It was so noble a goal that Jane again found herself doubting that anything untoward had happened when they arrived. Certainly she had seen no further signs of unrest. She began to wonder if her nerves had been overrun from the rigours of the journey.

‘Enough of this, old man. You dragged me across the Channel to see your jacquard.’ Vincent crossed his arms and lowered his chin as he did when he was displeased, but the corners of his eyes hinted at an incipient smile.

‘Very well, vulture. Since you are swooping in to impose on me, I shall show you so you will leave me in peace.’ Barely concealing his pride with this teasing, M. Chastain led them across the floor to the end of the building, where a simple glamour of an oak tree appeared to cast shade over the floor. Entirely fixed, it was rendered with correctness, but to Jane’s eye, it lacked a sense of life. He spun on his heel and gestured at the tree with an unambiguous expression of complacence. ‘Walk around it.’