‘I’m sorry, Bel, but there is no choice. Gabriela will still be here and I’m sure she will give you all the help you need. Now, I must leave or I will be late.’ Carla patted her daughter’s shoulder comfortingly and left the room.

Bel slumped back in her chair and digested the unwelcome news. She was upset by the thought of being without her closest ally in the run-up to one of the most important events of her life.

Loen had been born at their fazenda, where her African forebears had worked as slaves on the coffee farm. When slavery had finally been abolished in Brazil in 1888, many freed slaves had downed tools that very day and left their former masters, but Loen’s parents had chosen to stay. They had continued to work for the fazenda’s occupants at the time; a rich Portuguese family, until, like so many Rio aristocrats with no more slave labour to rely on to tend the coffee plants, they were forced to sell up. Loen’s father had chosen that moment to promptly disappear into the night, leaving her mother, Gabriela, and nine-year-old Loen to fend for themselves.

When Antonio had bought the fazenda a few months later, Carla had taken pity on them and insisted they were kept on as maids. Three years ago, both mother and daughter had moved with the family to Rio.

While Loen was technically only a servant, she and Bel had grown up together on the isolated fazenda. With few other children of similar age to play with, the two of them had forged a special bond. Although barely older than Bel, Loen was wise beyond her years and an endless source of advice and comfort for her young mistress. Bel, in turn, had sought to repay Loen’s kindness and loyalty by spending the long, languid evenings at the fazenda teaching her to read and write.

So at least, Bel reflected with a sigh as she sipped her coffee, they would be able to correspond while they were separated.

‘Have you finished, senhorita?’ asked Gabriela, interrupting her thoughts and giving Bel a sympathetic smile that indicated she had overheard Carla’s announcement.

Bel glanced at the sideboard heaped with fresh mango, figs, almonds, and a basket of freshly baked bread. Enough to feed an entire street, she thought, let alone a family of three.

‘Yes, you can clear the table. And I’m sorry for the extra work you will have while Loen is away,’ she added.

Gabriela shrugged stoically. ‘I know that my daughter too will be disappointed that she won’t be here for your birthday preparations. But no matter, we will manage.’

After Gabriela had left, Bel reached for the Jornal do Brasil that was lying on the table and opened it. On the front page, there was a photograph of Bertha Lutz, the campaigner for women’s rights, standing with her supporters outside City Hall. Senhorita Lutz had started the Brazilian Federation for the Advancement of Women six years ago and was campaigning for all women in Brazil to have the vote. Bel followed her progress avidly. It seemed to her that times were changing for other women in Brazil, whereas here she was, with a father who was stuck in the past, still believing women should simply be married off to the highest bidder before producing a healthy brood of children.