A long time ago, in Markham, capital of the Marquisate of Beswick, all things stood still for a long time. Flora ruled and fauna was still and waited . . .
Occasionally little reminders, relics and warnings emerged from people's attics or cellars.
In the stately home of the Dillinghans, a small painting still hangs in a dark corner of the salon.
No one dares to remove it, even touch it . . . it seems alive somehow . . .
"Whenever I visit I pretend it is not there . . . but I feel its presence when I pass by the alcove, like a dark wooden finger briefly caressing my spine, like 'un avertissement grimpante', a warning, slowly climbing, clinging, suffocating if I stand still too long . . ."