‘I haven’t talked about your future, Margaret, because there has not been any cause.’

‘There isn’t now,’ said Margaret.

Sarah went on as if she had not been interrupted. ‘That’s as may be, but some thinks different.’

‘But I know we’re leaving this tent next week and it’s being stored in a barn until next spring. Mr Fortescue has booked a hall where we move to and we play repertory until Christmas when we put on pantomime, and I shall be a little white cat and …’

Sarah stopped her with an upraised hand. ‘I am aware of what is planned, but maybe others have plans too.’ Her tone changed. ‘Listen, dear, I’m not the only one who has been watching you. I know you are not one to let compliments go to your head, but since you took on playing Little Lord Fauntleroy you’ve shown yourself an actress. Mind you, talent in a child does not mean talent when you’ve grown up, but I am not the only one in the company who has real hope for you.’ Sarah paused and unfolded the piece of paper. ‘So when I saw this I said to myself: “Sarah Beamish, it’s meant.”’

Margaret held out her hand. ‘What is it, Mrs Beamish? Show me.’

Sarah passed her a cutting from a theatrical paper called The Era. Margaret unfolded it and read: ‘Wanted: A clever girl to appear eleven. Appointment, write to Thomas Smith, The Dolphin Theatre.’

‘Where is The Dolphin Theatre?’

Sarah smiled at such ignorance. ‘In London, of course. It belongs to Sir John Teaser. He’s what they call a theatrical manager, which means he owns his own company and acts as well. Very important man, Sir John is. Why, when he went to Buckingham Palace for Queen Victoria to make him a knight, hundreds turned out to see him in his carriage drive through the palace gates.’

Margaret reread the cutting from the paper. ‘I shouldn’t think he would see me. I mean, London must be full of child actresses.’

Sarah nodded. ‘I thought that. A big man like Sir John Teaser would only have to raise a little finger and he’d have his theatre crammed full of clever little girls, all frills and curls with their mothers pushing them on. So, I say to myself, he’s looking for something different and maybe the answer is Margaret. She is eleven, not just appearing to be, and she’s clever, sometimes too clever by half.’

Margaret felt a glow of excitement; it was a very small glow, more like a spark, which could start a fire.

‘Just in case I was the girl he wants, how do I get to London because I haven’t any money, at least almost none because Mr Fortescue engaged me as a student all found, which doesn’t mean more than my bed and food and a few clothes like the frocks you’ve made me and …’

‘How you do run on!’ said Sarah. ‘You might give me credit for a little sense. Of course I know you haven’t any money, but I have my savings, not much in this company, of course, but I used to earn more …’