'It seems like a long time since I was dandling in here.

'Would you do it again, Kit? Go up, I mean? Danny came to stand next to me. 'I reckon we could make it safe for you. Put a net up underneath. I couldnt make out why you never had one.

I shook my head. 'It was part of the thrill, wasnt it? Will she, wont she? The punters came to see me perform, but they also came to see me fall. It gave them a little bit extra. It excited them the men specially. You wouldnt believe what I saw them doing with their hands from up there sometimes.

'It was good for takings, though. Fitzy says . . . He trailed off.

I swung round. Danny was scuffing at some wood shavings with his foot. He didnt look at me. 'Go on, what does he say?

'Something and nothing. The books and that. With The Comet closed for the duration, he reckons theres not enough coming in to pay out.

I planted my hands on my hips. 'Well, hes wrong. The books are good. Ive been through them all a hundred times over. Fact is, once we get The Comet open again well treble our takings. Im thinking of taking out the tables and putting seats in. Well pack more in that way and we can attract a better class of trade. Ive got the carpenters booked in now and Fitzys supposed to be dealing with the plaster boys and the gilders. It wont be dark for long.

Danny didnt answer.

'Listen to me. Patrick Fitzpatricks fat boxers nose has been knocked so far out of joint by me taking over the halls that hes practically sniffing out of his arse. Hed say anything to undermine me. Ill have it out with him and make it very clear that I dont want him spreading lies. And that goes for you too, Dan.

Danny shook his head. 'Its just . . . well . . . me and Peggy we need all the money we can get right now and if the halls arent going to pay- 'But they are! This is just rumour and rot. I stared up at him.

Big Danny Tewson was a handsome lad with broad shoulders, thick black hair and fine brown eyes. There were pouchy grey bags under his fine eyes today. I reckoned hed been spending more than Thursday nights at the card table. There was something else too now I looked a purple bruise stretched around his throat like hed been gripped too tight. He must have seen me mark it because he pulled at his shirt collar to cover up.

'Whats that, Dan?

He fiddled with a button and mumbled. 'Nothing an accident, thats all.

'Accident with someones fist, was it? I took a deep breath. 'If youre worried about money, you only have to ask. Ive said as much to Peggy.

'She had no business- 'Shes my friend. Course she had a right to tell me. And if were talking business, then you need to get it straight in your head that the halls all three of them are in good order. I poked him in the chest and he stepped back. 'If you want you can come over to my office right now and Ill show you the books.

He raised his hands. 'I believe you. Peggy always said you had a temper, Kit. He grinned. 'Anyway, its not me you came to see here, is it?

I shook my head. 'I was looking for Lucca.

'Hes not been in yet. Were expecting him later. When the lads get back with more wood Ill need to cut it to shape before he can get to work on it. Itll be a late-night job I reckon.

'Well, when he comes in, whenever that is, can you ask him to come over to the office? Ill be there until after tonights house. Its important.

Dan nodded. I rapped the cage once and a long low note rang out around the workshop.

'Lovely tone.

I remembered how Fitzy had said that the first time hed shown it to me. Now I was going to use a 'lovely tone on him.

The lascar stood up when I opened the door to the office. He seemed to fill the room. He towered over me and most other people in the street, I noticed, as wed walked to The Gaudy earlier.

Hed been waiting for me in the hallway at The Palace when I went down that morning and Id been expecting him. Tan Seng held out my coat and nodded at the dark-faced man perching on the hall chair under the painting of the young toff in blue. The lascar sprang to his feet.

'Amit will walk with you and stay close to you, Lady. Tan Seng bowed. I shot a look at the lascar and then at Tan Seng. How much did he know?

Tan Sen cleared his throat. 'The streets are dangerous for a lady alone. It is better this way. Amit is mute, he will not disturb you. I have taken the liberty to employ him here, for you, Lady. He is known to us. He bowed and held the coat open.

I already knew the giant wasnt here to protect me.

I sidled a glance at the lascar. The mans face was long and deeply lined. The jutting bones of his forehead were so heavily pronounced that I couldnt clearly see his eyes. His hair was black except for a single streak of grey that sprang from the crown. He clenched and unclenched his huge fists as he stood there staring at me.

