I hadn’t planned on going out. Wasn’t dressed for it, in my plain old smock and my heavy brown boots, but that wasn’t what I was thinking of.

‘Why wouldn’t you be?’

‘I was just thinking on what Barky said.’ I hadn’t realised it was bothering me, but it was. It made sense that Barky wouldn’t be welcome, but exactly how strict was their ‘Blacks only’ policy? How ironic if I was too black to be accepted by my fellow performers at Crillick’s and too white for the Dog and Duck. Lucien had stopped and was looking at me, puzzled. He was going to make me explain it to him.

‘I’m not Black like you, am I?’

It felt like I was making a confession, or maybe it was just that we’d passed the Old Bailey. It was only recently I felt comfortable to say that I was Black at all. For too long, I had thought of myself as half-caste, neither one thing nor the other.

‘That doesn’t matter,’ Lucien said, but I could tell he knew it did.

Not to him, maybe, but there were plenty of Blacks who’d judge me for it. The theatre folk weren’t the only ones who’d rejected me. It was a question of being asked to pick a side, though the truth was my colour wasn’t a crime.

‘You’re sure there’ll be no trouble?’

‘You’ll be with me,’ Lucien said.

He made it sound so simple. The words stirred a half-memory. Vincent had said something like it once, but it wasn’t the men that paid when a couple went against the grain. It was the women who had to put up with the sly looks and the whispers.

‘All will be well, Zillah,’ Lucien said when still I hesitated.

I could see the Dog and Duck a little further along the road. There was a man outside. It would be him in charge of enforcing the ‘Blacks only’ policy. If he questioned me, I needed Lucien to understand how hurtful it was and not brush it off.

‘I will make sure you feel welcome, Zillah,’ Lucien said, and I let him lead me towards the door.

The Dog and Duck was a tall narrow building with timber beams painted black. The upper windows were gabled and, like the taverns we’d passed already, the lower had that milky-coloured etched glass so you couldn’t see beyond them. The doorman sat on a high stool on the pavement outside the entrance. His eyes were sharp but they softened in recognition when Lucien raised his hat.

‘Buwa.’ Hello, the doorman said. He gripped Lucien’s arm – not the customary dry handshake but a gesture of real warmth followed by an embrace.

‘Kahunyaina.’ How are you, the doorman said and I spun round to see him with his hand outstretched to me.