‘More than the rest of us would get though, eh?’ Ellen said. ‘Not that it hasn’t worked out quite well for me, if I’m honest. I’d best be going, then. I’ve left a little something for you. Hair of the dog is the best thing. Don’t let Barky know, though. He’ll have my guts. You mustn’t overdo it.’

She shuffled towards the door and I heard the telltale knocking of the things she’d helped herself to in her pockets. She grinned at me, knowing that she’d given herself away but not caring. As she pulled the door open, I heard it again. The sound of building work.

‘Do you hear that sawing?’

‘Next door but one, I think. I saw a brickie outside there.’

It sounded closer than that, but I was glad she’d acknowledged the noise at least. Vincent had ignored me when I mentioned it.

‘Goodbye, Ellen,’ I said and she waved her fingers and closed the door behind her.

I went over to the dressing table to see what Ellen had left me. She’d definitely taken a bottle of scent and my comb, but I was glad to see the pearl clip that Vincent had bought me a couple of weeks back still nestled on the cushion in its navy velvet box. She must not have seen it. And there was the blue glass bottle. The rest of the opium. I took it up quickly and hid it in my pocket – it was too dangerous to leave it lying around. Hair of the dog – or was she trying to get me hooked? It was an uncharitable thought, but if I was out of my mind on opium the chances of Ellen getting a bigger part at Crillick’s increased. Don’t be ridiculous. Still, if Wednesday night was anything to go by, I’d be needing something to get me through my performances. Now the penny had finally dropped, how could I possibly continue as Amazonia? I’d have to get away from Crillick’s. Have to. As soon as the Leopard Lady and her son were safe, I would find a way to leave. Until then, gin would have to do.

‘Here, miss, I found it. Right beauty, ain’t it.’

Grace stepped into the room, and stopped.

‘Are you really well enough to go out, miss? You still look a bit peaky. I told that girl not to overexcite you.’

‘Don’t fuss, Grace,’ I said, taking the broad-brimmed straw bonnet that she held out to me. It was in the French style, trimmed with lace and ribbons and butterflies cut from silver paper. It was so delicate, made of the finest, lightest cotton.

‘His Lordship is in the drawing room when you’re ready.’ Grace bobbed a curtsey and turned her attention to a pile of freshly laundered clothes ready to be put away.