'Its Amit Das, isnt it? The lascar nodded and I was pleased to see Tan Sengs eyes flicker in surprise. 'You and your brother Ram have lodgings near Bell Wharf Stairs? He nodded again. I turned to allow Tan Seng to help me push my arms into the sleeves. 'I know him from the books. I pay their rent. They worked for my . . . for Lady Ginger, didnt they?

Tan Seng bowed. 'The Lady knows all.

I wished that was true.

I went over to the desk in The Gaudys office and sat down.

'You can take off for a bit, Amit. I wont be leaving until after we close up tonight. Here . . . I handed him a couple of pennies. 'Get yourself off to a cookshop. He looked doubtfully at the coins. 'Its all quite safe. Come back this evening, please.

I pushed the pennies across the table and after a moment he reached down. His fingers were so big I was minded of one of them wind-up mechanical grab machines at the travelling fairs, the ones where the claws are deliberately made too big to pick up the sugar sticks. I lost a purseful on one of them once when Joey took me out to London Fields. Nanny Peck gave me what for when she found out. I learned a lesson that day and I didnt chance it ever again.

Amit couldnt seem to catch hold of the pennies, so after a couple of tries he just swiped them off the desk into his paw. As I watched him lower his head to dip out through the door I thought about that cage again. I was still trapped, wasnt I?

I emptied the contents of my bag over the desk top. The letters tumbled out and I spread them over the leather. Id gone through them all the ones I could read over and over last night and the story they told made a sort of sense. Now I wanted to show them to Lucca to see if he agreed.

My grandmother had included a note with the package. Her old-style, looping hand fluttered across the page.

Katharine, I have reflected on our last conversation and I feel that I may have been unreasonable.

While it is vital that you learn to navigate your own way in the affairs of Paradise, I concede that, in the current instance, a little more information will be of value. It is unfortunate that you have allowed yourself to become embroiled in a side show when so much is at stake. Your brother has always found it difficult to separate his own needs from that of the wider good. This episode will, perhaps, serve as a valuable lesson.

I trust that you have now ascertained the meaning of the word on the paper and, more pertinently perhaps, that you know the significance of the family crest embossed into the page.

With these details in mind, I have instructed Telferman to extract the documents enclosed with this note from my vault at Persimmons Bank in the Strand. You will, no doubt, be aware of the existence of this holding.

Over the years I have made it my business to obtain many items of valuable correspondence. These examples are among the jewels of my collection. Their worth is incalculable.

I trust that you will find them enlightening. Telferman will collect them from you tomorrow at nine sharp. While they are in your hands, I have made arrangements for their protection.

Read them well, Katharine, and think on the story they tell.

The story?

I reached for a yellowing sheet and followed down the slanting lines of close-packed writing again with my finger. It wasnt complete. The first page, at least, was missing and it wasnt in English. Across the top there were two names and a date scrawled in capitals in my grandmothers hand.

1 FROM GRAND DUCHESS ANNA FEODOROVNA TO MARIE L.V. DUCHESS OF KENT MARCH 1821 A word was repeated several times in the text and each time it began with a capital letter. I wondered if it might be a name. The second time the writer had underlined it and the words in front ihre kleine Tochter, Drina The letter was signed with a flourish.

Juli Ihre liebevolle Schwester I stared at the sheet for a moment and reached for another. There were a dozen like it, all written in words I couldnt read. At least three of them appeared to be in the Russian script Old Peter had translated for me. Every one of them was carefully numbered, dated and noted with my grandmothers capitals. By my reckoning I had correspondence in front of me from half the nobility of Europe duchess this, grand duke that, a couple of princes, a bishop and a patriarch . . . whatever that was.

I leafed through the pages again and took out the one I could read number seven. The bold scrawl across the top told me the writer was: SIR WILLIAM JENNER, SEPTEMBER 1864.

Like before, the first page was missing. I dont know who Sir William was writing to and presumably neither did my grandmother seeing as how nearly every other letter was itemised most careful. I knew one thing, though. He had a ripe story to tell. I followed the meandering lines. His writing was terrible.

