For a while, she stands at the open door of the wardrobe, admiring her purchases on their wooden hangers. They will be perfect for the Angel. She has three dresses – shimmering, modern, daring in their cut and fabric – in jewelled shades that she knows will suit her. She will be irresistible.

Unfortunately, she cannot walk around in the daytime dressed in clothes like this. She should probably collect one or two more appropriate items from Solly’s. At least, now that she has a place to stay the night, she need not worry about bumping into him.

Still wrapped in her towel, she wanders to the lounge, picks up her handbag from the sofa and checks inside, counting over the last few pence. Peter is right: she can’t sustain a life of bath salts and glimmering dresses by picking pockets. So, she will work for the bastard – drink his champagne and lift whatever information she can from bored rich men.

There will be nothing she cannot handle.

She sits down on the edge of the sofa and gazes about the empty room. It is quiet. She cannot hear the shouts of neighbours through the walls or the familiar calling and clattering of costermongers, scrap men and cats’ meat sellers in the street.

She cannot hear a soul in this silent white palace.

26

26

Friday afternoon

Ruby reaches Solomon Palmer’s jewellery shop deep in thought, deciding which of her clothes to collect. She should also find her jewellery. She might not have diamonds yet – or a honey-coloured coat – but she has one or two good pieces.

No one has spoken to her since she crossed the river. And the grimy streets have been busy with people. The only exception is a cart driver, who shouted for her to ‘move out of the fucking way’ somewhere just into Lambeth as he drove through the mud and shit.

They are still not speaking to her – and if they did, it would only be to curse.

She was going to be Queen of the Forty Thieves one day. Take over from Annie Richmond when the time was right. Billy had told her that the Forties would always watch her back – look out for her and look after her. Who’s looking out for her these days? Not Maggs, not Annie. Definitely not Billy. Peter Lazenby is serving his own interests. If she’s going to work for him, she will have to look out for herself.

She sniffs the putrid Borough air and wrinkles her nose as she pushes open the door.

Solly, behind his counter, turns and sees her. There are no customers.

She stands at the door, hesitating. Not wanting to greet him and be ignored.

‘Where’ve you been?’ It is he who speaks first. He is sorting small change. The till is open.

‘I was over the river,’ Ruby says. ‘West.’

‘Lifting?’ His fingers close over the coppers in his hand, as if she might take them from him.