Something lifts in Harriet’s own spirit, seeing this. She is not a thief by nature, Harriet thinks; Ruby is a woman who needs to be surrounded by beautiful things. If Harriet were able to help her in some way, then Ruby might work in a store like Selfridges. It would be beneath her to be in a factory or to char in an office, but she might be a shop assistant, where she could live every day next to the fur coats and fashionable gowns that she adores. She knows about jewellery, certainly. Arthur MacKenzie said that she had picked over the diamonds like an expert. Could she work in a jewellery shop and not be tempted to lift the goods?

Perhaps Harriet could speak to someone at Hartleys and put in a good word for Ruby. Her mother’s regular custom there must count for something. Yes: she is determined to do this, to help her friend live a moral and law-abiding life and earn a little money. Her own job – when she goes to the office – gives her personal satisfaction as well as money in her purse that is earned and her own, not her father’s. She could accord Ruby this same dignity. They might even laugh about it together, when Harriet calls into Hartleys and finds Ruby in the smart navy uniform of the store, setting out the fur stoles and hats.

‘Those are pretty,’ she says now, nearing her friend at the counter. ‘They’ll suit you, I’m sure.’

Ruby turns and, on seeing Harriet, a strange expression crosses her face. Not the grin that Harriet expected or even a smile of recognition, but something nearer to contempt or even hostility.

‘The beads, I mean,’ Harriet says, as the assistant hands a paper bag across to Ruby. ‘I saw you buying them. They look very lovely.’

Perhaps Ruby is embarrassed that someone has caught her buying imitation beads. She need not be – they have become quite fashionable, although she would never wear them herself.

Ruby’s features soften a little, but her mouth twists into a sneer rather than a smile.

‘Perhaps you’ll write about me buying them.’

‘What?’

‘Put it all in your newspaper.’

‘Oh, what? The Gazette, you mean?’ She must have mentioned the newspaper to Ruby, although she cannot recall doing so. ‘Yes, you’re right. I think I wrote about imitation jewellery a month or two ago.’ It thrills her, to imagine that Ruby might read her articles.

‘I’m sure you did. Because things aren’t always what they seem, are they? Glass beads pretending to be semi-precious stones.’ She rattles the paper packet and drops it into her handbag. ‘People pretending to be what they’re not.’