“Yet I remember this face. Yes.” He takes Charlotte’s chin in both hands now, his eyes alight with inspiration. “I remember knowing I must work with this face.”

Fighting his mesmerizing gaze, Charlotte mutters, “This is my good friend, Lady Lilith Montgomery.”

Mangan plays his part well. He turns to me as if only just noticing my presence and steps forward, studying me closely.

“And another beauty,” he says, apparently to himself. “Oh, a very different manner of harmony in these features. Such strength. Such … elegance.”

Now I feel like a racehorse again. And how I dislike the duplicity, the lies that our secret identities compel us to live out.

“And you have no desire to be immortalized in stone?” he asks me suddenly.

“I don’t believe I would like immortality,” I reply. “Nor do I find the medium of stone appealing.”

Charlotte shoots me a look. Even the model seems surprised by such a statement. Mangan is stunned into a moment’s silence before letting out a bellow of laughter.

“Boldness in a young woman—a rare thing!” he declares.

“But honesty is not, I hope.”

“I’m sure Lilith did not mean to give offense.” Charlotte gently attempts to smooth things over.

“Are you?” Mangan asks, throwing me a covert wink, so that I have to resist my own urge to smile. “I am not so certain. But”—he waves his arms in an expansive gesture—“she is your friend, sweet child. You know her better than I. Now, come, let me show you some more of my work. And we will arrange a time for sketches. If I am to sculpt this innocent visage I must explore its every detail. I must know it. Gudrun!” he barks. “Must our guests die of thirst in this house?”

She shrugs. “If they did you would no doubt pick up your hammer and let their corpses be your models.”

“Morbid woman! Go and find Jane. She will care that our guests are properly looked after if you do not.”

“Jane has gone out, with the children. You sent them out because they were making too much noise.”

He grunts. “Families are both a blessing and a curse. Still, you may yet discover the kitchen if you look hard enough.”

Scowling at the way in which she is dismissed, Gudrun flounces from the studio, the chiffon of her gown billowing as she moves, exposing her body shamelessly. On leaving she passes a tall man in the doorway. He emerges from the darkness of the hall and I recognize him at once—for his face has often come unbidden to my mind since we first met—and I recall our conversation outside the house of Mr. Chow Li. His striking appearance is not easily forgotten.