Moonbeam unhelpfully stepped to the side, doing everything he could to make it clear that he barely knew me.

‘I was just trying to be of assistance,’ I began.

‘Assistance?’ Wardrobe Lady shrieked. ‘Do you have any idea how long it took to get that ensemble together? Do you?’

I reckoned she’d plucked it out from a nearby charity shop without even looking at it, but she probably didn’t want to hear that. ‘Um,’ I said, shuffling backwards, ‘I can change it back if you like.’

She didn’t hear me. She was already on a tremendous tirade that didn’t involve listening to anything I had to say. ‘You idiot! There’s no time to change it now!’ She glared at my badge that proclaimed to the entire world that I was a mere runner, the lowest of the low. ‘Where is Armstrong? You’re going to get your marching orders! Nobody interferes with my work. Nobody! First they want the wands changing and now this. It won’t wash, I tell you. You’ll regret the day you crossed me, little girl.’

Wardrobe Lady really was very, very angry. It didn’t help that virtually every crew member was watching us – and that most of them were enjoying the show. I caught more than one snicker of amusement.

From out of nowhere, Armstrong appeared. ‘What’s the problem here?’

Wardrobe Lady raised one long, henna-covered finger and jabbed it at me. ‘Her! She changed Number Ten’s clothing!’

Armstrong raised his eyebrows. ‘Did she?’

‘Yes! She needs to be fired immediately.’

Uh-oh. I hoped the secret mission Armstrong had given me would supersede Wardrobe Lady’s desire for revenge. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it,’ I said. ‘I can change her clothes back if you really want.’

Armstrong looked round. Harriet was still standing apart from the others, her cheeks flushed. He swept his gaze up and down her figure and shrugged. ‘She looks fine to me. She’s still mousy enough.’

Harriet went even redder. If she’d had any doubts before as to her place on this show, she hadn’t now. Maybe it would be the making of her but more likely she’d curse me until the day I died for supposedly ruining everything. I know people; if they can find someone to blame for their woes then they will – and a runner like me was an easy target.

‘She does not look fine!’ Wardrobe Lady yelled.

Armstrong patted her on the arm. ‘Yes, she does.’ His voice was firmer this time. ‘Off you go and sew some hems or,’ he paused, ‘whatever it is you do around here.’ He twisted round on his heel and walked back towards the stage.

The woman’s mouth tightened. If I’d thought she was angry before, it was nothing compared to now. Her expression contorted with unsatiated rage. ‘I’m not done with you,’ she promised me in an undertone before whirling off.

Well that hadn’t exactly gone to plan. How to win friends and influence people by Ivy Wilde. Or not.