Surely, he couldn’t be angry with me? All I had done was try to speak to the Leopard Lady in the midst of her distress.

‘Go,’ Vincent said again. ‘The party is over.’

He was right about that. Ahead, the hallway was busy with servants running to and fro to fetch cloaks and summon carriages. If I lingered, I’d be called upon to help and I couldn’t face it. Not after what I’d just seen. I looked around for Henrietta, but there was no sign of her or her mother.

‘Vincent?’ I said softly, but he didn’t seem to hear me.

I hovered by the library door for a moment, but though I could hear the row between Miss Masterson and Crillick went on, I could not make out what they said. I was glad the Leopard Lady had a champion in Miss Masterson. I hoped she knew she had one in me too. I felt connected to her, through my act and through the Zulu words she had called out to me.

‘Zillah, are you coming?’ Vincent called over his shoulder. He strode away from me towards the stairs. I trailed after him, unable to go any faster, weighed down by what I had witnessed.

XIV

The Empty Kitchen

It was a relief to get back to the bedroom. I opened the door to find that the maids had been in to straighten everything since we’d dressed. With all that was going on downstairs, how had they had the time? The bed was neatly made, the lamps turned on and the fire stoked. On the dressing table there was a steaming ewer and a bowl and towels laid out so we could wash. It was all so civilised, but not ten minutes ago a woman had been paraded before an audience that questioned her humanity, then led away at the end of a rope. I had been just five when Wilberforce claimed his victory. Fifteen years on and he must be turning in his grave.

Vincent shut the door behind us. The decisive click as he turned the key in the lock said ‘enough’. If only a closed door could keep out thoughts as well as people. Henrietta, Crillick, Miss Masterson, Ma Alexander. Their voices rang inside my head and the cry of the Leopard Lady was the melody that carried them. I pressed my hands to my temples, but it was not enough to still the clamour in my mind. Too tired even to ask him to help free me from the maid’s corset, I perched on the edge of the chaise and watched as Vincent undressed. First his cravat hit the floor, then his waistcoat and jacket. He gave no thought to where they landed, too used to being picked up after. The carelessness of it rankled.

‘You should have spent more time with me tonight,’ he said.