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Madame Chartreuse?” asked Papa. “She is marvellous, no?”
    “And funny too,” said Poppy.
    “She’s not meant to be funny,” said Papa. “This is a very serious story. It is tragic.”
    “What’s that mean?”
    “Very, very sad.”
    Poppy shrugged. “I don’t think it’s sad. I think it’s quite humourious, ’specially when the fat lady–”
    “Enough, Poppy. Do not call her fat or I will call you a philistine.”
    “Phyllis Stein?” asked Poppy, confused. “Who’s she?”
    Poor Poppy. I remembered my early days with the Plush family, and how hard it had been to understand what they were talking about until I got myself a vocabulary.
    Papa tried to explain. “Once, in Bible days, there was a tribe of people called the Philistines. They were so uncouth and uncultured that even thousands of years later we still give their name to people who don’t appreciate Grand Opera. And now,
shhh
. The second half begins.”

    I’m afraid I didn’t pay much attention to the second half of the opera either. In the end, the tenor stabbed himself, Madame Chartreuse went mad with an all-male chorus and everyone fell down dead. The audience went wild with deafening applause. The singers came back to life and bobbed and bowed with smiles all over their faces. The backstage crew began toting masses of flowers out to the cast.
    Madame Chartreuse, piled high with roses, cried, “Melbourne,
je t’aime
!” and the crowd went even wilder.
    Papa and Connie were in raptures, but Poppy sneaked a look at me and rolled her eyes. When it came to opera, Poppy and I were both philistines. Eventually the lights came on. The show was over.
    I was impatient to see if Della Parker was still waiting for me, but there was no way I could hurry out of the theatre. The audience moved like cold treacle along the corridors and staircases, into the foyer and out onto the footpath where they clogged up the works by lingering and chatting. Nearby there was a coffee stall, a pie cart and a man with a brazier selling hot nuts. The street orchestra had moved on, but a juggler and a lady with performing poodles entertained the crowd while a few urchins turned somersaults and ran about asking for pennies. I felt sure Della would try to speak to me again and I peered up and down the street, trying to make out that distinctive grey dress.
    “Who are you looking for, Verity?” asked Connie. “Albert’s up this way.”
    Our carriage was halfway up the block. A man in a brown overcoat was standing at the horses’ heads, yelling and waving his hands around. Wasn’t he the same clumsy fellow who’d bumped into me earlier? Albert, up in the driver’s seat, was gesturing with his whip and yelling as well. A crowd of street children, jeering and catcalling, had gathered to watch.
    “Looks like ’e’s got into an argyment,” said Poppy.
    “Oh,
mon Dieu
,” said Papa. “What is this all about? Stay where you are, girls, and I–”
    “Papa, no!” I said, alarmed.
    “I’m not going to fight him,
chérie
.” Papa laughed. “I am going to find a policeman. Look, there’s an constable over there, standing on the street corner. Now, girls, stay right where you are till I come back.”
    I watched him stride off through the crowd. They would have the matter sorted out in no time, I was sure. Meanwhile, Connie and Poppy moved closer to watch the dancing poodles.
    “Verity.”
    I whirled around. There she was, right behind me.
    “Come here.” She backed towards a laneway. “Where your friends won’t hear.”
    What did she take me for? I wouldn’t go down that dark alley for a king’s ransom.
    “Why did you give me that fan?” I asked, standing my ground.
    “Why do you think? I want justice,” she said. Her voice was trembling. “I want what is rightfully mine.”
    Even in the shadows, I could see the strange glitter in her eyes and I began to feel uneasy. There were people all around, but what if she did something desperate? I wished