‘But your dress, Harriet, your wedding dress.’ Isabel taps a finger on the table, wanting to talk of something other than the Kensington Gazette and the Forty Thieves. ‘The dressmaker is expecting us at half past ten, and you don’t need to go into the newspaper office. I booked the appointment for today.’

Harriet had planned to spend the morning reading copies of old newspapers in the office, to glean more information about the women from Southwark to add to what she’s learned from Alice Dunning. She has even decided how she will frame the piece, having coaxed from Alice the name of the thief she saw.

Not Ruby Wilder, but Ruby Mills. Ruby Mills, with her film-star looks and fondness for diamonds and mink. She will write about her. The girl whose face she can see when she closes her eyes.

She had also already agreed to meet Ralph for lunch in town, after a short morning in the office. Now, it appears her mother has other plans.

‘You need, at least, to begin to put your mind to the wedding day,’ Isabel continues. ‘It will only be for an hour or two.’ She reaches out to take her daughter’s hand. ‘It’ll be pleasurable. Dressing up, choosing the fabric, and the dressmaker is very keen to begin.’ Isabel’s tone is superficially cordial but admits no argument.

‘You ought to listen your mother, Harrio,’ Gerald says, cutting the toast into triangles. ‘It’s always for the best, you know. To listen. She has our best interests at heart.’

Harriet catches the meaning, and her heart sinks a little. Isabel has been discussing the wedding plans with Gerald. Everything will have been decided by her mother and has now been approved by her father. She might as well try to hold back the tide like King Canute. It is always easier to give in.

‘Alright, Mummy. The Forty Thieves can wait, I’m sure. And the office. And, yes, I’ll admit, I am looking forward to wearing something lovely.’ She squeezes her mother’s hand. There will be further arguments. She knows that she and Isabel will have different ideas about what a wedding dress should look like and hopes that the dressmaker they are visiting will know about modern cuts and styles. She will submit to her mother’s wishes only so far.

‘But I am meeting Ralph for lunch,’ she says, giving her mother a warm smile and playing with the string of pearls at her throat. ‘So we mustn’t spend too long with the satin.’

The lobes of Isabel’s ears turn pink. ‘Of course, darling. We won’t keep you from your fiancé, even if the morning is being spent for his benefit.’