Outside in the corridor the oil lamps had been dimmed and it was cooler. I leant against the panelled oak wall. The hard ridges of the mouldings dug into my back but I wanted the discomfort, wanted my body to match what I felt inside my head. I took one deep breath and then another, steadying myself as Ellen had once taught me to do before a performance. On the opposite wall a collection of oil-painted ladies and gentlemen leered down at me. They must have come with the house as they couldn’t be Crillick’s ancestors. He was from trade, his money and connections brand new. Enough of both, though, to have bought his way into society. I stepped forward to read the nameplate of the nearest lady, depicted Grecian style with a playful spaniel at her feet. Her name was Arabella. Henrietta, Arabella. These were the sorts of women that a viscount should be associated with. But he wants you, I told myself. He could have a woman like these for the asking and yet it is you he has chosen to have by his side. Even if it means you must play a part to be near him. The thought made me feel better. If he was going to make love to the Alexander girl, he would not have asked me to be there with him, even in these wretched maid’s clothes. Once Vincent and I were alone together, all I’d have to be was Zillah. He loves you for who you are. Your skin, your history, they mean nothing to him. Don’t you forget that.

I turned to re-enter the drawing room as Henrietta came out. I only just avoided bumping into her and she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest, before she got over her surprise, and gave a weak laugh.

‘You quite frightened me lurking there in the shadows like that. I barely saw you!’

I tensed, waiting for the command for water or champagne, but nothing came. Instead, she snapped open her fan with a flick of her wrist and waved it back and forth. Her eyes narrowed for a moment, searching my face, before brightening again.

‘That’s much better, isn’t it? So warm in there.’ She held out a gloved hand to me. ‘It’s Zillah, isn’t it?’ She laughed at the puzzlement on my face. ‘Marcus told me to look out for you. I’m Miss Alexander.’

I frowned again, wondering why my name would have come up in a conversation between her and Crillick. How much did she know about what I really was to Vincent? I made a movement somewhere between an awkward bob and a curtsey. I wanted to get away, to find a place where I could see Vincent, but she blocked the doorway into the drawing room.

‘I won’t let you run away from me. Now I’ve got you, we must be friends.’