He shifted in the bed and resettled with his arm around her back. ‘I have a colleague, M. Chastain, whom I have not seen for years. We were both apprentices with Herr Scholes, but the war has kept us apart since then. With Napoleon abdicated, I will admit that I had entertained thoughts of visiting him. From our correspondence, he is doing interesting work with double-weaving glamours into something he is calling a jacquard.’

‘After the new looms? Has he found a way to mechanize glamour then?’ Jane sat up on her elbow so she could see his face better. It would be a tremendous breakthrough if he had found a way to record glamour as M. Jacquard had used cards to record the patterns for weaving on looms.

‘No. He merely had inspiration for the technique after seeing a demonstration of M. Jacquard’s looms in Paris. From what he describes it is akin to a damask weave and creates variations based on one’s prospect.’

‘What is the benefit to this method?’ Jane sank back onto the bed, disappointed. Since the current trend in glamours dictated that they be created with full dimensions, walking around a tree of glamour had no difference from walking around one of wood.

‘I am unclear in my description.’ He sat up and inclined his head toward his writing desk. ‘I had one of his letters this morning.’

‘Stay. I will get it for you.’ She hopped out of bed and fetched the small oak travel desk. When in transit, it folded neatly in half to present an unassuming box. Once opened, it contained a comfortable sloped surface, faced in red leather. Cunningly concealed within were compartments to store correspondence and writing supplies. The battered wooden sides attested to the constant travelling Vincent had done in his life as an itinerant glamourist.

While she was up, Jane also collected a clean handkerchief and the bottle of lavender water that her mother had sent up in case she was afflicted with ‘vapours.’ Handing Vincent the desk, Jane once more slipped into bed.

She dampened the handkerchief with a small amount of the lavender water, the scent immediately bringing back the memory of her mother and the countless ailments which plagued her. Jane patted Vincent’s brow with the dampened handkerchief, wishing that he took a tenth of the care with his health that her mother did with her various nervous conditions.