I walk to the end of the building and find the entrance to a covered alley running back from the street. A little way along the alley, set back into the wall of the Keller & Co building, is a door. Surely this must be the warehouse? I take a deep breath and try the handle. The door opens smoothly, the room beyond is dimly lit.

‘Hello,’ I call cautiously, hovering on the doorstep. ‘Hello?’

The door swings wide open and there he is, standing in front of me.

‘Hetty!’ His face is drawn and pale.

‘I came to say sorry. I was ghastly to you and—’

‘You’ve nothing to apologise for. It was my fault.’ He looks over my shoulder into the gloom of the alleyway.

‘Can I come in?’

‘Quickly.’ He raises an arm and I duck underneath. He shuts the door behind me, looking uncomfortable. ‘I’m down here on my own, doing a stocktake,’ he says. ‘But it isn’t safe, coming here.’

My eyes are slow to adjust to the darkness of the vast warehouse. On one side, I make out bales of something piled to the ceiling; on the other are lines of dark, inert shapes hanging down. There is a strange, cloying odour and the atmosphere is so still it’s as if the air inside the warehouse is frozen.

‘I had to see you.’

‘Oh, Hetty, it’s been so hard to stay away from you! Every little thing that happens, you’re the first person I want to tell. Every idea, every feeling, every doubt… I want to share it with you.’

‘I know…’

‘I came looking for you.’

‘You did?’

‘The other day, outside school, but I didn’t see you. Then I walked past your house. But there seemed to be a lot of people coming and going.’

‘I wasn’t there. At school, I mean. Walter, the most dreadful thing has happened. I’ve been desperate to see you for days, hoping against hope you were still here.’

‘Come with me. Tell me…’ He places a hand between my shoulder blades and guides me towards a brightly lit office towards the back of the warehouse.

‘Rabbit skins,’ Walter explains as we walk, pointing at the bales, ‘for making hats.’

He points at the shapes dangling from hooks in the ceiling. Through the gloom, I can see they have heads and tails. Even the little feet are still attached.

‘These are raw skins. Silver fox and mink. Once they’ve been treated, they’ll be sold to be made into coats and jackets.’

The smell in the warehouse is overwhelming. It makes my head spin and stings my throat.

‘Whatever is that stink?’ I ask, covering my mouth and nose with my hands.

He chuckles, looking more relaxed. ‘Naphthalene,’ he explains, ‘to kill the moths. They would destroy the skins otherwise.’

‘How can you stand it?’

‘You get used to the smell. I don’t even notice anymore.’ He turns to the rows of dead creatures. ‘Aren’t these beautiful?’ He runs his hand along the silvery, white fur of the fox skins. ‘I wish I could dress you, head to toe, in a coat made of these.’