Again, he saw the curve of a smile on her mouth and took this for an affirmative answer. He nodded to the nurse and she went out, taking with her a water jug, which was empty, to refill it. Left alone with Jane, Sir William once again took her hand and stroked it gently. Jane closed her eyes. Sir William saw tears begin to run down her cheek and he knew that these tears were not only for the pain but for the recent catastrophe. He could guess at the reasons for it, but refused to name it, even to himself. He only sensed that there was a finality about it which, even if Jane survived, would bring about an alteration to their lives and that nothing in the future would be as he had once counted upon it being.

When the nurse returned, Sir William said to Jane, ‘I am going to ask her to lift the bed clothes and examine you, to see whether you are still bleeding. Are you happy that she should do this?’

To Sir William’s surprise, Jane turned her head to him and whispered the word ‘portrait’. He did not know if he had heard her correctly and raised his head to silently interrogate the nurse.

For a moment, she looked away, unwilling to make any answer, but then she said quietly, ‘the portrait of Miss Jane has been taken down and returned to the late Miss Emmeline’s studio. Mr Sims told me to tell you, when you arrived, that you might wish to look at it.’

Sir William Adeane was a man who disliked riddles. In his own profession, when diagnosis was difficult, it put him into a mild state of anguish and this was what he felt now, anguish on top of anguish, that his daughter was holding to life by a frayed thread and that he was being sent upon some quest which might only increase his confusion.

He nevertheless stood up obediently and, reassuring Jane that he would be back directly, went out and down the stairs towards his sister’s studio, a room which had always engendered strong feelings in him – feelings of both admiration and fear. He had never been told the story of the golem, never known that Emmeline had suffered quite so cruelly at the hands of Jocelyn Hulton, but he had often been afraid for his sister – for her vulnerability in a man’s world and for her loneliness. He had sometimes seen her life as a kind of martyrdom to her art, and had never been able to decide if the sacrifice was worth the sorrow.

Now, as he walked towards the studio, he heard a ring at the doorbell and Nancy came out from her kitchen to answer it. Sir William waited at the foot of the stairs. The door opened to admit Ashton and Julietta Sims and when Julietta saw Jane’s father, she rushed to him and asked, ‘how is she, Sir William? Has she rallied? Is she out of danger?’