“Why?”
“Grandfather?” said Huw. “He went mad, down through the wood by the river.”
“Here?” said Gwyn. “The wood in the garden, where it’s swampy?”
“Yes. We don’t go there.”
“Really, really mad?” said Gwyn.
“That’s what the English said. They would not let him stay here. He lost his job.”
“The English? Wasn’t the house lived in properly even then?”
“It has never been a home,” said Huw. “They come for a while, and go. And my grandfather had to go. They would not let him stay in the valley.”
“What happened to him?”
“He walked away. Sometimes we heard of him. He sent those plates. He was working in the big potteries, and he decorated the plates and sent them to the house, and a letter to say he was all right now, but word came soon after that he had died at Stoke.”
“But why were they put in the loft? And why did Mam have hysterics when I found them?”
“Ask her. She’s your mother,” said Huw. “Perhaps there’s always talk in a valley.”
“Is there anything needed for the house while we’re out shopping, Halfbacon?”
Roger and his father came into the yard.
“No, sir,” said Huw. “We are not wanting any stuff.”
“Good,” said Clive. “I’ll be off, then. Jot down what you want for your snaps, won’t you, Roger? Funny rock you have in the meadow, Halfbacon. Who drilled the hole in it?”
“It is the Stone of Gronw,” said Huw.
“Oh? What’s that when it’s at home, eh? Ha ha.”
“There is a man being killed at that place,” said Huw: “old time.”
“Was there now!”
“Yes,” said Huw. “He has been taking the other man’s wife.”
“That’s a bit off, I must say,” said Clive. “I suppose the stone’s a kind of memorial, eh? But who made the hole? You can see those trees through it at the top of the ridge.”
“Yes, sir,” said Huw. “He is standing on the bank of the river, see, and the husband is up there on the Bryn with a spear: and he is putting the stone between himself and the spear, and the spear is going right through the stone and him.”
“Oho,” said Clive.
“Why did he stand there and let it happen?” said Roger.
“Because he killed the husband the same way earlier to take the wife.”
“Tit for tat,” said Clive. “These old yarns, eh? Well, I must be off.”
“Yes, sir, that is how it is happening, old time.”
Gwyn went with Roger and his father towards the house.
“Will you be using the billiard-room today, Mr Bradley?”
“No,” said Clive. “I’ll be fishing as soon as we’re back: mustn’t waste this weather, you know. Help yourself, old son.”
“Here’s what I want for my camera, Dad,” said Roger. “It’s all there.”
“Fine,” said Clive. “Well, cheerio.”
“I was beginning to believe that maundering old liar,” said Roger.
“Huw wasn’t lying. Not deliberate,” said Gwyn.
“What? A spear making that hole? Thrown all the way from those trees? by a stiff?”
“Huw believes it.”
“You Welsh are all the same,” said Roger. “Scratch one and they all bleed.”
“What happened to you yesterday by the Stone of Gronw?” said Gwyn. “You knew what I meant when I was trying to explain how it felt when I picked up a plate. And then you started talking about the stone out of nowhere.”
“It was a feeling,” said Roger. “One minute everything’s OK – and the next minute it’s not. Too much clean living, I expect. I’ll cut down on the yoghurt—”
“And you came straight up from the river,” said Gwyn. “Didn’t you? Work it out, man. We both felt something, and it must have been near enough at the same time. What was it?”
“A thump,” said Roger. “A kind of scream. Very quick. Perhaps there was an accident—”
“I’ve not heard of any,” said Gwyn. “And in this valley you can’t sneeze without everyone knowing from here to Aber.”
“There was a whistling, too,” said Roger, “in the air. That’s all.”
“And I got a shock from the plates,” said Gwyn. “And nothing’s been the same since. Did you notice the sky when you were with your Dad a few minutes ago?”
“No?”
“Flashing,” said Gwyn. “Like strip lighting switched on, only blue.”
“No,” said Roger.
“Huw saw it. Where’s Alison?”
“Gone to tell her mother about yours.”
“There’s something to show you,” said Gwyn. “In the billiard-room.”
They found Alison rattling the door handle. “Why have you locked it?” she said. “I want the plates.”
“They’re still here,” said Gwyn.
He unlocked the door and they went inside.
“Gwyn! You’ve broken them!”
“Not me, lady. Have you seen what’s behind you?”
“Holy cow!” said Roger.
She was tall. Her long hair fell to her waist, framing in gold her pale and lovely face. Her eyes were blue. She wore a loose gown of white cambric, embroidered with living green stems of broom and meadowsweet, and a wreath of green oak leaves in her hair.
“Gave me quite a turn, she did,” said Gwyn. “There was just her eyes showing at first, but that pebble-dash soon came off.”
“She’s so beautiful!” said Alison. “Who’d want to cover her up?”
“Sixteenth century, if it’s a day,” said Roger. “Fresh as new. How’s it survived under that lot?”
The woman was painted life-size in oils on wooden panelling. She stood against a background of clover heads spaced in rows.
“What a find!” said Roger. “It’ll fetch thousands.”
“Not so fast,” said Gwyn. “We’ll keep our mouths shut. You’ll have to organise your Dad, and the one person who mustn’t know is my Mam.”
“Why, for heaven’s sake? Don’t you realise? You’ve a masterpiece here.”
“My mam would take an axe to it,” said Gwyn. “Start thinking. You’ve not asked me how I found it.”
“How did you, then?” said Alison.
“It was your plates. I