He followed them up the stairs and into the first bedroom. This was done out in deep blue and peach, the bed a large fourposter with deep blue velvet drapes around it. Hanging up on the wardrobe door was a woman’s wrapper of the same colour, as sheer as a spider’s web. This would be called the Blue Room. Briony checked that everything was to her satisfaction and, seeing a pair of ornate cherubs over the fireplace, their features picked out in gold leaf, shook her head decisively.

‘They’ll have to go, Mr Tillier. I don’t like them. A big mirror would be much more appropriate, I think.’

He nodded and wrote in his little notebook. She was cute all right. He’d thought they were a mistake himself. Although the walls to either side of the bed had large mirrors running the length of the panels, he thought that another mirror would not go amiss, especially when you thought of what the room was to be used for.

Both men followed Briony through the rest of the house. Each of them seemed to expect her to give the expert opinion and this she did, in a low voice that brooked no argument. There were now ten bedrooms of different sizes. The original six had been divided and rearranged and now there was plenty of room to accommodate ten men at a time. Briony walked down the stairs and through the hallway to the small offices set aside for herself and Tommy. Unlike the rest of the house these rooms were plain with good solid furniture. These were working rooms, and they looked it. Briony sat herself behind a mahogany desk and gently fingered the inkwells and the leather blotter in front of her. She was raring to go. In forty-eight hours she was opening the doors to the most select clientele she could gather. Thanks to Tommy’s knowledge of Nellie Deakins’ customers, they had arranged discreet invitations to the cream of London’s society. Briony looked at her tiny fob watch and stood up.

‘I have to go, Tommy, I’ll leave the rest to you. I want the cherubs gone by this evening, Mr Tillier. I’ll wish you both good day.’

She left them. Both men looked at one another and smiled.

‘How about a glass of madeira, Mr Tillier?’

‘That would be most excellent, Mr Lane.’

He took the proffered drink and was sorry the young lass had gone. She would have had the sense to offer him brandy.