Two smart carriages idled outside the dressmaker’s and I imagined daughters inside with their mamas picking out the latest fabrics. There was a queue outside the fishmonger’s where housekeepers and the wives of City clerks waited, straw baskets in hand, to select the choicest offerings. In the window of the butcher’s three whole pigs were hung by their mouths from a row of hooks. The only time Mrs Bradley went out to buy meat was at Christmas but it was nothing like this. I’d waited while she haggled over a bit of scrag end, pleading for a penny off, and we’d taken it home with the blood dripping from a slice in the brown wrapping paper where the piece on offer had been cut in half so we could afford it. I felt very out of place here. There were no other Black people that I could see on the street, even servants, and I wondered how Lucien managed here – whether his colour affected his business.

I took a minute to compose myself before entering Winters’. There was a bakery next door and my mouth watered at the sight of the currant buns and crusty golden loaves piled up in the window. I’d missed breakfast in order to follow Crillick, but though my stomach rumbled there wasn’t time to eat.

Lucien looked up as I entered, and smiled to see me.

‘Well, who have we here. I didn’t expect to see you so soon, Zillah.’

There was a warmth in his voice that suggested he was remembering our last conversation, when he’d said he’d like to know me better, but I wasn’t here for that.

‘I need your help,’ I said.

I saw the eagerness light up his eyes. All my life, I’d had to depend upon myself but for once I knew I had to let myself be vulnerable. This wasn’t about me, after all. Lucien stepped out from behind the counter, removing his shopkeeper’s coat as he did so. Underneath, his shirt was white and crisp. A great deal of starch had gone into that. Good on half an hour with a heavy iron, fingertips flicking drops of water at its base until it hissed and steamed. His pointed shoes were highly polished. Who’d done that for him, then? He’d never mentioned a wife. Focus on why you came here, Zillah.

‘There’s a woman, who needs saving. A freak.’

It felt wrong to say it, like swearing in church, but I’d learnt a lot since the last time I saw him. A freak. That was what she was to them.

He cocked one eyebrow. Not you? He might as well have said it aloud.

‘It’s not me.’

The bell over the door tinkled and drew his gaze to a customer entering the shop.

‘One moment, Zillah. We will talk somewhere more private.’