Vincent, or Viscount Woodward to give him his full name, was part of Marcus Crillick’s set. Crillick often had people in to watch the show from his private box, and Vincent, who had been staying with Crillick since he and his father had a falling out, frequently joined the fun. On the night Vincent first saw my act, he’d begged Crillick to introduce us. That was back in March, a couple of months after I’d joined the show. I was only third on the bill then but just starting to draw the rave reviews that would see me become the headliner. He wasn’t the first to want an introduction to the Great Amazonia, by any means. Crillick usually put my admirers off, however hard they pleaded. He couldn’t run the risk of them knowing I was a Londoner, but he was different with Vincent. They’d been friends since school and Vincent had that aristocratic charm about him that meant he always got what he asked for.

Vincent was brown-haired, tall and dashing. The men of St Giles were often short, their bodies stunted from lack of food or twisted with carrying heavy loads, but even without the clothes he wore you could’ve told that Vincent was quality just from the manner in which he stood. He had an easy way about him. He’d never had to be on his mettle, I suppose. Even without Ellen’s warnings ringing in my ears, I knew not to fall in love with him. I’d tried that before with Eustace and it had ended badly. I wasn’t willing to risk my heart again.

My act at Crillick’s was my ticket out of St Giles. I had to put my all into that. Too many women had let themselves be distracted by a cut-glass accent and a pretty face. I was determined not to be another. But it was lonely at Crillick’s – more so as my success grew and the other performers wanted less and less to do with me. And Vincent was very handsome. More than that, he was kind and he treated me like a lady, though Lord knows it wasn’t on Marcus Crillick’s account. Still, I just had to keep my wits about me was all.