The cold weather turned to fog and in those days London fogs were famous. They were called pea-soupers because they were thick as a pea soup and the whole air was yellow. Somehow all the cast got to the theatre, and somehow Horace, the growler driver, got Margaret and Sarah home each evening.

‘I thank God each night in my prayers,’ Sarah told Margaret, ‘for Mr Horace. Imagine in this fog getting you safely home!’

The cast might somehow get to the theatre but the weather was too much for many of the audience. To stumble through banks of frozen snow piled on the pavements was one thing, but to cross roads when you had no chance to see what was coming was another. So, many stayed away.

‘We can’t go on like this,’ Sir John said studying the sheets of paper showing how much money had been taken at the box office, ‘or I’ll be broke.’

Tommy knew how much money Sir John had in the bank and was not worried. All the same, no manager could afford to run his theatre at a loss. And he had to bear in mind the previous play had lost money in its last weeks.

‘Thought any more about The Tempest? The scenery and all, that will set us back a bit, but there are plenty of first-class actors to be had cheap and with Shakespeare there are no royalties to eat up the profits.’

‘I would have like to cash in on Margaret’s success but I don’t see her as Ariel.’

Tommy had never cared for The Tempest so had never imagined anyone playing Ariel.’

‘They all say you ought to play Prospero so I don’t suppose Margaret will make all that difference. I suggest you put her under contract and we can fix work for her with other managements until we find a new part for her. The Pinkertons are going on the road, they’re doing a slap-up tour, and George Pinkerton has been asking what plans you have for Margaret. He wants to add Romeo and Juliet to his repertory. He’s a good coach is old Pinkerton, a tour with him would do Margaret good.’

At that moment there were the sounds of running feet in the passage and Katie, white and trembling, came into the room. She flung herself on to her father.

‘Papa! Papa! Margaret’s gone, that Matron has got her!’

Chapter Eighteen

THE SEARCH BEGINS

That morning Sarah and Margaret had started off to work early for no one could hurry in the fog and Miss Grey liked lessons to begin punctually. Mrs Wallow had come to the door to see them off.

‘Oh, it’s worse than ever,’ she said in dismay when she saw the fog. ‘What we need is a good gale to blow it away. I wish you needn’t go out in it.’

‘Better we go now than later,’ said Sarah. ‘It seems to get thicker as the day goes on.’

Margaret put an arm round Sarah. ‘Come on. I’ll look after you but I won’t let you go and see Lou, you’ll go and sit with Mrs Melly, you know she likes it when you do.’