Once they had alighted from the train at Euston, they booked into a small but comfortable hotel in Marylebone.

‘I was thinking we could have a nice meal in the hotel this evening and start our search in the morning,’ Tom said with a hopeful sparkle in his eye but Sunday quashed his hopes immediately.

‘The sooner we find her, the sooner we can return home,’ she told him coldly, and so the search began in earnest that very evening as they began to tour the sites of the music halls to examine the acts that were advertised on the billboards outside. It was late in the afternoon on their second day when they at last found what they were looking for. They had hired a cab to take them to Wilton’s Music Hall in the East End, halfway between Whitechapel and the Tower of London.

Almost before the hackney cab had stopped, Sunday leaped down, pointing excitedly to the billboard.

‘Tom – it’s Kitty. Look!’

Kitty’s picture was plastered across a large billboard and even in her fine gown with her hair piled in curls high on the crown of her head, there could be no doubt that it was her.

Tom stared at it in wonderment. Kitty looked so grown up compared to the young girl he loved and remembered so well. For the first time in weeks Sunday was smiling and hopping from foot to foot in her excitement.

‘She’s not performing here until tomorrow evening,’ he pointed out, but Sunday didn’t care, she was so thrilled to have found her.

‘You must go in and book our tickets immediately,’ she ordered him. ‘Then when the performance is over we’ll ask if we can go backstage to see her.’

Almost as excited as his wife was, Tom strode away to do as he was told. For the rest of that evening and the whole of the next day, Sunday paced about their hotel room like a caged animal, wishing away the hours until she could see her beloved Kitty again. They left their room just the once when Tom persuaded her to go shopping for something special to wear to the performance. Although music-hall audiences came from all walks of life, including those who didn’t have two ha’pennies to rub together, Sunday wanted to make an effort. She chose a pretty green satin gown that belied her forty-four years and showed off her still-slim figure to perfection.

At last it was time to set off for the music hall. Kitty had star billing and would be the final act on stage, so once again Sunday had to quell her impatience as she and Tom sat through several variety acts before the interval. It was then that, rising from her seat, she said, ‘I’m going backstage right now. I shall burst if I have to wait much longer to see her.’

Tom looked uncertain as she snatched up her cloak. ‘Look, pet, is that a good idea? She’ll no doubt be busy getting ready.’