Vincent pouted. Maybe it was a mistake to leave him to his own devices at the party, but my pride was one of the few things I had. I wasn’t ready to compromise it.

‘You’ll deign to choose something for me to wear at least?’

It was like him to be peevish when he didn’t get his own way. I wasn’t going to back down, but I didn’t want to send him off to the party feeling like he wanted to spite me. I picked out a velveteen jacket in palest blue. He knew it to be one of my favourites. That I was willing for him to look his best showed that I had confidence in him.

‘Are you sure it should be this one, Zillah? Even though you know I am hunted.’

‘I trust you,’ I said, and he spun me round and kissed me.

I did trust him, didn’t I? This was what I was thinking as the evening wore on. I had watched out of the upstairs window as the carriages arrived. Vincent had said drinks and a light supper, but some of the women were expecting to dance, based on the gowns they were wearing. The light bright notes of Mr Brahms wafted up from downstairs and I could hear the hubbub of chatter. There could be nothing wrong with taking a closer look.

I leant over the banister just as the butler announced the Alexanders. My view wasn’t great, but I could see just from her extravagant hairpiece that Henrietta Alexander was likely as striking as Ellen had said. I slunk back to Vincent’s room wishing I’d stayed put. The maid’s outfit was where he’d left it, draped over the chaise longue. I picked it up and held it against me. Could I? Grace was skinnier than me, so it would be a little tight, but it wasn’t the fit I was worried about. Could I betray my mother like that?

She left you, Zillah. She wasn’t willing to fight to keep you with her. They were ugly thoughts and many times Mrs Bradley had tried to explain why my mother judged it best to leave me, but though she always said how much Mama loved me, I struggled to believe it. I pulled on the costume. With memories of my mother in my head, I felt as uncomfortable now as I did when I dressed up to play Amazonia. Why was it that I was always compelled to be someone else and never truly myself? There was a looking glass on the dressing table and I stood before it. Did I look like her at all, the woman who had brought me into this world? I stepped out on to the landing and followed the music downstairs.