‘I can. But do I have to?’

Tommy Smith’s eyes twinkled. ‘You don’t have to, but it will be thought very good manners if you do.’

‘Then I will,’ said Margaret. ‘As long as they know it’s not because I feel inferior, because I don’t.’

The actors were chatting on the stage. Tommy led Margaret to each group.

‘This is Margaret Thursday,’ he explained, ‘who plays the child queen.’

Then he named each actor in turn who by a nod or a smile greeted her. In return she gave to each a polite bob curtsey. No one paid much attention to her, for that children should be seen but not heard was practised in the theatre as in the home. But though Margaret did not know it a few approving remarks were passed. ‘Quite a nice-looking child.’ – ‘If the child acts as well as she looks she will pass.’

Margaret did not tell Tommy Smith that she was offended, but bottled her feelings up to pour them on to Sarah, but she was frustrated for another child was sitting beside Sarah. It was expected that child actresses would have some adult in charge of them. Margaret’s understudy, who had been called to the play reading, had no adult with her; she was one of a family of nine and there was nobody to take her to the theatre. Her overworked mother had said:

‘You go on your own and sit down by whoever’s lookin’ after the other child. Nobody can’t complain of that.’ Then she gave her a small parcel. ‘And there’s your bite to eat dinner time.’

Sarah quite happily accepted the understudy. ‘And what’s your name, dear?’

The child was dressed in a near-black satin coat and a black velvet hat, for black satin was the favourite wear for little girl actresses. She now smoothed out the skirt of her coat.

‘Eliza Wigan. D’you like my coat? My ma made it, though she had to pawn her own coat and my old one to get the stuff.’

Sarah honestly did admire it for she considered black satin, even near-black satin, smart. ‘Very nice it is. Is this your first engagement?’

Liza laughed. ‘No, I was first on when I was three, danced and sang and did the splits and that, in the public ’ouses. From there I went to the ’alls. Baby Liza they called me. Then I was in panto. I never got on as far as I might ’cause we never ’ad no money for lessons. You see, there’s nine of us. I’m the eldest, I’m eleven.’

Sarah quite understood, the story was not unlike her own.

‘I didn’t start so young as you, but I couldn’t have lessons either. You see, my mother was a widow and when my father was took was left with the nine of us. She earned just enough to keep us with her needle. Lovely needlewoman she was and she taught all us girls to needle too. Then one day, when I was twelve and my sister Lou was fourteen, we got the chance to go into a pantomime, we never went ’ome after that for when we couldn’t get work in the theatre there was always sewin’ to be had. I did quite well. There was seldom a week when I didn’t send something home to my ma.’