The kohl pencil snapped in Hélène’s hands. Her eyes flashed up. She saw the state of herself in the mirror, the way she was holding herself so tensely. She paused, fought to regain her composure. Then, as serenely as she could muster, she said, ‘Nathaniel, we’ve rehearsed for weeks now. It’s perfect. Now, if you wouldn’t mind—’

Hélène never got the chance to finish that thought, for in that precise moment, knuckles rapped urgently on the dressing-room doors – and, without waiting to be invited in, Billy Brogan crashed through. The look on his face was pure desperation. He took in the banks of staring faces, the way Archie Adams scowled at him for intruding, and paid it no mind. In moments he had loped across the dressing room to the place where Hélène was sitting. ‘Hélène,’ he said, ‘can I—’

‘Can’t you see we’re in the middle of something?’ Nathaniel snapped. ‘This is an important night, you bog-brained cretin. We’re trying to—’

Hélène flew to her feet, wielding her eyeliner like a sabre. She stared at Nathaniel through the mirror. Then, softly, she said, ‘Come with me, Billy,’ and shepherded him back to the dressing-room door.

At the door, Hélène asked, ‘What is it, Billy? He has the ear of the Edgertons. You mustn’t upset him . . .’

Billy’s face was scarlet – either with embarrassment or shame, Hélène could not say. He reached with some trepidation into his back pocket and produced a single folded sheet of paper. He held it out for Hélène to take.

‘The telegram boy came to the tradesman’s door. He asked for me by name. I’m sorry, Miss Marchmont. I read it. I know I oughtn’t to have done. But Miss Marchmont? Miss Marchmont, you’ve . . .’

Hélène’s face had turned ashen as she took in the contents of the letter. Then she started to shake. This was so much more than the frustration she’d vented when faced with Nathaniel White. The tremor started in her hands and worked throughout her body.

‘I’m sorry, Miss Marchmont. I’m—’

‘Who else has seen this?’ she suddenly demanded.

‘Not a soul, miss!’

Hélène caught herself. She bent down, planted a single kiss on Billy’s cheek. ‘Thank you, Billy,’ she said – and then, without once looking back, she pushed past him, up and out of the dressing rooms.

Billy watched her go and felt, for a moment, as if he might faint. He could still feel the impression of her lips upon his cheek. It was the most shameful thing.

*