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She frowned. ‘Sorry?’

‘Your name isn’t actually Temperance, is it? You made that up. So what is your name?’

Her face darkened. ‘I’d rather not talk about that.’

‘Why not?’

‘For a start, because you might tell the police.’

I shrugged. ‘You could always just make something else up.’

‘Yes, well, the thing is, Stephen, I don’t particularly want to lie to you any more.’

We stood, facing each other. When Temperance and I had first met, I’d felt like there was a kind of golden light between us. I’d spent the last year trying to work out how much of it had been real and how much of it had been an act. How much had she really cared about me, and how much had she been using me. It had near driven me mad, not knowing the answer. Now here we were, back together, and there was that golden light again. And I couldn’t for the life of me work out if it was just another lie.

The omnibus was pulling up. The crowd on the pavement pushed forwards and suddenly we were crushed together. Temperance lifted her eyes to mine.

‘Is there anything else you’d like to ask me, Stephen?’

The queue was moving. Soon Temperance would climb on board, and the omnibus would carry her away and our moment would be gone. All I had to do was ask the right question.

‘How many hatpins do you have?’

Temperance blinked at me.

‘Hatpins,’ I repeated. ‘How many is a normal number for a lady? Give or take.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Like … a hundred? Two hundred?’

‘I’ve never counted. Bye, Stephen.’

She climbed on board and disappeared into the darkness of the cabin as the traffic cleared like stage scenery. The omnibus pulled away and she was gone, and I had just a few seconds to reflect on how I was the stupidest man who’d ever been born before I realized that I was standing a stone’s throw from the millinery display window of Ponting’s. Even from here, I could see that my hat was gone.

38

Tuesday, 20 June, 5.34 p.m.

It was many hours later that I began the slow trudge home to Kensington Gore Mansions. I had spent some time enquiring with the milliner at Ponting’s, where a number of heated words were exchanged, and then some further, less heated words were exchanged with the security men in the basement, and then we all reached a cordial agreement that they wouldn’t take the matter further so long as I never set foot in their shop ever again.

By the time I reached the Royal Albert Hall, my spirits had never been lower. I still had to track down Peter and find out what he’d told me on the steps on the monument. I was not looking forward to that. I liked Peter, even if he was a suspect. I didn’t want to threaten him, and I didn’t feel right about tricking him. Either way, I was about to lose the only pal I’d made in years. Worst of all, some low-life scumbag had gone and nicked my hat.

I turned into our road and walked straight into someone coming out of it. I grimaced – I’d only done the same thing to Temperance a few hours earlier, albeit in the opposite direction, but the bruise hurt like – beg pardon – bibbins. ‘Watch where you’re –’

‘You!’ said Mrs Ripley.

I flinched. Mrs Ripley did not seem pleased to see me. No surprises, given that the last time I’d seen her I’d been spewing in her family heirloom. But now she was on our road. Was she returning to the scene of the crime, just like Miss Decima had predicted? ‘Wh-what are you doing here?’ I asked.

‘Looking for you!’ she fumed. She pointed behind her, to our front door. ‘You may take the invoice that I just left on your porter’s desk, young man, and pay it off promptly. The fee should cover the costs I’ve incurred in cleaning my late grandmother’s vase, and the Wedgwood stand it was placed on, which belonged to my late father. Not to mention my late husband’s oriental rug underneath it.’

I blushed. ‘Of course. I’ll do that right away.’

I watched her storm across the quad, steaming with anger. Maybe Mrs Ripley was telling the truth – or maybe the invoice was just an excuse. A way for her to get as close to the crime scene as possible. I had to tell Miss Decima right away, before –

I turned around and collided with someone else, yet again, right in the bruise. It was bringing tears to my eyes at this point.

‘Oh! Stephen! I’m ever so sorry. Are you all right?’