I didn’t know what it was about the African that threw me off but I didn’t want to see his evening spoilt, not on my account. Especially as I knew it must be my act that he’d come to see. Not just him, mind. When I’d started off at Crillick’s I’d been bottom of the bill but now I was the main draw. Over time I’d seen off Aldous the magician and Guillame the mime artist and now the Great Amazonia was the headline act. I’d even been reviewed in the Illustrated London News – ‘a savage spectacular’ they’d said. ‘Here is one Amazon that has carried all before her.’ I looked out at the African in the audience. If I performed well enough to fool him, Amazonia might remind him of his homeland. If he’d ventured into Crillick’s on his own, he must’ve wanted to see her very badly. I felt an urge not to disappoint him. I wanted him to like my performance. To like me.

I didn’t know where it came from, this sudden feeling of kinship. There had been other Blacks in the crowd before, of course, but this was the first time I’d felt drawn to one. I was half-caste, white as well as Black. Moreover, I was London born and bred, while most of the other Blacks – and mainly they were men – were from somewhere else. The soldiers at the palace who played the drums at the Changing of the Guard were brought in from Africa for their musical talents. I was nothing like them, their smart uniforms bright against their dark skin. Nor was I like the sailors and former slaves that hung around the docks. Buckled and broken down, they had mostly arrived from America. Unlike them, I’d always been free.

‘Here now, what’s this?’ Ellen said.

We watched as one of the ushers approached the African, leaning down to whisper in his ear. The African nodded as he spoke but the look on his face was grim. The usher put a hand on his shoulder and I tensed, waiting for a shout, or a punch to be thrown, but then the African turned back towards the stage and removed his hat. Underneath, his hair was cut close and the tight curls smoothed with a shiny pomade.

‘I thought it was about to get tasty there. He’s definitely not one of the regulars,’ Ellen said. She was right; it was rare that a whole night at Crillick’s passed without a fight breaking out in the audience.

‘You should tell Barky if you’re worried,’ Ellen said. Or stop your whining she could have added, but didn’t.

‘Let him be. You can tell he’s not in the market for any trouble.’