Margaret heard a small gasp, not from Daisy, but from Philip Tallis.

‘Yes. You see! You do want to come!’ Mr Carson did a little jig of triumph, hands on his waist, looking so funny that Margaret and Daisy both laughed. ‘You see, Miss . . . er . . .’

‘Hanson,’ Daisy said, smiling as Mr Carson turned to Margaret.

‘This fellow, here, Tallis – if ever there was a perverse and foolish old trout of a person, it is he. D’you know, this fellow has sold pieces of his work to Asprey’s in New Bond Street, no less!’

‘James –’ Philip Tallis’s face darkened and he sounded genuinely annoyed. ‘Will you for pity’s sake stop going on?’

Margaret watched, confused. She had no idea who or what Asprey’s was, who Tiffany was or quite what was going on. Mr Carson took in her look of bewilderment.

‘Mr Tiffany is one of America’s finest designers and makers of artistic jewellery, stained glass, windows, lamps . . . Objects of extraordinary beauty and technical brilliance.’

‘Can we go, Pa – can we?’ Daisy was quivering with excitement. ‘And can Miss Hanson come with us – please?’

Margaret was about to protest that she could not possibly go as her aunt would need her home. But a cross-current of deep, hungry excitement filled her. She wanted this – to know about it, to see things of ‘extraordinary beauty and technical brilliance’. And if it was the evening time, Aunt Hatt did not really need her for anything . . . She looked at Philip Tallis, not realizing the desperate appeal that had come into her eyes. She saw an answering look in his that seemed to soften him.

‘Well,’ he shrugged, with a defeated smile. ‘It seems I am far outnumbered.’

‘Magnificent – well done, Daisy! And Miss Hanson! I knew we’d get him there one day – somehow. Now –’ Mr Carson fished out a watch on a gold Albert chain and squinted at it. ‘We must get moving before too long. It gets under way at half past six.’

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Five

Margaret walked holding Daisy’s hand, following behind Messrs Tallis and Carson as they hurried along the darkening evening. The lamplighter was out, working his way along the street.

‘Have you ever read Mr Charles Dickens?’ Margaret asked Daisy.

‘No,’ Daisy said. ‘Or at least – a little bit. I read Oliver Twist. But his books are very long.’

‘It’s true, they are,’ Margaret agreed. ‘But they’re so good – the way he captures things. There’s a little bit in Dombey and Son, when he says, “The lamplighter made his nightly failure in attempting to light the street with gas.”’

Daisy giggled and Margaret saw Philip Tallis turn his head for a moment, as if to see what she was laughing at.

‘Imagine if you could have lights so bright that the street was the same at night as in the day,’ she said.