‘Are you sure?’ John was enjoying himself. ‘It’s very securely packaged. Do you not want to see what’s inside?’ He took one of the best knives off the table and cut the string. ‘There, now you can have a proper look.’

Finlay and Ann looked at one another. He shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me. I have no idea.’

Ann moved the cardboard flaps out of the way and peered inside. ‘There’s an envelope at the bottom.’ She reached down to pick it up.

The suspense was broken by the arrival of Isobel, who came in carrying a tray. The smell of warm drop scones was instantly recognisable. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you might be ready for these. I can come back later.’

‘Not at all.’ Ursula had an idea that Isobel’s curiosity had got the better of her. ‘Just put it on the sideboard and we’ll be ready in a few moments. The birthday girl has found a mysterious envelope and we all want to know what’s inside it.’

Ann went back to her appointed seat at the head of the table and sat down. ‘Not encyclopaedias, then,’ she whispered to herself as she sliced open the flap of the envelope with a butter knife. She pulled out two pieces of card and gasped. ‘Tickets!’ She could hardly speak. ‘Tickets to see The Great Lafayette at the Empire Palace Theatre on Tuesday the ninth of May.’

‘I will take you to the theatre,’ said John. ‘It’s the late performance and Ursula thought that you and I might like to have an adventure together, just the two of us. What do you think?’

‘I would like that very, very much.’ Ann looked at each one of them in turn. ‘Thank you. I think being thirteen is going to be my best year ever.’

Chapter 19

May 1911

On Monday evening, the day before the much talked-about theatre excursion, John was unwell. A sore throat had reduced his words to a rasp, and Ursula had called the doctor, concerned that he might have diphtheria.

‘Laryngitis,’ said the doctor, addressing John. ‘You need to speak as little as possible, and under no circumstances must you go to work.’

‘But what about taking my daughter to the theatre? It’s her birthday treat.’ John squeezed the words out. ‘We are going to see The Great Lafayette tomorrow evening.’

The doctor shook his head. ‘I would not recommend it. If you cannot remain silent, or near silent, for a few days, you may cause permanent damage to your vocal cords.’ He turned to Ursula, who was standing at the end of the bed. ‘I feel that going into a crowded place is not to be recommended at all.’

John was not pleased. His face betrayed him, but it seemed there was no argument.

‘I’ll show you out, Doctor,’ said Ursula.