Vivian wished Nanny would simply leave her to get on. Concentrate on Susan, Toby and Babe as she was employed to do. There was no denying it: Vivian was beyond her now. Nanny would be no more use until Vivian had children of her own, and then she might hire her in her nursery. Or she might not. She might get a young girl with modern ways.

‘Help me into my dress.’

The dress was a success. Floating, transparent and delicate, it swathed her body, flattering and clinging to her breasts and waist, then flowing away to leave her bottom half to the imagination. It transformed her from girl to woman. At the fitting her mother had pronounced it too low cut and insisted that a lace trim be added to the neckline. At Vivian’s secret instruction the seamstress had tacked it in place so very lightly. A snip or two in the powder room tonight and there would be no sign of the veiling lace.

Then, when she was almost done, having decided between two different headdresses, Mrs Foster joined them. She did not knock. She never knocked. It was infuriating. Vivian comforted herself that after tonight, when it had all passed as it ought and she was no longer simply a girl but a fiancée, almost a married woman, Mother would be compelled to knock at her bedroom door. Surely.

‘Have you said good night to your sisters and Toby?’

‘I was just about to.’ Vivian liked to visit the nursery when she was all done up and looking magnificent. It sparked her sisters’ admiration and envy, which she was still young enough to luxuriate in.

‘Do. They are saying their prayers.’

Vivian resisted showing any irritation. Of course Susan was going through a religious phase; she was forever kneeling and fasting and she liked to wear plain clothes. It was a terrible affectation, and whilst Vivian had many affectations of her own, she was pleased to say faking religious fervour had never been one of them. Nanny, however, somehow knew that mentally Vivian was sighing in exasperation.

‘Your sister will do very well. Far better than you might imagine,’ she scolded.

Was that possible? Could Susan, ponderous in action, ever do well? Nanny turned to Mrs Foster. ‘I bet you know who said it,’ she commented as she shook out the hem of Vivian’s dress, carefully and somewhat unnecessarily. She was forever fussing, couldn’t quite let go.

‘Said what?’ asked Mrs Foster.

‘Marry in haste, repent at leisure.’

Mrs Foster stared coldly. It was as though the words had cast a shadow. ‘William Congreve. Now come along, Vivian. We can’t be late.’

2

HOWARD ENJOYED THE hours before curtain up more than any other of the day. There, in among the warm, golden backstage light, the smell of waxy make-up and the soft murmur of actors doing their voice exercises, was a real sense of trembling anticipation of the performance. The actors belonged to him more at this moment than any other. After the show, when they were showered with roses and accolades, they greedily hogged the limelight, sopped up all the credit and forgot him. And if, oh horror, the performance was badly received, met with apathy or indifference, they loathed and resented him; they plummeted into a dark pit of despair and depression, insisting that he had shoved them there.