I didn’t dare dwell on what Crillick would do if he found me, but I knew it would be violent. I’d always worried about being thrown in prison if my secret was discovered, but I’d hurt Crillick’s business – the thing he most cared about. A cell was probably the least-worst option if he caught up with me. Exposing the Great Amazonia as a fraud had literally brought the house down. When all was said and done, there’d been around nine hundred pounds’ worth of damage. Crillick might have been doing well, but I doubted he had that sort of cash to spare. Barky had told me that the Peelers had taken him down to the station on Wednesday night, but he hadn’t been kept in. No doubt he’d greased a palm or two to convince them to let him go. He wouldn’t get off scot-free, though. Barky said he’d been summoned to court next month to appear before the beak, so it would be a while yet before things died down.

Too many people had heard about what had happened, and it wasn’t just Crillick they were asking questions of either. There were freaks at half the variety shows in London and now the punters were paying far more attention. Already there’d been pieces in three of the evening papers asking which of London’s freaks were gaffed, and how many hard-working men and women had been gulled by their performances. Each article had been illustrated with the Amazonia handbills that Crillick had printed to drum up business. That wasn’t so good. It meant that, as well as Crillick and the Peelers, there were a handful of journalists looking for me too, and now that I’d said it in front of everyone, they knew my real name as well as my face. I had to trust the Blackbirds wouldn’t turn me in – Black Bill was likely the only man in London smart enough to find me, but he would have little interest in helping the Peelers.

Now it was Sunday, the last day before our ship sailed on the sixteenth of October and I could begin a new life with Lucien. As far as I was concerned, it couldn’t come quick enough.