“Two weeks from now,” she says. “After the Anstruthers’ ball.”

“After the ball,” he echoes, smiling, and they stand there, embracing, listening to the strange cries of creatures from faraway lands who don’t belong but who have discovered a way of going on in the curious world in which they find themselves.

*   *   *

Later, alone in his bed that now seems unpleasantly empty without Lilith next to him, Bram chases sleep unsuccessfully. The idea of a week away with her, out of London, spared the interference of her mother or the many friends she has in the city who would, no doubt, be happy to tell Louis of his fiancée’s interest in another man. It is beginning to worry Bram that she has not yet broken off the engagement. She has told him she is looking for the right moment, that she wants her brother home, that she has to find a reason and that it should not be Bram, that she wants to find a time that will not upset coven business. These last two bother him most. Surely, if they are to have a future together, she should tell Louis that she loves someone else, that she loves Bram. Is she ashamed of him, after all, despite the fact that she repeatedly tells him this is not the case? And what if her loyalty to the coven weakens her resolve to follow her heart? Louis is a witch, too, she has explained. They share, then, a very special bond.

One which I cannot hope to match.

He turns over, pulling the inadequate cover up to his chin. The cold is not helping in his quest for sleep. He decides he must have a hot drink and clambers out of bed, fumbling in the darkness for matches. He lights an oil lamp and then sees the kettle is empty. Cursing silently, he pushes his already socked feet into his shoes and heads for the kitchen. He descends the creaking flights of stairs as quietly as he can, mindful of the fact that it must be well past midnight and Jane would not thank him for waking any of the children. The house is silent and still, but when he reaches the hall he is surprised to hear low voices coming from Mangan’s studio. He can make out the gruff tones of the artist himself, but does not recognize the second speaker.

Who would be calling at such a time? There is surely not sufficient light to view any artwork.