In that particularly cold spring of 1821, one of the more popular attractions in all of London was Burford’s Panorama. The View of Naples and Surrounding Scenery was housed in the specially constructed Rotunda in the Strand, and the great queue outside almost as famous as the spectacle within. Fanny was privately sure that, if she were to miss the experience, then she would survive. However, the young people had been begging to see it for weeks and, the happiness of others being her constant and guiding concern, here Fanny was.

‘Stay close to me, Fan.’ George, Fanny’s brother, pressed her arm into his side as they emerged from Surrey Street and pushed through the crowd. Above the press of grim, filthy buildings there was a clear and bright sky. ‘Keep in!’ he called over his shoulder, where William brought up the rear, with Mary Dorothea on one side and the new governess, Miss Atkinson, on the other. ‘Stick at it!’ The entrance was in their sights now. ‘Watch it, Will! Hold on to the ladies!’

A small crowd on the street was shouting abuse at the top of its lungs. Honestly, Fanny would like very much to be surprised to find such coarse people at an event of such innocence, but she was now thoroughly used to it. Everywhere one went in Town – the smartest of places, the quietest of days; even once, heaven forbid, on a Sunday – one could find a mob, quite out of its mind about one thing or other.

‘What are they protesting this time?’ she shouted into George’s left ear. It was never easy to tell.

‘They are against it!’ George shouted back, grabbing Miss Atkinson’s arm and pulling the whole party towards the enclosed entrance. He paid their one shilling per head.

‘I gathered they were against something,’ Fanny muttered and took a deep breath. They were now in a dark, narrow corridor – utterly black, eerily quiet. ‘They generally are.’

Fanny held George’s coat-tails with one hand, and Mary’s muff with the other. The passage was so cramped, they had no choice but to move single file, blind in the darkness. ‘Will?’ she called out to her other brother, voice regrettably shrill.

‘Here, Fan,’ William returned. ‘Close to Miss Atkinson. All safe – bringing up the rear.’

Dear boy, Fanny thought as she cautiously edged her way forward with tiny steps. How he has matured lately. Even a few months ago, she could not possibly have imagined the young man he was now, so protective of Mary Dorothea – who, after all, was no relation of his – and quietly courteous to her governess.

‘Up she rises!’ George suddenly shouted. ‘Ladies, beware!’

They were still in pitch black, and now forced to climb a steep flight of steps.