‘We could sit on the platform,’ Lucien said, ‘but it’s better if you stand. Your first time here you must get the full effect of the speakers. Here will do.’

He planted himself in the middle of the floor, taking up space just as he had at Crillick’s when he’d sat in the pit to see me perform. He didn’t care where anyone might think he should or shouldn’t be, only that he got the best view. There was something daring in it.

‘Look around, Zillah, aren’t you curious?’ Lucien’s voice whispered at my ear. He was so close I felt the tickle of his whiskers.

‘A lady doesn’t gawp,’ I said.

I looked into his eyes. The mocking expression from when he’d first introduced himself to me was back. Eyebrows raised and lips quirked into a half-smile, he said, ‘Tonight, you are among friends. You must be yourself.’

Was he insulting me? I couldn’t quite tell, but his smile suggested not. Maybe there was no game here and he had no expectation that I’d be anything other than who I was.

The hall had grown busy while we talked. The carriages outside must be double-parked now for there were many ladies and gentlemen clustered in groups with drinks in hand. Lavender and rose petal. Not the usual sweat and hair-oil stink of the Crillick’s crowd. The majority of the Blacks were rougher-looking – the so-called Black Poor that they were trying to entice halfway around the world – but one or two of the men were well dressed like Lucien and I noticed that he acknowledged them with a nod. He’d never struck me as a man who had many friends so I guessed they were business associates. He saw me looking and offered to introduce me, but I shook my head. All well and good shaking hands, but what if they asked where I was from or, worse still, what I did? It wasn’t just a matter of preserving my secret. The idea of admitting that I played the role of Amazonia, the thought of them seeing me cavorting at Crillick’s, made bile rise to the back of my throat. If shame was water thrown from a bucket, it couldn’t have drenched me more completely.

‘Shall I get us some punch, Zillah?’ Lucien said, unaware of the turn my thoughts had taken and looking over to the far side of the room where a table had been set up with drinks and food.

‘No, don’t leave me.’

It came out before I could help it. My arm clutched his, the sharpened nails digging into the tweed of his jacket. For a second his forehead creased in a frown. But then he stepped a little closer and I felt the warm pressure of his hand over mine, before he gently loosened my fingers and gave them a comforting squeeze.