Kitty took a deep breath then followed the stagehand out into the corridor and up onto the side of the stage.

The poor comedian was indeed having a hard time of it. The audience were booing and as he made a hasty exit and hurried past her she felt sorry for him. But then the compère was announcing, ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, what you’ve all been waiting for, the star of the show, Miss Kitty Nightingale.’

He turned towards her, and forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other, Kitty walked onto the stage. The conductor of the band was watching her and when she gave him an imperceptible nod the band began to play. Focusing on the wall beyond the top of the audience’s heads she hesitantly began to sing but she could barely hear herself above the noise as people laughed and chatted. There was a fug of cigar smoke hanging like mist about the audience but as she gradually relaxed, her voice grew stronger as she sang ‘You Are My Honey … Honeysuckle’, one of the tried and trusted songs Max had chosen for her. She was almost halfway through when she became aware that the place was growing quieter, and as she dared to glance at the audience she noted that she was beginning to get their attention – which spurred her on to try even harder.

When the song ended, there was a short burst of clapping before she started to sing the next number, ‘Let Me Call You Sweetheart’. It was a song that Sunday used to sing around the house, and Kitty’s voice rang out clear and true with emotion as she thought of her loved ones back at Treetops. By the time she was halfway through, everyone in the room was watching and listening, and you could have heard a pin drop. And then suddenly it was over and there was enthusiastic applause as people got to their feet, clapping wildly. Feeling overwhelmed, Kitty sought in the crowd for Ruby and Max. They, too, were on their feet and she was shocked to see that Richard was there too, as well as the newspaper reporter that Max had told her about.

‘Bravo! Bravo!’ The crowd called out as she curtsied prettily and left the stage. The manager was waiting for her in the wings and he grabbed her hand and shook it up and down.

‘Well done, Miss Nightingale,’ he congratulated her with a beaming smile. ‘I’ve never known the audience to be so quiet or so enthusiastic apart from when Marie Lloyd once performed here. I think I should like to book you to appear here again.’

‘Hold on, old chap.’ Max had come to join them by then. ‘Not so fast. I have an idea Miss Nightingale is going to be in demand after this evening. Even if she does come back I think the fee will have to be negotiated. But now if you will excuse us, I’m sure our little star must be ready for a drink.’