He turned and the other man took his chance. A rough fist caught Gareth’s lip, and a smirk spread over the stranger’s face. I recognised the assailant’s broken nose. Gareth managed to stay on his feet, but the man ran off before there was a chance to retaliate.

“Your lip is bleeding,” I said when Gareth was standing closer. He touched it and flinched, then smiled when he saw my concern, and flinched again.

“I’ll live,” he said. “What did you do to make that bloke so angry? He was making a beeline for the two of you.”

“Bastard,” said Tilda. Gareth’s head swung her way. “Oh, not you. You are our knight in shining armour.” She curtsied theatrically, her smile mocking. Gareth saw it for what it was and looked awkward.

“Tilda,” I said, taking her arm. “This is Gareth. He works at the Press. He’s a friend of mine.”

“A friend?” she said, raising her eyebrows.

I ignored her but couldn’t look Gareth in the eye. “Gareth, this is Tilda. We met years ago, when her theatre troupe came to Oxford.”

“Nice to meet you, Tilda,” Gareth said. “Are you here for a play or for this?” He surveyed the confusion.

“Esme invited me, and Mrs. Pankhurst thought it an opportunity to raise awareness, so here I am.”

There was so much shouting, and a siren. Women were being chased down Broad Street. “I think we should go,” I said.

Tilda hugged me. “You go—I think you’re in good hands,” she said. “But come to Old Tom on Friday evening. We have so much to catch up on.” Then she turned to Gareth. “And you must come too. Promise me you will.”

Gareth looked to me for direction. Tilda watched on, waiting to see how I would respond. It was as if no time had passed since last I’d seen her. Daring and fear battled it out inside me. I did not want fear to win.

“Of course,” I said, looking back at Gareth. “Perhaps, we could go together?”

His grin split the fragile seal of his cut lip, which started bleeding again. I reached into the pocket of my dress but found I had no handkerchief.

“A bit of paper would do the trick,” he said, trying to keep the smile in his eyes from spreading to his lips. “It’s little worse than a shaving cut.”

I extracted a blank slip and tore the corner off it. He dabbed at his lip with the sleeve of his shirt, then I placed the bit of paper on the cut. It stained red immediately, but held.

“I’ll see you both on Friday,” Tilda said, winking at me. Then she turned towards Broad Street, where the fray seemed to be concentrating.

Gareth and I turned in the opposite direction.