‘What about soap?’ said Steerpike, lowering his arms into the basin. The water was cold, and he shivered. His shoulder blades stood out sharply from his back as he bent over and shrugged his shoulders together. ‘I can’t get this much off without soap and a scrubbing-brush, your Ladyship.’

‘There’s some things in that drawer,’ said Fuchsia slowly. ‘Hurry up and finish, and then go away. You’re not in your own room. You’re in my room where no one’s allowed to come, only my old nurse. So hurry up and go away.’

‘I will,’ said Steerpike, opening the drawer and rummaging among the contents until he had found a piece of soap. ‘But don’t forget you promised to introduce me to someone who might employ me.’

‘I didn’t,’ said Fuchsia. ‘How do you dare to tell such lies to me? How do you dare!’

Then came Steerpike’s stroke of genius. He saw that there was no object in pressing his falsehood any further and, making a bold move into the unknown he leapt with great agility away from the basin, his face now thick in lather. Wiping away the white froth from his lips, he channelled a huge dark mouth with his forefinger and posturing in the attitude of a clown listening he remained immobile for seven long seconds with his hand to his ear. Where the idea had come from he did not know, but he had felt since he first met Fuchsia that if anything were to win her favour it was something tinged with the theatre, the bizarre, and yet something quite simple and guileless, and it was this that Steerpike found difficult. Fuchsia stared hard. She forgot to hate him. She did not see him. She saw a clown, a living limb of nonsense. She saw something she loved as she loved her root, her giraffe leg, her crimson dress.

‘Good!’ she shouted, clenching her hands. ‘Good! good! good! good!’ All at once she was on her bed, landing upon both her knees at once. Her hands clasped the footrail.

A snake writhed suddenly under the ribs of Steerpike. He had succeeded. What he doubted for the moment was whether he could live up to the standard he had set himself.