She then found a black cap with feathers to hide my untameable hair and showed me the cosmetics on her dressing table to make up my face. The result that evening was startling. Surely nobody would recognize the sultry young woman with the bright red lips and long black eyelashes?

I stayed at Belinda’s place, leaving Fig to forage for her own supper, then at nine o’clock I paid out more hard-earned money on a cab and off I went, quaking in my boots—although I wasn’t actually wearing boots but Belinda’s high-heeled shoes, one size too big for me.

Crockford’s was one of London’s oldest and swankest gambling clubs, on St. James’s Street, only a stone’s throw from Brooks’s. As my cab pulled up, chauffeurs were assisting other gamblers from their Rolls-Royces and Bentleys. They greeted each other merrily and sailed in past the uniformed doorman. I did not.

“Can I help you, miss?” He stepped out in front of me.

“I’m supposed to be meeting my cousin here, but I don’t see him.” I pretended to look around. “He said nine o’clock and it’s already past nine. Do you think he could have gone inside without me?”

“Who is your cousin, miss?”

Obviously I couldn’t use the name of any of my real cousins. “Roland Aston-Poley,” I said, complimenting myself on my quick thinking. At least I knew he was in Italy on his honeymoon.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen Mr. Aston-Poley tonight,” the doorman said, “but if you’ll step inside, I’ll have one of the gentlemen look after you.”

He led me in through the door into a gracious foyer. Through an archway I glimpsed a scene of sparkling elegance—the wink of chandeliers and diamonds, the clatter of chips, the rattle of the roulette wheel, excited voices, laughter, clapping. For a moment I wished I were the kind of person who had the means to frequent places like this. Then I reminded myself that my father had been that kind of person, and my father had shot himself.

A swarthy little man in a dinner jacket came up to us. There were muttered words between him and the doorman. The small man shot sideways glances I didn’t much care for in my direction.

“Mr. Aston-Poley, you say?” He peered in through the doors. “I don’t believe he’s arrived yet, Miss . . . ?” He waited for me to supply my name. I didn’t. “If you’d care to take a seat, I will go and check for you.”