. . . can at best be described as unfortunate, at worst a disease of the most gross and incurable nature. In confidence writing to a brother physician I cannot imagine the young Prince will make old bones and that may be for the best. Indeed, to imagine him passing such a defect to any children, for I believe that to be the hidden legacy of this cruel malady, would be unthinkable.

I bound his lower limbs in hope that the swelling will dissipate, but I fear internal bleeding at the joints will continue for some time. The Prince is in great pain. I was able to give him something for that at least. I have also given strict instructions as to his future recreation. He is to be supervised at all times. If he were to fall from a horse again or even take a knock from a bat or a ball, I cannot guarantee a good outcome.

I asked Her Majesty if she recalls any member of her family having been struck by a similar condition, but she is still so mired in mourning that she cares little if she herself lives or dies. The welfare of young Leopold is so far from her mind that, truly, I pity the boy. He is a clever and amenable child. I believe he understands the gravity of his situation.

I looked at the date again. Whoever this William was, seventeen years back he was writing to someone about Prince Leopold, Queen Victorias second youngest. But he was still alive, wasnt he? As far as I knew and that wasnt much seeing as how the nearest Id come to Her Majesty in the bosom of her family was on the lid of a biscuit tin there was nothing wrong with him.

I read on.

The sad matter would have limped to its foregone conclusion this year, perhaps in a decade or so if the Prince is fortunate and lives quietly and I would not have thought deeply upon its cause, had it not been for an encounter with George Denman at the club three nights ago.

Denman was in his cups, as is usual I believe, calling for brandy and generally making the most extraordinary nuisance in the dining room. His voice has a tone that is difficult to ignore one would think he imagined himself to be in court and members in the library across the hall complained. It was clear he wanted to pick a fight and didnt care two figs who his opponent might be. Chilvers, the night man, took me aside and asked if I could give the honourable gentleman something to 'calm his nerves. This I did most gladly. I had come direct from the hospital and my bag was lodged with the porter.

And now we come to the meat of it.

With gravy, cabbage and a steaming pile of boiled potatoes, I thought. Old William couldnt wait to pass on some highly titillating information. I flipped the page, noting that the handwriting sloped more violent to the right as he scribbled out his tattle.

While we sat privately in the smoking den waiting for the light sedative I had administered to take effect, Denman gripped my arm and started to babble about physicians. He has little liking for our breed, that much was clear, but that is always the way with lawyers, is it not, brother? I listened at first out of the desire to steady the man, but then out of interest.

Ill lay a bet it was something more than interest. If my understanding of the letter was right, Old Williams ears must have been on fire.

I was dimly aware that Denmans family were in medicine as well as the law. His aunt, it transpired and I have since verified the truth of this part of his story at least was married to the late Sir Richard Croft. A terrible business, suicide, but of course, the death of the Princess Charlotte in childbirth must have weighed terribly on the mans conscience. There cannot be many royal physicians who have presided over the death of the future monarch and his mother.

That was true enough. If it hadnt been for the fact that fat Georges daughter Princess Charlotte in the letter had died giving birth to a son, we wouldnt have the benefit of Her Majesty on the throne. I knew all that from Nanny Peck who had an interest in the doings of the royalty, despite cordially hating them all for ruling over Ireland. In Church Street she used to read aloud stories about them from the newspapers lingering most particularly over descriptions of what theyd eaten.

But I stray too far. The point I wish to bring to your attention is that before he slept, Denman talked incessantly about 'Aunt Margarets great secret. 'Dangerous knowledge he called it, known only to those who served the royal household and their intimates.

I turned to the next page. At some point someone had spilled something, water perhaps, over the top part of the paper so the first two paragraphs were obscured. Williams story picked up clearly again halfway down.

. . . most interesting, but perhaps also the gossip of a woman in great anguish?

As there is no suggestion of the malady in Her Majestys paternal or maternal line I have made discreet enquiries into the latter then it is either a spontaneous anomaly, which may be possible, or perhaps Denmans aunt has the key. If it was true that the Duke of Kent was by then incapable of fathering a child, then the root of the terrible disease currently afflicting the little Prince could, indeed, lie elsewhere?

Hed underlined that last word twice.

