Sarah had been left at the stage door while Margaret was up with Lady Teaser, so Bill had to think what would be best to do with her. He had what was called ‘his room’ at the stage door, but it was little more than a box with no room for a second chair, but there was a packing case on which he could sit, so he opened his door and invited her in.

‘I’m afraid I don’t know your name, ma’am, but if you’d care to sit down while waiting for the little girl I would be pleased.’

Sarah was also pleased so she stepped in and sat.

As Bill always said of himself he had a rare nose for picking out who was who. Even as Sarah was sitting down, he knew Margaret was not related to her. A nice good woman he was sure, and certainly a theatrical, but as different from the little girl as chalk from cheese. On a ledge in the corner of his box Bill had a gas fitment on which he could do a little cooking or boil a kettle. Now he got up and lit it.

‘I expect you could do with a cup of tea. There’s a nip in the air which is, I suppose, only natural with winter coming on. Soon we’ll be havin’ fogs, I can’t abide the dirty things. A real pea-souper clears the theatre like a dose of salts.’

‘I know,’ Sarah agreed. ‘But I’ve been working outside London recently and though, of course, fogs do come up, they aren’t the terror they are in London.’

‘I’m glad to hear the Guv’nor is giving the part to little Miss Thursday. This play what’s running here is finishing, so we ought to start rehearsals for the new one if we are to be settled in before Christmas. Could be quite a holiday attraction with a little girl playing the Queen.’

‘And what a little girl!’ said Sarah proudly. ‘Why, the moment she stepped on the stage as Little Lord Fauntleroy we all knew. Real find she is.’

‘Where was she found, ma’am?’ Bill asked.

Sarah waited while Bill heated the teapot. ‘On a Thursday in a basket on the steps of the church. With the baby was a wardrobe of three of everything all of the very best quality. There was a note with her which said: ‘This is Margaret whom I entrust to your care. Each year fifty-two pounds will be sent for her keep and schooling. She has not yet been christened.’’

Bill stared at Sarah. ‘Is that the truth? You aren’t ’avin’ me on?’

‘It’s the truth,’ said Sarah. ‘And it seems, up to this year, the money always came but this year there was only a card on which was printed: “No more money for Margaret”.’

Bill made the tea and handed a cup to Sarah, offering at the same time milk and sugar. ‘Is that how she came to be on the boards?’