Sir John knew he was beaten. He took his watch out of his pocket. ‘I’m going down to see what news Tommy has. I believe he’s seeing another child this morning.’
Lou had only one room. She shared the kitchen and lavatory with the fourteen other tenants. Fortunately her bed was big so Sarah squeezed in with her. Margaret slept on a borrowed mattress on the floor.
Because the sisters were both members of the profession, as they grandly described being actresses, the next morning belonged to Margaret. Seeing a manager about a part was important, and everything else had to be put on one side for it.
First there was a discussion about Margaret’s hair. For Fauntleroy it had been dyed with peroxide but now the dye was growing out and Margaret’s original chestnut hair was showing at the roots. Lou ran her fingers through Margaret’s curls.
‘Lovely hair it is.’
‘If I slip out quick,’ said Sarah, ‘I could get more peroxide. Wouldn’t take long to do.’
Lou thought about that. ‘Very high class The Dolphin is, I wouldn’t think that Sir John would fancy dyed hair, not on a child.’
Sarah gave in. ‘After all, this Mr Smith who is seeing her will be used to hair dyes and that, seeing it’s a theatre, so he’ll know it could be fixed whatever colour was wanted.’
Next came the problem of what Margaret was to wear. The choice was small. She owned one blue pleated skirt worn with a darker blue knitted jersey. Both were the worse for wear. She had two cotton frocks made for her by Sarah. They were of the cheapest cotton but more or less in the fashion, for they came well below the knees and both had a little frill round the bottom, but it was too late in the year for cotton frocks. There were also two pinafores beautifully made by Sarah from some odds and ends of muslin and lace left over from stage dresses.
‘The cotton frocks are out,’ said Sarah, ‘for she hasn’t got a coat.’
Lou was not a person who gave in easily. After all, was she not second to the wardrobe mistress at the London Hippodrome, where could be seen the most lavish production of Cinderella ever staged? Now, easing herself into the only chair big enough for her, she gave herself to deep thought.
‘She’s a rare one for seein’ the way out of blind alleys is Lou,’ Sarah whispered, ‘which of course she often has to do in her position.’
Suddenly Lou, who had for a few minutes appeared to be asleep, jerked upright.
‘I have it. There’s me crimson. I don’t know when I last wore it.’
She forced herself out of the chair, went to her cupboard and, after some fumbling, produced an armload of dress. It was made of material called bombazine and was the same red as a pillar-box. She had worn it in the days of bustles so there was a quantity of material in it.
‘There!’ she said. ‘Isn’t that striking?’ It was indeed striking, perhaps too striking, for she added: ‘She could wear one of her pinnies over, that would tone it down.’
‘Can we make it in the time?’ Sarah asked doubtfully.
Lou looked despisingly at her sister. ‘Time! I could make four in the time if I had to. Now, clear the table …’
They pulled the table out from the wall and pushed aside the remains of breakfast. Then Lou lifted the dress on to the table.
‘I’ll cut it out, then you tack it together, Sarah, then I can run it round to the theatre to finish it on one of their sewing machines. You have an iron ready to press it and it will all be Sir Garnet.’
And, as far as Sarah was concerned, it was all Sir Garnet when at 11.25 a.m. she and Margaret arrived at the stage door of The Dolphin Theatre. Margaret was less happy. She was not herself in the scarlet frock, which was somehow stuffy and clung to her in the wrong places.
‘Cheer up, dear,’ said Sarah, ‘you look ever so nice. I’m sure they’ll take you.’ Then she opened the stage door and said to the doorkeeper: ‘Miss Thursday with an appointment to see Mr Smith.’
Sir John was with his manager, Tommy Smith, when the message was received that Margaret had arrived.
‘Then I will get out of the way,’ said Sir John.
‘Stay and see the child,’ Tommy pleaded. ‘Then you will understand what an impossible task you’ve given me. I’ve seen dozens but they are all curls and smiles. No character in any of them.’
‘I could not be fair to any child,’ Sir John objected, ‘for you know my heart is set on Katie.’
‘Is her ladyship adamant?’ Tommy asked.
‘Absolutely. I’ve pleaded with her until I am exhausted. Katie is not to go on the stage.’
Tommy smiled. ‘I would lay a bet that when she is grown up Miss Katie will have her own views about that.’
Outside the door there was whispering.
‘No, thank you, Sarah. I will see Mr Smith myself.’
‘I do think I should come in, dear. It’s not seemly you going in on your own.’
‘All the same, I shall go alone.’
Then there was a knock on the door.
When she was wearing her skirt and jersey Margaret’s dyed hair was not too noticeable, but when it was seen against a bright scarlet frock the effect was startling. And when, to finish off the outfit, there were thin legs in black woollen stockings and black boots, poor Margaret was a figure of fun.
Sir John gave Tommy a look and buried his face in his handkerchief. Tommy hid his behind a letter.
Margaret had not liked the idea of the red dress from the beginning. Nor had she wanted her hair dyed for Fauntleroy, though she had liked the effect when it was done, so she did not need even well-disguised sniggers to tell her how she appeared to the two men. Carefully she closed the door so Sarah would not hear, then, her eyes blazing and her chin in the air, she stormed towards Tommy’s desk.
‘All right – laugh. I may look funny to you. I had nothing they thought suitable for me to wear to come and see you. So Lou – she’s Sarah’s sister – cut up her own dress to make me this frock, and my hair is dyed because I was acting Lord Fauntleroy, but when the dye is out it’s brown like a chestnut. Oh yes, and I suppose you think the boots are funny with this red dress, but they’re all I have and, if you want to know, I hate boots. But I am not a charity child though I was once in an orphanage. I was found by the rector in a basket with three of everything, all of the very best quality, and money was sent every year for my keep and … and—’
There, to her shame, Margaret had to stop for she was overtaken by grief. She had felt like a person with the Fortescue Company, accepted by them all as an actress, and now there were these sniggering men! Swallow as she would, she could not stop the tears which poured down her cheeks.
Sir John was not a loving father for nothing. He came to Margaret and lifted her face in his hands. ‘You’re right to be angry. We were very