Of course, to speculate upon the parentage of our great lady is the grossest and most disloyal act of treachery. I shall say no more on the matter except to draw your attention to some medical details which may serve to illuminate.

In the library at the college I have found an account of 'a haemorrhagic disposition existing in certain families. In 1828 a Dr Otto recognised that the condition was hereditary and, in the main, affected males. He traced the disease back through three generations to a woman who had settled near Plymouth, New Hampshire, in 1720. And again in 1828 Hopff uses the word 'haemophilia in a report of a very similar case in Zurich. If you are interested, and I feel most certain that as a brother you will be, you can find it in a tract housed at the library. It is a copy of Hopffs original, lodged, unaccountably, under Z.

I know I do not need to tell you how delicate this matter is. Not only with regard to our great lady, but also to her poor child and any others among her offspring, and so on, who might carry the condition. The Crown Princess of Prussia has already given birth to four children, two have been born to the Grand Duchess of Hesse. Only time will give us the answer.

Meantimes, discretion must be our touchstone and we must pray that it is the spontaneous anomaly I mentioned. My only reason for writing to you on this matter is, of course, founded upon our mutual interest in the furtherance of medical science.

I hope to visit Hampshire soon, old friend it will be good to breathe something sweet and clean. The air in London is as foul as ever. Adela sends her good wishes to Julia and to the children and hopes that . . .

After dropping his incendiary remarks, the old chaunter put in another two pages worth about his wife, his children, his medical colleagues at the college he didnt think much of them and his gardener, Fossett, who had a lovely way with plums, but I knew that wasnt the point of it.

Sir William called Denmans Aunt Margaret a gossip? The man should have been ashamed of himself. Ive heard herring girls with tighter tongues in their heads. No wonder my grandmother kept his letter in a bank vault.

As far as I could make out, William Jenner was sinuating no, it was more than a sinuation, after all it was there in blue and white that Queen Victorias father wasnt actually related to her at all and that the condition affecting her son, Prince Leopold, might well have been passed down from someone who was.

Tell truth, I didnt understand all of it, but I knew it was dangerous. I looked at the other papers strewn across the desk all them names, all them titles. I guessed they all told the same story, or parts of it.

Poor little Leopold, Sir William didnt hold out much hope for him, did he? And yet Queen Victorias eighth child and fourth son was still alive and . . . Well, he was alive. That was something.

I flicked the page back and re-read a couple of lines of Jenners scrawl, the bit about binding the boys limbs, the swelling and the blood in the joints. Dr Pardieu was wrong. Robbie hadnt reacted to the parrot there was something already wrong inside him, something he shared with the little boy in the letter.

My grandmothers voice sounded clear in my head: He is your blood, he is your family. Think on those words.

Blood and family she hadnt been talking about me and Joey, had she?

There was a rap on the door and Lucca walked into the office. If it had been anyone else I would have gathered up the letters and locked them away, but I wanted to show them to him.

'Sit down. I nodded at the spindly chair. He shook his head.

'You must come with me, Fannella. Come now.

I held out Jenners letter and flicked through the pages on the desk searching for the one that might have been Italian. 'I havent got time for a walkabout, Lucca. I need you to look at- 'No! His voice was harsh. I looked up. His face was grey. There were lines stretched around his mouth and eye on the good side.

'Its Peter, Fannella, Old Peter. He is dead. It was not an accident.

Chapter Twenty-three.

I almost had to run to keep pace with him.

'Why are we going to your place, Lucca? Surely we should be going west?

He didnt answer. He paused at the corner of White Horse Street. The traffic on the Commercial was tight as cod in a Billingsgate box. There was a roaring sound overhead. The bolts in the viaduct rattled as a train veered off towards the Blackwall Extension. The street disappeared from view for a moment as the steam rolled down and folded over the bus and the dray cart blocking our way over.

I rubbed my left eye with the back of my glove as a smut lodged in the lashes. As we stood there Luccas hand tightened round my wrist. I felt the bag with the letters stuffed inside bump against my leg through the cotton of my skirt.

'You said it wasnt an accident what do you mean?

We stepped into the street and dodged round the back of the dray.

'The way he was found. It was very clear.

'Clear in what way?