“This place saved my life, Bram, I don’t mind telling you. I was rescued from that Stygian hellhole of a jail and transported to this other world. I have never lived in the countryside, but, my word, there is so much we can learn about ourselves. When we are returned to nature, working the land with our hands, these hands, look at the calluses, honestly earned, through toil and effort, in all weathers, at one with the elements. I was … invigorated. Whatever Jane likes to tell people, I feel reborn, full of energy, and ready to work again!”

“Paintings this time, then? And on such a scale.”

“Oh, no, this is for me. An aide-mémoire of my time spent tilling the soil. Not that I need one, no, no, but I confess, I miss the open landscape. I wanted to have it here with me still.” He starts to descend the ladder. “No, I shall return to my sculptures, my true calling.” He reaches the ground and stands in front of Bram. “Not that there is a demand for works in stone just now, but I daresay there will be again, when the world has recovered its senses and is in its right mind once more.”

“And you really think it will? Recover its senses, I mean?”

Mangan narrows his eyes at Bram for a moment. “What? Where is that glorious youthful optimism I remember you for?”

“I may have left a little of it in Africa.”

“Ah. Yes. Bad business that. Still.” He drops his brush into an open tin of paint nearby, paying no heed to the fresh splash of green that joins others already decorating his worn trousers. He clasps Bram to him in a manly embrace. “Good to have you back with us, Bram from Yorkshire. Splendid. Yes, splendid indeed.”

Bram experiences a flash of memory of the time he overheard Mangan talking to a fellow coven member. The images in his mind are shadowy, but the recollection is bright and sharp, of the night he learned that Lilith is not the only person close to him who is a witch.

This man counts me as his friend. There exists between us a mutual trust. And yet he keeps a secret so large I wonder there is space enough for it even in this rambling house.

“Why so serious, young man?” Mangan frowns at him. “You have the world at your feet, or will presently. This is no time for the maudlin reflection I judge you are now engaged in.” He narrows his eyes and then goes on. “Or could it be a troubled heart that is giving you such a dyspeptic appearance all of a sudden?”

Bram shrugs. “You know Lilith is soon to be married?”