Nothing in her life outside of nature had offered her beauty of this kind before. That anyone could fashion such a thing from a bare metal, using their hands, seemed a miracle.

She was tempted to slip into the empty room, to look closer, to cup her hands round the lovely thing. But the bang of a door closing somewhere at the back of the premises sent her scuttling towards the front door and out on to the street, in a turmoil.

Were these feelings all another snare of the devil, like Charles Barber, or was such beauty truly a working of the divine?

At dinner time, all the talk was about the Germans. Uncle Eb divulged that the two men were cousins. Herr Schmale was apparently in London: he had seen a gold bracelet in a shop in Hatton Garden and enquired as to the maker of it, since it was not the name of the jeweller under which pieces were sold, but rather the retailer.

Herr Schmale made it clear that he had been enchanted by the piece and was also interested in the process. He was keen to see how things were made and even to have a hand in the design of something unique for his fiancée.

While he was at it, his cousin, Herr von Titz, also wished to place an order – for individual framed portraits of his seven daughters. He would apparently be sending photographs for this purpose. Evidently Caleb Turner had accepted the possible challenge of creating dies for this order in his usual quiet way. Oh, ar, most likely, Margaret thought.

Annie, who had been working hard all morning, was silenced by hunger, eating Mrs Sullivan’s liver, gravy and potatoes as fast as a hungry dog. But during a gap in the conversation, Margaret could not resist asking about the stranger she had seen go into number twenty-four. Could it be he who had made the beautiful bowl – or was it the work of the mysterious Mr Tallis?

‘There was a man next door when I went to see Mr Turner,’ she said. ‘Rather a . . . noticeable sort of person . . .’

‘Like a ship in full sail?’ Uncle Eb said, charging his fork with potato. ‘Coat-tails? Queer hat?’

‘Yes. Exactly like that,’ Margaret said, smiling. ‘The little girl, Daisy, called him Mr Carson.’

‘That’s the one,’ Eb said. ‘He’ll have come to see Tallis. He’s one of them from the jewellery school – in Vittoria Street. There’s a couple of ’em come back and to, wooing Tallis. Not that it gets ’em anywhere.’

Annie polished off her last mouthful and fixed her gaze longingly on the remaining potatoes. Aunt Hatt laughed and spooned two on to her plate.

‘Healthy appetite you’ve got, wench, I’ll say that for you,’ she said. ‘Look at you – tiny thing. I don’t know where you put it all.’

Annie was too busy eating to reply.

‘Wooing him? Why?’ Margaret said.