Everybody who worked in The Dolphin Theatre was in a state of fuss and worry.
‘It’s not a thing I’ve ever done,’ Sir John told Tommy, ‘but I’ve a good mind to close the theatre for the night and give the public back their money.’
‘You can’t do that,’ Tommy protested. ‘The fog’s lifted, but it’s bitterly cold, so those who come tonight come because they want to see the show. I don’t think Liza’s as bad as all that.’
Sir John had just finished his run-through with Liza. ‘She’s not bad at all but terribly careful, almost afraid to speak in case she drops an aitch. I can’t think why we engaged her.’
‘I can. She read the part very well. You remarked at the time that she was a clever child. But imagine going on tonight with everyone talking and thinking of nothing but Margaret.’
Sir John saw Tommy’s point. ‘Poor little thing! See her before she goes on and tell her I was pleased at the way she rehearsed the part, and that while she’s playing she’ll get an extra pound a performance.’
Bill Todd, usually a placid man, found he was, like everybody else, restless, so, to calm himself, he left his box and paced the passage where he came upon Sarah in floods of tears.
‘I am ashamed to carry on so,’ she sobbed, when she saw Bill, ‘but I don’t know what to be doing. I’m paid to look after Margaret and see how badly I’ve done it. I see now I shouldn’t have let her get in that growler, but at the time it seemed so wonderful, turning up like that, with the fog being so bad and all.’
Bill, making soothing noises, guided Sarah into his box and put her into his chair.
‘Now you don’t want to blame yourself. Cunning it was, the cab hanging round. Of course it wouldn’t have been difficult to learn what time you and Margaret started for the theatre, seeing you are punctual as clocks. How would you fancy a drop of porter? Or if you wait until I can get someone for the door maybe I could fetch you some brandy …’
‘Oh no, Bill, don’t you go running off. It gives us all confidence you being at the stage door, anyway I’d fancy a drop of porter.’
Bill poured out the drinks and handed a glass to Sarah. ‘It’s a good thing you didn’t fancy the brandy, for I wouldn’t wonder if we didn’t have the actors in early. We’re certainly in the news tonight.’
Bill was right – quite soon the actors did begin to arrive. Bill, as he handed out the dressing-room keys and letters, passed on the latest information, that there was no news, but the police had the matter in hand.
‘There, that’s the lot,’ Bill said, settling down again on his box, ‘except for the extras and they come later, for none is on at the beginning and mostly they are not on until the cathedral. Have a drop more porter, Sarah? That drop has done you good, you looked real ill when I found you.’
Tears filled Sarah’s eyes. ‘So would you look ill if you’d lost a child the way I’ve lost Margaret.’
Bill was turning to comfort Sarah when there was an interruption: a group of children walked in with a woman in attendance.
‘Good evening, doorkeeper,’ the woman said briskly.
‘All present and correct?’ Bill asked.
‘No,’ said the woman, ‘one child is ill but we have a replacement.’
She handed Bill a piece of paper.
When they had gone, Sarah asked about the children.
‘Who are they?’
‘Extras used in the cathedral scene. It’s what we call a block booking. The agency they are booked from agrees to send six children a night. If the six engaged turn up then nothing happens, but if one is replaced then the agency sends a chit what I passes on to Mr Smith.’
‘Margaret would be sorry to hear one was ill,’ Sarah said. ‘She talks to the extra children and she’s real good to the little boy who is her page.’
Bill glanced at the agency chit. ‘Name of Simon Flower?’
‘Name of Simon,’ Sarah agreed. ‘I never heard his other name.’
In Margaret’s dressing room Miss Grey and Katie had done what they could to comfort and cheer Liza, but it had been hard work. She was scared of the part and so worried about Margaret that it hurt. However, at last she was made up and dressed and was called for her first entrance.
‘You won’t go,’ she pleaded with Miss Grey. ‘You will be here when I come off.’
‘I will,’ Miss Grey promised.
The moment the door had closed on Liza, Miss Grey jumped to her feet.
‘Stay here, Katie, I shan’t be long. I’m going to get Mrs Melly to make us some sandwiches. I don’t believe poor Mrs Beamish has eaten a thing all day.’
As always happens in the theatre, once the curtain was up, the play became of supreme importance and worry was forced into the background. Except that she had to be careful with her aitches Liza gave an adequate performance and everyone was pleased with her, so that she cheered up, and before the coronation scene, while Ivy, helped by Sarah, was fastening her into her robes, she ate several of Mrs Melly’s very tasty sandwiches.
‘You’ll have to be careful about the entrance, dear,’ Sarah told Liza. ‘As bad luck has it you’ve a new page tonight. That Simon’s off. I was talking to Mr Todd when the children came in.’
‘What’s the matter with Simon?’ Liza asked, for she knew about him, having helped Margaret get food for him.
‘I don’t know, dear,’ said Sarah. ‘There’s a lot of illness about, it’s this treacherous weather.’
Liza felt as if, with Margaret away, Simon was in her charge. ‘If he’s ill I hope Ma Mud’s being good to him. He’ll want feeding up.’
Liza found the usual crowd of extras waiting on the side of the stage. She saw there was a new little boy in Simon’s place.
‘Where’s Simon?’ she whispered.
‘I don’t know nothin’ about ’im,’ said the child. ‘But the girl who brought the note sayin’ ’e wasn’t coming seemed upset. Said she thought that Ma Mud, what looks after them, had gone mad.’
Liza had a squirrel mind. That is to say, she stored up bits of information in the back of her mind in case it might be useful. Later on, what she stored from that little whispered talk was that it was not only in The Dolphin that they were upset. Ma Mud was too. Now, what was she in a taking about?
The audience was kind to Liza, giving her such generous applause that Sir John led her forward to take a call on her own.
‘Well done, dear,’ said Miss Grey. ‘I’ve taken Katie up to bed and Mrs Beamish will wait with her until I get back so hurry up and change, you must be very tired.’
It was then that Liza noticed that Miss Grey was warmly dressed for the street.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked.
‘I’m taking you home. You remember Mr Smith arranged it. You were told, but you’ve forgotten it, I expect.’
Dimly Liza did remember talk about her getting home but she had paid no attention. Home had seemed such a long way off.
‘No, thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll go alone like I always do.’
Miss Grey smiled. ‘I dare say you don’t want me, but I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with me. Mr Smith’s orders. They don’t want to mislay the understudy as well as the principal.’
Liza was sure from what she had seen of her that what Miss Grey decided should be done was done, so she said no more but sat down at the dressing table and took off her make-up.
Liza knew Miss Grey did not know London. When she said she lived near Covent Garden it was just a neighbourhood to Miss Grey. She would not know if Liza took her to the wrong street.
In some way Liza felt Simon’s absence was connected with Margaret’s disappearance. She simply had to find out. She had to have a look at Ma Mud’s house.