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Chapters (40)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Dedication
  4. Map
  5. I
  6. II
  7. III
  8. IV
  9. V
  10. VI
  11. VII
  12. VIII
  13. IX
  14. X
  15. XI
  16. XII
  17. XIII
  18. XIV
  19. XV
  20. XVI
  21. XVII
  22. XVIII
  23. XIX
  24. XX
  25. XXI
  26. XXII
  27. XXIII
  28. XXIV
  29. XXV
  30. XXVI
  31. XXVII
  32. XXVIII
  33. XXIX
  34. XXX
  35. XXXI
  36. XXXII
  37. Seven Years Later
  38. Epilogue
  39. Acknowledgements
  40. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

‘Let us go now,’ Vincent said. ‘We will walk along the Strand.’

Penguin walking logo

V

A Walk Along the Strand

The Strand was quiet, no carriages rumbling past, no match girls calling out their wares, nor horses’ hooves clip-clopping. Big Ben chimed, and kept going. It was much later than I’d thought. On the opposite side of the street a decrepit old beggar counted out the coppers he’d been thrown. He wore a hat that marked him out as a former sailor. Perhaps he was one of the Blacks that had sailed the slave ships when there had been human cargo to carry. Whatever his past, now he’d be classed as one of the Black Poor that all the newspapers complained about. He looked up and saw us and called out to me but I pretended I hadn’t heard. I may have felt some form of curious kinship with Lucien Winters but it didn’t extend to this man on the street, whatever he might think. Being born free made me different and Lucien was set apart by his manner and bearing. I’d never met anyone like him before.

Up ahead another couple strolled arm in arm, but apart from them we had the whole of the Strand to ourselves. We made our way along in silence. I liked our time together most when we weren’t talking, when I couldn’t hear the accent that said Vincent wasn’t for me. Or the stories of the places he’d been where I could never afford to go and where my colour would make me unwelcome if I did. It was in these quiet moments that I felt most confident about the future I imagined we might have together, but tonight was different. Tonight, all I could think of was Lucien Winters saying he wanted to save me.

‘Vincent?’

‘Hmm?’

‘What would happen if it was discovered I was gaffed?’ To say it felt like swearing.

‘That’s such an ugly word, Zillah. Where has this come from?’

‘Something I heard tonight at Crillick’s. The others were talking about me again,’ I lied.

‘They’re jealous of you, Zillah. You should ignore them.’

Vincent had little time for my fellow performers. He looked down on them, especially Ellen, even though she and Crillick were in a relationship of sorts. I couldn’t help but think it was because she was Irish. He’d called her a Fenian, whatever that meant.

‘Would I be in a lot of trouble?’

Vincent stopped short and turned me to face him.