Shutting the door behind me, I threw myself down on the bed. My special outfit chafed against my skin. I closed my eyes, but I had too much pent-up energy to stay mooning about the house and after a minute I sat back up. From what Crillick had said, it seemed like the spoilt day trip was the least of my worries. I didn’t like the sound of the party he’d planned at all. It meant something for my act, I was sure of it. Barky had to know if my position at the theatre was under threat. I’d go down to Crillick’s and ask him.

I fingered the hat that Vincent had bought me. A curved feather poked up from its brim, orange and white with a rounded glossy black tip. He’d told me it was from a lyrebird. I said I’d never heard of one but he explained it was wild and exotic just like I was. What was there between him and Alexander’s sister? He’d looked too sheepish for there not to be anything. Got to be more careful. Vincent was lenient with you today, but it won’t do to show him too much of your temper. He knew I wasn’t the dutiful type, of course. It was one of the things he liked about me, but it was a fine line to tread.

I went to the wardrobe, ready to change back into my usual clothes, but holding up the dull brown serge of my coat against the pretty pink fabric gave me pause. Such a shame to waste this outfit, especially when I’d managed to get my hair just so. I might as well wear it to the theatre. Barky wouldn’t care – he never noticed what any of the girls wore – but I knew it would make one or two of the dancers jealous. Maybe even Ellen. She was supposed to be there today. I put on the hat and dabbed a little scent at my temples.

Outside it was a little chillier than I’d expected. Not really picnic weather at all and I was glad I’d worn my overcoat, too. Maybe it was as well that we hadn’t gone to Richmond. I burrowed my hands in my pockets and felt a piece of paper. I drew it out and recognised it as the handbill that had been pressed on me as I’d walked back from rehearsals the previous week. I’d forgotten all about it. When the Do-Gooder had given it to me, I hadn’t got beyond the headline but now I paused to read it. Sending Blacks to Africa, that’s what it was about. I bristled. As soon as I’d seen the headline, I’d known it wasn’t for me, and I’d been right. What I couldn’t fathom was why Lucien Winters was one of the people handing these out.