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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

I picked up my pace, but he only called out again. Couldn’t be anything to do with the theatre. I was well away from it now. No, it was probably a bobby wanting to feel powerful. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d been stopped for just going about my business in an area where I was one of few that looked like me. I stopped and waited for the man to catch up to me, knowing there was little point in making a scene. His hand on my shoulder was heavy but as I turned to face him it wasn’t the police officer I’d expected but an earnest-looking man in a suit. Just a do-gooder. I could have cried with relief. Sure enough, he pressed a handbill on me.

‘There’s a lecture at Exeter Hall the Tuesday after next, miss, the first of October. It’s something you might be interested in. I do hope you’ll consider it.’

It wasn’t often someone called me ‘miss’. Certainly not a gentleman like this one. I looked down at the handbill. The black letters swirled and righted themselves. BLACK POOR the headline read. I thrust the piece of paper back at him.

‘I’m not interested.’

He looked at me askance, as if I couldn’t know my own mind.

‘It’s about Sierra Leone, miss, on the Grain Coast of Africa.’

I didn’t care what it was about. The title proved it was not for me. This man with his sad eyes thought I was one of the Black Poor, did he? If only he knew the truth.

‘Let me call over one of my colleagues. Perhaps he can tell you a little more about it,’ the Do-Gooder said.

He looked over his shoulder and it was then that I saw Lucien Winters. He was talking to a Black man in beggar’s clothes and with no shoes on. Thankfully he hadn’t noticed me.

‘I’ve got to go,’ I said.

I didn’t want to see Lucien right now. Not when I was feeling so jangled. I wondered how long he’d been in the area. He must’ve been giving out handbills when he saw the posters advertising Amazonia’s performance. I started to walk away and the Do-Gooder kept pace with me for a couple of strides.

‘You’re sure you can’t stop for a moment? There is a lady you could speak to instead if you could wait just one minute. There are plans for a settlement and support will be given. At least keep hold of the information, won’t you?’