Despite what he has been told, nothing could have prepared him for the mayhem which he finds inside. The air is thick with the smell of oil paint and turpentine, so strong it catches at the back of Bram’s throat. The hallway itself has no lights, but is lit only by what lamplight falls through the doorways off it, or through what appears to be a large hole in the rear wall. There are pictures and mirrors aplenty, but no furniture, not a chair or a table, and nothing by way of hooks on which to hang a coat or hat. There are half-finished paintings propped against every wall, and wrapped lumps of stone, or smaller clay maquettes taking up space. The floor is of bare wood, which makes an excellent surface on which to ride bicycles, as three or possibly four (they move too quickly to tell) small children are demonstrating. Their shrieks of glee accompany some vigorous work on a piano in one of the adjoining rooms and the barking of a large, hairy, excitable, but mercifully friendly hound, which bounds about Bram as he attempts to set down his luggage.

A rosy-cheeked woman, who carries more weight than is flattering, appears in pursuit of two of the smaller children.

“Twins! Twins!” she calls after them as they speed away on a shared tricycle. “I have filled a bath for you. Come along now, do. We mustn’t waste the hot water. Whatever would Pa say?”

The children seem not to care, but only pedal faster and giggle louder.

“Twins!” the woman wails at them as they disappear through the hole in the back wall and out, as far as Bram can tell, into the darkening garden. Noticing him at last, the woman brightens. “Oh! Are you he? The artist, is it you?”

“Well, yes, I am. It is.” Bram snatches his hat from his head and is about to introduce himself properly but the woman spins on her heel and yells up the stairwell.

“Gudrun! Gudrun, he’s here. Will you tell Perry? Gudrun, where are you?” she cries, chasing her words up the stairs.

Bram waits awkwardly in the hall while further chaos swirls around him. More children tear in one door and out of another. The dog decides they are more fun than he is and gives chase. Bram can hear raised adult voices on the floor above. A boy with startling red hair, aged about seven Bram guesses, comes to stand next to him. He stares up with a pale, serious face.

“Pa’s gone out,” he says.

“Oh, I see. Was that your mother? Mrs. Mangan?”

“No, and yes,” says the boy. “She’s not my mother. She is Mrs. Mangan.”

“Ah.”

“My name’s Freedom,” the boy tells him, and then points at various darting figures. “That’s Honesty, Truth, and Purity. Those are the twins. Their names are Leo and Vincent, but mostly we just call them the twins.”