Inside, the shop was cool and a little dark. It reminded me of Crillick’s cook’s store cupboard with its smell of tea and coffee and spices. There were two mahogany counters. The one to the left was for everyday things like beeswax and brimstone and lamp black. The other was directly opposite the front door, packed with jams and pickles and dried fruits stacked up behind it, and standing there was the shop’s owner. He had his head bent down over a ledger and I coughed loudly to get his attention.

‘Excuse me, madam—’ he began and then stopped. He’d recognised me.

‘Good morning, Mr Winters. I was passing your shop and thought I would stop in.’

I made a show of walking around, inspecting the goods he had on display. I’d never afford anything like this on my own wages, but there was no need for him to know that. Let him think I always wore kid boots and hats with feathers in and could buy what I liked. It would teach him for thinking he could rescue me.

‘What may I get for you, madam?’

So formal, but I could tell from the half-smile on his lips that he remembered me. I hadn’t thought of buying anything, though. Did I even have any money on me? I cast a quick glance around. Everything looked expensive, but how galling if he knew I’d come in just to see him.

‘I’d like some sugar, please,’ I said, the first thing that came to mind.

‘I’m sorry, we do not stock that here.’

A funny sort of grocer’s that didn’t stock sugar, I thought, and then it dawned on me. It was a remnant from all the protests over the slave trade. Lucien stepped out from behind the counter and removed his white apron.

‘You’re looking very well, Miss …’

‘I told you before to call me Zillah. It’s all the name I need.’ I raised my chin ready to stare him down if he asked me how come, but was relieved when he didn’t. Any surname would mark me out as someone’s possession. Because I was free, I chose to go without.

‘Ah yes, of course.’

‘Why do you smile to hear it?’

‘Because it means shade, shadow, darkness. I wonder who named you?’

That felt too personal. He could wonder all he liked, but it was less than none of his business.

‘What does your name mean?’ I shot back. It didn’t seem to rile him as it had me, but I think he got the message. He didn’t answer, though.

I looked down at the counter before me. A tray of marchpane shaped into tiny fruits caught my eye.

‘Are you sure you won’t pick something out for yourself? It would be my gift,’ Lucien said. ‘Anything you want.’