Every morning weather permitted, she drove out to paint in the environs of Gemioncourt. Though she never ventured quite so close to the farm, she did her best to be seen by the soldiers so that her presence became unremarkable. They soon paid little heed to the consumptive artist she tried to portray.

She became familiar with the ebb and flow of life in the camp, watching as she did. With the Claude glass, she pretended to sketch the landscape through the obscured glass in the manner which had swept the more romantic painters. Though she disdained the use of such artifice in paintings, it served her as a mirror so that she might stand with her back to the farm, and yet observe as the camp followers arrived to meet their lovers. Their forms were obscured and muted in the glass, but Jane needed only to learn the rhythms of the camp, not the identity of the people. In that flow she hoped to find a path to freeing Vincent.

Besides her innocuous appearance, the one fold she had to ply in this affair was that no one, save Vincent, knew that the glamour in glass existed. No one in the entire world had the notion that it was possible to travel unseen, and on that she was forming her plans. For if one did not know it was possible, one would not guard against it.

This meant, however, that she must wait for a sunny day, without chance of clouds, before attempting a rescue of her husband. The week preceding had been overcast or with scattered clouds, but showed promise of clearing on the morrow. The fact that he was tied in the open worked to her advantage, in that she would not have to risk passages where the glamour would not work, but it also meant that his absence would be noted more quickly. To delay that moment, Jane needed a distraction.

Anne-Marie had been arriving every morning as had become custom, and helping Jane into her gentlemen’s habit. At moments, the absurdity of a lady’s maid appearing to dress a man reduced them both into fits of giggles, not so much from how amusing it was, but from the enormous tension both women were under. Jane made no pretence of having forgiven Anne-Marie, but they had achieved a sort of peace. Though Anne-Marie’s loyalty remained to Napoleon, her remorse at having been party to Vincent’s capture seemed genuine.

Jane sorted through her options repeatedly, yet she found little recourse. She would need help to rescue Vincent. She would not be so foolish as to trust Anne-Marie entirely, but had hopes that her guilt might induce her to offer some aid.

Jane rested a hand on one of the trunks which Anne-Marie had packed for her. ‘I should like to ask you for help, but I shall understand if you do not wish to be involved.’