I did as he said, gently packing the china plates into the wooden picnic basket while all the questions in my mind crashed against each other.

How could he say he didn’t know? He must have given Crillick permission to use the warehouse. How else would Crillick have got the key? But did he know the whole of what was going on there? I paused, watching him chase after the parasol as it bounced across the grass, lifted and discarded by the wind. There was a rumble of thunder. He’d been right; the rain was coming. The first drops splashed on to my cheeks and I dashed them away as if they were tears.

While Vincent collected up the last of the picnic things, I took shelter under a tree as the heavens opened.

‘I sent the driver away to get himself a drink, but now he’s seen the weather I’m sure he’ll be back soon enough.’

Vincent looked bedraggled and defeated, his hair and clothes wringing wet and his shoulders slumped, but I couldn’t let myself feel sorry for him. Those drops of blood on the floor of the warehouse were more important than his pride. How many pints of blood had been spilled there over the years? His own inaction had been a part of all that hurt, and not just the Leopard Lady’s.

The rain continued to pelt down. This was no mere shower. Awkwardly we waited for the carriage in silence, both looking desperately over the horizon, willing it to reappear. After twenty minutes Vincent sat down. His breeches would be covered in mud when he got up.

‘It’s not easy, you know.’

I wasn’t in the mood for his self-pity. I could’ve been looking for the Leopard Lady back in London but here I was out for a picnic with a man I realised I no longer liked.

‘I’ve tried to do the right thing, Zillah. I didn’t like seeing what happened to that woman any more than you did, but what could I do about it?’

I knew he’d been affected by the performance, but he acted as if he was powerless. I was a lowly actress and I was doing something about it. How come he – a viscount, no less – found the effort too much for him? Because he doesn’t care. No, that wasn’t right. He did care, but it was all jumbled up. He wouldn’t accept his father’s money – that was good – but then he made no attempt to stop Crillick. How could he make a stand on the one and turn a blind eye to the other?

‘I’ve lost my family over this, Zillah. I don’t speak to my father, and he won’t let my mother speak to me. I am her only child. Can you imagine what a wrench that is for her?’