Martin Johnson described the country. The sandy beaches and mild climate seemed a world away from the autumnal weather outside. He talked of an abundance of wild game and fish, and drawings were handed round the audience of native species: an ox and what looked like a fleeceless sheep. I looked around and saw Black men and women as interested as I was. I wondered if the talk of grain and soil meant anything to them. It didn’t to me, a Londoner born and bred, but some were nodding. Lucien, too, was paying close attention. He’d been giving out the handbills, surely he must know all this, but he was rapt all the same.

Johnson moved on to the journey itself. A hum of chatter broke out; it was something that people were worried about. Beside me Lucien took a sharp breath and I was vaguely aware of him pulling a handkerchief from his inside pocket. He must have been about to sneeze. Johnson, continuing, spoke of the ports the ship would call in at to take on supplies on its way to Freetown. Madeira, Tenerife, Gorée, Bathurst – I’d barely ventured beyond the West End and hadn’t heard of any of these places. Would the boat stop for long; would there be time to get off and look around?

We’d reached the interval and the second half of the evening was reserved for personal testimonies from Bankole and Gbeho who had recently been to the new colony and would be taking questions.

‘You look as though you enjoyed that,’ Lucien said, smiling over at me. ‘If you wait here I will bring us some punch.’

Within a minute or two he was back at my side. He handed over a goblet and something small and brown the size of a chestnut.

‘This is a kola nut,’ he said. ‘They have set up a table of the produce that grows in Freetown.’

I weighed the kola nut in my hand, full of questions, but before it had passed my lips, we were interrupted.

‘Mr Winters, it is so good to see you,’ a cool voice behind me said.

Much as I wanted to learn more about Sierra Leone, I welcomed it. Elvira Masterson had arrived.

Only two days had passed since I’d last seen Miss Masterson. In the brighter light of Exeter Hall I noticed how handsome she was. Before, I’d judged her to be around thirty years old but when she smiled she looked younger.

‘Miss Masterson, good evening,’ Lucien said.

‘Please introduce me to your friend,’ she said, turning towards me.

‘I’m Zillah,’ I said, stepping forward and sticking out my hand.

‘Elvira,’ she replied as she took it in her own and gave it a firm shake. For a moment she frowned but then her face cleared.

‘I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? You work as a maid for Marcus Crillick?’