‘I should go and see what’s happening.’

‘Do you think so? Shouldn’t you walk away? You might be caught.’

Ruby shrugs. ‘Doing what? Coppers don’t bother me.’

‘A notorious thief. One of the famous Forty Thieves. Why wouldn’t they be interested in you?’

‘You’re right.’ Ruby winks at her. ‘I could be up to anything, couldn’t I? But you should go. No, I mean it. Not for your own sake. If Peter Lazenby is having to deal with coppers, you’ll be a distraction.’ Harriet looks oddly vulnerable. It’s the short hair, perhaps, that gives her a childlike appearance. Ruby reaches out a hand and touches her sleeve. ‘You’ll be alright? Getting home?’ The coat is as soft as she imagined. She folds her fingers around Harriet’s arm and squeezes it. She can feel from the nap that this is a recent purchase. It’s not yet been caught in the rain or left over a chair in a smoky pub. The edges of her own coat fall open. Her dress – red spangled satin – is flimsy in the chilly air.

‘Yes. Quite alright.’ Harriet stares at the dress, and then at the hand, but does not move. ‘I can find a taxicab easily enough.’

Two other women hurry past, arm in arm, clutching each other and swaying a little as their heeled shoes meet the uneven pavement. Ruby recognises them from the Angel and steps away from Harriet.

‘Trouble,’ one of them says, calling over her shoulder to Ruby as her companion tugs her along. ‘We’re off to Dalton’s. You want to come?’

‘Later,’ she shouts after them. ‘I’d better go,’ she says to Harriet. She does not wait for a response but pulls her coat back around herself and heads towards the front entrance of the club.

The foyer is almost empty when the doorman lets her in. The only person there appears to be Daniel, the cloakroom attendant – and he is barely recognisable.

‘What happened?’

Daniel’s left eye is swollen and there is blood all over his nose and mouth. He is half-standing, half-sitting against the wall; his lanky frame has folded in on itself, like a broken branch that has fallen from a tree in a storm.

He shakes his head. Whether he cannot speak or is unwilling to speak, Ruby cannot tell.

‘Who did this, Daniel?’ She knows the answer, even as she asks.

His right eye waters, causing the kohl to run black tears down his cheek.

Peter emerges from the stairwell, hair ruffled and tie loose, an ugly look on his face.

‘Are you still here? I told you to get out. Fuck off, before I throw you into the street.’

Daniel shrinks further against the wall, scrambling to stand up. Ruby does not move to help him. You do not help someone when the man who punched him is only a few feet away – she learned the rules years ago.