She kept mostly to her bed, though venturing out into the garden more and more. One morning, as far as the park. Two weeks later, Benham insisted she attend a dinner party with him, a feat she managed only with the help of laudanum, bringing back the smells of all those other people on her. Tonics and potions and pomades.

After a time, she opened the house. Her friends dribbled in. She started going out again. When she did, whispers followed her.

Another spell. The black drop, you know.

Perhaps all that whatever-it-was with the boy should have been a warning to him.

She spoiled him, like a little lord. Instead of the servant he was. Cruel, of course, to raise a child in a manner that exceeds his expectations. Especially a black.

They should have no expectations at all, of course.

Their gossip wounded me, but also became the only thing that would soothe those wounds. I wanted more and more. Needing to know what had happened between her and him. But she wouldn’t speak of it, and Pru, who’d been my only steady source before, chose that moment to clamp her lips. ‘It wouldn’t be seemly, Fran, gossiping about all that, not when Linux might spring up any minute.’

I would soon learn more than I cared to about all of it.

Chapter Thirty

They weren’t her friends. That was merely the label hanging off them, like those Piccadilly sweets.

One afternoon Hep Elliot paid her a visit, bringing Laddie Lightning with her. An act of pure mischief, if you ask me.

She and I had planned to spend the afternoon at the park. Now I had no choice but to smile through my misery, shift along the bench. Just breathe in all my crackling frustration. Keep it locked inside. I had some pastries with me, which I’d brought up from the kitchen. Little currant pastries in the shape of pigs. Hep Elliot spied the plate, and leaped on it, handing them around, and asking if Madame thought Linux could be persuaded to bring up some of her famous elderberry wine.

I tried not to look at Laddie, but of course he drew the eye also. The great stampede he made of himself, pulling to a stop at the mantel. He was suited again, and at least had managed to ensure he was clean of blood.

‘Took the painting down?’ he asked, scratching at one of the bayoneted horses. ‘What a shame.’

She flinched. Her eyes flew to mine as if asking for help, knowing full well no help could come. She’d have to sweep him out of there on her own.

‘What’s the matter?’ he said. ‘Not happy to see me unless it’s you who picks the place?’

‘Of course I am happy to see you, Laddie.’

‘Olaudah. I prefer Olaudah, unless I’m in the ring. And I believe your exact words were that the entire Benham family would be gratified to know how I had fared.’