She turned the skirt over. Oh, Lord. Where were those ruffles? Several pieces were missing. How could that have happened? There was no time to lose. Philomena’s growing reputation depended on reliability as much as talent. She must retrieve the missing sections at once.

She slipped on a woollen shawl against the chill of the cooling air and exchanged cotton slippers for stout boots. She must run the three streets to find Cherry, the young seamstress whose neat stitching enabled her to sew the most elaborate of broderie ruffles.

The distance to Cherry’s lodgings was further than Philomena had remembered, and the light was fading fast when she arrived. Cherry shared a room with three other girls. Philomena caught a whiff of cabbage and urine. This part of the city reminded her of that former life, lodging with Samuel and Joseph. She would leave as soon as possible.

Cherry was hard at work by the light of a tallow candle. Her stitches were fine and neat and the completed piece already lay in a basket ready for delivery. Philomena, a tart rebuke for tardiness on her lips, held her tongue. The tiny room was uncomfortably crowded, although it contained only one rough bed, shared by the four girls, and a mix of assorted chairs. Philomena spied a large hole in Cherry’s stocking.

One of the other girls was anointing her face with crude white. No doubt, her living depended not on sewing but on something far earthier. Philomena shivered. Would she have ended up in such a life, if she had offered herself to Hugh without marriage?

“There you are, me darling,” the girl cried to Cherry. “You’ll be joining me in my game if you keep forgetting your sewing.”

“Indeed she will not,” Philomena retorted, but the girl crowed with laughter.

“Just you wait a few months. There’s better money to be had on the game.”

“Give up, do,” said Cherry. “Miss Philomena don’t want to ’ear your nonsense.”

Philomena set off home to find the daylight quite gone and the streets dark. Gas lamps were the only illumination. Pools of eerie yellow gleamed through the murk that had descended this evening, matching Philomena’s mood. She shivered. This was no time to be out alone in this district. Glancing to either side, gripping the parcel of ruffles tight to her chest, she slipped down the street, keeping close to the houses, her head bent.

Philomena quickened her pace, heart racing. She was used to London streets. Why was she suddenly so nervous? She came to a crossroads and stopped, puzzled. Where was she? Turning round, she retraced a few steps, but recognised nothing. She pulled the shawl close. There was no need to panic. She would come to no harm. If she followed this street, it was sure to lead to a more familiar part of town.