‘Trust me, I don’t want to be holding my little sister’s hand in public either, but Father would never forgive me if I lost you.’

The throng of people in the street outside had been compressed into the stalls and balcony seats inside, with some lucky ticket holders having one of the boxes on either side of the wide stage. As they went into the auditorium, they could hear the orchestra, the string section following the lead of the First Violin as they tuned their instruments from his notes.

Finlay found their seats, near the middle of a row in the stalls, and they settled down. Ann looked at the programme Finlay had bought for her. ‘Do you know how he does the illusions?’

‘No one knows,’ he replied. ‘It’s all a secret. If we knew, we wouldn’t be here.’

‘I suppose we all hope we can work it out by watching very carefully. My friends at school will be so envious. None of them have seen The Great Lafayette.’

‘I don’t understand why you are so obsessed with him.’

She didn’t answer right away because a large man was requesting that she stand up to let him pass. Seated again, she tried to explain. ‘It’s just the magic, the not-knowing. It’s like a big puzzle with lots of pieces and you can’t tell which is the important one that is going to make it all work. And of course, there are the animals. The horse and the lion. I’ve only seen lions at the zoo. I wonder if it’s a tame lion?’

Finlay laughed. ‘I don’t think any lion is ever truly tame.’

‘That makes it even more exciting, don’t you think?’ replied Ann, ignoring the put-down. She settled herself into the seat and opened the programme.

Chapter 21

Tuesday 9 May 1911

Afterwards, they stood outside in the street and watched the flames shooting upwards into the sky. Smoke poured from the theatre roof and the sound of crackling timber came from inside the building.

Ann would not let go of Finlay’s hand. They stood, transfixed by the spectacle, until they were shepherded away by the police. A group of soldiers appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and set about clearing a path right up the centre of Nicolson Street for the fire brigade. Policemen moved the many hundreds of stunned theatregoers away from the inferno so the fire tenders could get as close as possible to the blaze.

On the other side of the street, scantily dressed residents from the flats opposite the theatre stood on the pavement, unable to believe what they were seeing. They held on tightly to their bare-footed children as the water from the fire tenders ran in little rivers down the gutters towards Chambers Street. As the heat intensified, the glazing in the tenements cracked and splintered.

There were no cabs.