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A more responsible youth in their party said sharply, ‘Say, Tufton, take care, you’ll start a riot!’

The red-faced young baronet laughed in a way that made Marina certain he was full of liquor, then slurring his words he said, ‘That would liven things up a bit. Like a chance to practice my right hook. Just come from Jackson’s Academy this afternoon.’ He was boastful and belligerent.

Across the roiling crowd came the clarion of a hunting horn as the horses entered the ring. Rather than silencing the audience, this merely increased the cheering and catcalls, particularly when the evening’s star, Eliza as Clorinda the Winged Venus, entered standing on the back of her magnificent black horse.

‘Look, Mama, that’s Miss Gray!’

‘Looks very dangerous, my dear. She hasn’t got many clothes on! Thank goodness she’s masked so no one will recognise her.’ Both women gazed in some wonder at Eliza, dressed in blue silk pantaloons and an embroidered green jacket, tightly braided across her chest, a jewelled mask on her face. Small silver wings were attached at her shoulders from which ribbons of diaphanous blue silk fluttered as she rode.

‘She couldn’t manage in long skirts, Mama. I think she looks magnificent and so graceful.’

‘And she and the horse have wings!’

The young men were leaning out of their box to see better. Sir Tufton Warren turned to his companions to say in an over-loud voice, ‘It’s the only place outside a bordello or a museum of classical statues where you can actually see what a woman looks like.’ He leered and looked across at Miss Fairley who wished she were a man and could wipe that salacious look off his face.

After the show was over, Marina took her mother firmly by the arm and propelled her through the crowds to the back of the building where the stables were situated. She was determined to talk to Eliza. Again there was a turbulence of fashionable young men mixed up with the ostlers who looked after the horses. Eliza was nowhere to be seen. Marina hoped they had not missed her and hovered uncertainly on the edge of the crowd. Suddenly Eliza appeared, dressed in her respectable yet rather dull clothes, and not immediately recognizable to the drink-befuddled admirers gathered in the hopes of waylaying her. Catching sight of Marina, Eliza was quickly by her side and said in a quiet voice, ‘How wonderful to see you. And Mrs Fairley too. Come with me, then we avoid the fuss,’ and she drew them into the hay barn to the left of the stables.

Finding themselves lit only by the moon and surrounded by the green sweet smell of sheaves of hay, Marina Fairley threw her arms around Eliza. ‘Oh, dear sister. You were wonderful, but I had no idea you had to run that gauntlet of such rudeness and lechery!’

Eliza laughed. ‘I’ve known it most of my life, and it’s not as bad as it may appear. Those young blades are all swagger and little doing. They’re showing off to their friends. And I have a certain anonymity because of the mask. Unlike Rose, who is fully recognisable.’

‘That young miss seems to like it that way,’ Mrs Fairley said sourly.

Eliza sprang to her friend’s defence. ‘Well, much to her and my delight, Rose will soon be going to the Americas. She’s been offered work in a business in New York.’

Mrs Fairley sniffed in disapproval. ‘Business! So common, my dear. I hope neither of you girls, of noble if irregular blood, will consider business.’

Eliza was uncowed. ‘Well, Mrs Fairley, I suppose being in business is less reprehensible than performing as I do for the means to live?’

Marina had always been irritated by her mother’s social airs and disapproval of those she considered beneath her. In a sharp voice she said, ‘You know Mama, we are fortunate indeed that Grandmama has enough inheritance to allow us to live without consideration or concern for shelter, food or every other convenience. Very few women are as lucky.’

‘Oh, Marina. You’re such a revolutionary! I cry to God each night: what did I do to deserve such a daughter? I don’t know where you got your contrary nature from.’ Marina and Eliza shared a conspiratorial smile while Mrs Fairley continued, ‘It is entirely scandalous that you, Miss Gray, perform in the circus. If I were your mother I would forbid it, and cast you out if you persisted in your rebellion.’

Eliza was taken aback by Mrs Fairley’s vehemence, but Marina understood her mother’s quixotic nature and ignored the outburst. ‘Mama, I have offered Miss Gray a home with me, with us, to share my annuity, but she has preferred not to be beholden to friends – or family. For that she should be commended, not scolded.’

Eliza was aware of the unfamiliar emotion of sisterly sympathy flowing between them; to have someone always think the best of you, to love and protect you come what may, it touched her unexpectedly and her eyes pricked with tears. The young women took each other’s hands. Marina said, ‘Our carriage awaits us. But come and see me next time you can get away. I miss you so much.’ She and Mrs Fairley turned and walked back to where their carriage was parked with others by the Amphitheatre’s portico.

As Eliza emerged from the barn, a man stepped out from the shadows. The stable boys had bedded down the horses and retired to their cots above the stables and Eliza realised she was alone. She walked quickly towards the steps that led to her quarters and to Rose but the man was quicker. He grasped her arm and she turned to see his face caught in a shaft of moonlight. ‘Lord Davenport!’ she said in a shocked voice.

He pulled her roughly to him, his face so close she could smell his breath as he hissed, ‘I heard you had returned, and here you are.’ Her heart began to thump. She couldn’t make out if he was drunk – which she felt able to handle – or bent on revenge, which she could not. He continued, his voice low and menacing, ‘Purfoy has taken something valuable of mine and I’ve come to steal something of value to him.’

Eliza tried to shake him off. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Lord Purfoy has nothing to do with me. Take your grievance to him.’

‘Oh, but I think he has very much to do with you. I’ve seen the way he looks at you; your arrogant friend has designs on you and if he hasn’t already claimed you, I intend to take you first.’ In one deft movement he caught her hands behind her back and, lifting her off her feet, carried her to the barn.

Eliza kicked him vigorously. ‘Rose! Help!’ she cried out as loud as she could before his hand clamped over her mouth, his rings knocking her teeth. He was so quick and decisive she realised he was not drunk and fear rose, suffocating her breath. In the dark, he tossed her down into a pile of hay, his hand still gripping her mouth, tangy and metallic-tasting, his body pressing hard and heavy against her.

Eliza could not wriggle free from under his weight but she managed to bite his middle finger with as much force as she could muster. He swore, snatching his arm away for a minute while she scrambled to her feet and made for the slither of moonlight by the door. But Lord Davenport was as fast and he grabbed her skirt and dragged her back, slamming her against an oak strut that supported the roof. He was so strong, she felt the horror of powerlessness in the face of a greater force. One of his arms clamped her hard against his hip as he ruffled up her skirts. His hand moved up her thigh then, in a fever, he began to unbutton the front fall of his pantaloons. His voice was hoarse with anger and lust as he said with quiet menace, ‘Your rapacious lord has ruined my inheritance, now I will spoil you for him.’ He looked down to where she was pressed against his groin and muttered, ‘Not that I imagine he would have been the first to tend this garden.’

Eliza recalled what her sister had said: everything Davenport touched he corrupted. Shock, fear and outrage surged in her chest. He had her hands caught in a vice-like grip behind her back so she stamped heavily on his foot, but he was wearing top boots and merely laughed. ‘I like a fighting woman.’ She noticed with a shudder his teeth gleam as his lips parted.

Knowing the barn would muffle her cry, Eliza summoned all her breath and, propelled by anger and desperation, shouted one last time, ‘Rose! Help me!’

‘No one will hear you here.’ He laughed again and grasping her chin, bent his head to forcibly kiss her when an almighty clang of metal hitting something hard rent the silence of the night. His grip loosened as he fell to the ground. Rose was standing in the dark behind him, a spade in her hand.

Eliza, suddenly released, staggered towards her. ‘Oh, Rose, thank you.’

‘You done it for me in the past.’