Margaret could not go to the theatre until the afternoons for she had to attend the local school. She did not mind, for she loved school, not just for the lessons but because she was special there. Not that she needed to be told she was special, for she had always known that she was. Who else had been found in a basket when they were a baby with three of everything, all of the very best quality? Who else had a card sent with her which said, ‘This is Margaret Thursday whom I entrust to your care’? Who else had received fifty-two golden sovereigns each year for her keep? Margaret knew it was not because of this romantic start to her life that the children admired her, it was because they had seen her act Little Lord Fauntleroy and they thought she was wonderful.

Oddly enough, that part of Margaret who was proud of herself did not care if she was admired as an actress or not. Acting was a different thing altogether. It was something that came to you when you stepped on the stage that made you forget everything except the part you were acting, that made you believe what you were saying and turned all the other actors into the people they were meant to be so she never, when on the stage, saw them as the tawdry, seedy, bad actors, atrociously dressed, that they really were.

At the back of the theatre in a small tent Mrs Sarah Beamish spent her days. She was a wonderfully good needlewoman and so was in charge of the wardrobe, though she played character parts or walked on when needed. Sarah had taken Margaret under her wing when she had joined the company four months before and, in innumerable ways, had not only seen after her but, when necessary, fought for her welfare. It was Sarah Beamish who saw she attended school. Her fat little figure had waddled into Ida Fortescue’s – the leading lady and manageress – dressing-tent a few nights after Little Lord Fauntleroy had become part of the repertory. Ida was taking off her make-up and did not want to be interrupted.

‘Well?’

‘Young Margaret should go to school starting Monday,’ said Sarah.

The question of sending Margaret to school had been discussed by the Fortescues and they had decided against it. In the company there was an actress so short she was almost a dwarf who had played children when they were needed. She had no talent so the Fortescues had decided, as soon as the summer was over, to dismiss her and give the parts to Margaret, which would mean she would be needed for morning rehearsals. Now what was Sarah Beamish sticking her nose in for? However, Sarah was too valuable in the wardrobe to be treated rudely. Ida spoke as though her tongue had been covered with cream.

‘Do you not think that a long role every night is enough for her? She is only just eleven.’