a pair of riding breeches, well-fitting but
    shabby, and a faded checked shirt. Her glance, while not exactly
    hostile, did not reflect the generally welcoming atmosphere of the
    house. It seemed to assess Davina and then dismiss her.
    'I'm looking for Mr Gethyn Lloyd,' said Davina.
    'Oh?' The girl's brows rose interrogatively. 'And who is it wants
    him?'
    Davina hesitated. Her impulse was to tell this stranger to mind her
    own business, but she controlled it. Judging by what the woman at
    the inn had said this must be Rhiannon, and Davina had no wish to
    start off on bad terms with a member of the Plas Gwyn household.
    Things were going to be difficult enough without that. She decided
    to play it cool. After all, she had no means of knowing how much
    this Rhiannon might know of Gethyn's private life or her own brief
    part in it.
    'My name is Greer,' she said quietly. 'Davina Greer.'
    The girl took a step forward, and her eyes were blazing.
    Davina felt herself recoil instinctively before this fierce dislike.
    'Oh, is it?' she said with a kind of angry derision. 'Well, you can just
    go back where you came from. You're not wanted here.'
    'Rhiannon!' The shocked protest came from the stairs. Davina
    glanced up and saw they had been joined by an older woman. It
    was impossible that she and the angry Rhiannon could be other than
    mother and daughter. Mrs Parry's dark hair might be silvering at the
    temples, and her eyes full of anxiety instead of sparking with
    temper, but their basic bone structure was practically identical.
    She came down the stairs, casting her daughter a look of dismay.
    'I'm so sorry,' she turned apologetically to Davina. 'It's quite true we
    are full at the moment, but that's no reason for my daughter's
    discourtesy.'
    Rhiannon moved impatiently. 'You don't understand, Mam. She
    hasn't come to stay. She's come to see Gethyn. She's his wife.'
    The last staccato sentence died away into an awkward silence.
    Eventually Mrs Parry said nervously, 'Oh dear—I wonder what... I
    suppose I'd better introduce myself. I'm