For once Crillick didn’t call out the carriage. It was the first sign that things were going my way. If he was on foot, I’d have no trouble tracking him. Perhaps it was the mild weather that had encouraged him to walk. Though it was not yet nine o’clock, the sun was already high in the sky. I felt the sweat form under my armpits as I half-ran to keep up with him. From the bottom of Northumberland Avenue, Crillick made straight for the pier at Westminster and went down the flight of stairs that took him riverside. Of course he wouldn’t use his carriage for such a short journey. I let a few people pass in front of me before I followed him. It wouldn’t do to get spotted.

Embankment had never sat well with me. I wasn’t bothered by the smell of the river, but the old ships gave off a stink so strong you could almost taste it: brine, damp sailcloth and decayed fish. It clung to me, that smell, caught in my hair and seeped into my clothes, so that whenever I went there it followed me for days afterwards and only scrubbing myself raw and a spray of Mrs Beeton’s rosewater could shift it. I’d caught a nasty whiff off Crillick when he’d offered to drive me to St Giles after ruining the plans I’d made with Vincent. Now I recognised what it was. He’d been here at least once since his return.

As usual Embankment was bustling, the air noisy with the cawing of gulls, and sails whipping in the wind. There were sailors – Black and white – with nothing to do but drink while they awaited their next ship, bow-legged baggage carriers hulking boxes of goods from who knew where and street children hoping to run errands for a penny. Crillick jumped on to a boat and I watched as he headed downriver towards the City.

It wasn’t hard to keep sight of him. The river traffic was so heavy that his private vessel was no faster than the crowded steamboat that I’d hopped on to. Most of my fellow passengers were clerks, but there were one or two other women – servants by the looks of them – and I stayed close to them, wanting to keep as low a profile as possible; no easy task when, as was so often the case, I was the only Black woman there. I had a couple of coins on me, but I wasn’t due to get paid until Friday and I wanted to keep a bit by in case the Leopard Lady needed it. Dodging the captain’s eye got harder as we floated past St Paul’s and the numbers on board dwindled.

‘Where you headed to, miss?’ the captain said, holding out his hand as I rummaged in my pocket for the halfpenny fare.