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Carter laughed. ‘How have you managed to put up with me all this time? Don’t hold back. Today’s a holiday and I’m in a good mood.’

Vendela shrugged and fiddled with a piece of scarlet streamer that was tangled in her hair.

‘The pay isn’t bad and I like the children. You’re not coming down, are you?’

Carter shook his head slowly.

‘I don’t want to ruin the party,’ he explained. ‘And besides, I couldn’t bear to hear another of Ben’s jokes.’

‘Ben’s very calm tonight,’ said Vendela. ‘He’s sad, I suppose. The boys have already given Ian his ticket.’

Carter’s face lit up. The members of the Chowbar Society – whose clandestine existence had been known to Carter for some time – had for months been saving money to buy a ticket on a ship to Southampton, which they planned to give to their friend Ian as a goodbye present. For years Ian had been expressing his desire to study medicine, and Mr Carter, at Ben and Isobel’s suggestion, had written to a number of English schools, supporting the boy and recommending him for a scholarship. The news of the scholarship had arrived a year ago, but the cost of the journey to London turned out to be far higher than anyone had expected.

Faced with this problem, Roshan suggested robbing the offices of a shipping company that was two blocks away from the orphanage. Siraj proposed they organise a raffle. Carter took out a sum from his meagre personal savings and Vendela did the same, but it was not enough.

So Ben decided to write a three-act play entitled The Spectres of Calcutta – a phantasmal piece of gibberish in which everyone died, including the stagehands. With Isobel playing the lead as Lady Windmare, the rest of the group performing secondary roles and an over-the-top production courtesy of Ben, it enjoyed remarkable success with its audiences – though not with its critics – in various schools in the city. As a result, enough money was collected to pay for Ian’s journey.

‘Ian had tears in his eyes when he received the gift,’ said Vendela.

‘He is a wonderful lad, a little insecure but wonderful. He’ll make good use of the ticket and the scholarship,’ said Carter proudly.

‘He asked after you. He wanted to thank you for your help.’

‘You didn’t tell him I contributed money from my own pocket, did you?’ asked Carter in alarm.

‘I did, but Ben denied it, saying you’d spent the year’s entire budget on your gambling debts.’

The noise from the party echoed through the courtyard. Carter frowned.

‘That boy is a devil. If he wasn’t about to leave, I would throw him out.’

‘You adore the boy, Thomas.’ Vendela laughed as she stood up. ‘And he knows it.’

The nurse made her way to the door, turning as she reached it. She didn’t give up easily.

‘Why don’t you come down?’

‘Goodnight, Vendela.’

‘You’re a boring old man.’

‘And proud of it …’

Recognising the futility of her task, Vendela mumbled a few words and left Carter alone. The director of St Patrick’s turned his desk lamp off and walked stealthily to the window to peer at the party through the slats of his blind. The garden was lit with flares, and lanterns cast a copper glow over the familiar smiling faces under the full moon. Although none of them knew it, they each had a one-way ticket to somewhere, but only Ian knew his destination.

‘IN TWENTY MINUTES IT will be midnight,’ Ben announced.

His eyes shone as he watched the firecrackers spreading a shower of golden sparks into the air.

‘I hope Siraj has some good stories tonight,’ said Isobel as she stared at the bottom of her glass, holding it up to the light as if she expected to find something in it.

‘The best,’ Roshan assured them. ‘Tonight is our last night. The end of the Chowbar Society.’

‘I wonder what will become of the Palace,’ said Seth.

For years none of them had referred to the dilapidated old house by any other name.

‘Guess,’ Ben suggested. ‘Most likely a bank. Isn’t that what they always build when they knock something down in any city? It’s the same the world over.’

Siraj had