Soon after, Thomas and Livia are spooked off the perch by a group of respectably dressed men traversing the market in an open landau marked with bold lettering and the symbol of the Crown. There are four of them, plus a driver in livery; each so obviously a gentleman with soft white skin and brushed moustaches, they might as well belong to a different breed of human altogether.

“Who are they?” Livia whispers in the alley to which they have fled. “Magistrates? Are they looking for us?”

Thomas reads the lettering on the side of the coach. TAYLOR, ASHTON AND SONS, ENGINEERING. His relief is immediate.

“No. They are sewage men.” He repeats to her the gist of Renfrew’s explanation, given in Oxford some weeks ago. “Liberals. Social pioneers. They want to clean up London, starting with the cesspits.” He shrugs. “That’s what Renfrew was preaching to us. That we should join their ranks. He did not tell us that they’re here because they’d like to have a go at corruption and can’t afford any cigarettes.”

“Perhaps we are doing them an injustice.” Livia watches the carriage disappear at the far end of the square. “They looked like honest men.”

“They looked clean, Livia. That’s all.” He shrugs, tugs at her elbow, walks back out into the street. “I’m famished. Let’s go find some food.”

ф

For the second time in two days Thomas makes an inventory of his belongings and tallies up what he might sell. His penknife. His jacket, only he’ll freeze to death if they don’t find better shelter for the night. The cigarettes Livia picked out of the dirt. They are said to be worth a fortune. But who needs to buy sin in London? It’s as free as the air they breathe.

The row of market stalls on the square only sells raw meat and vegetables, and fish so malodorous even the locals seem to avoid it. They choose a street at random, follow a pair of chimney sweeps who are either the most vicious of men or are simply trailing the dirt of their trade. A bakery draws them with its smell. The penknife buys them two loaves of coarse white bread and a dozen penny rolls. They gulp down the rolls while huddled into a doorway, until a gang of urchins sets on them, begging a loaf with such dirty-palmed insistence that they have no choice but to flee.