THE NEXT DAY STARTED BADLY FOR THE Steam Whistle Theatre Company: they woke to find driving rain lashing the windows, and when Edie went to collect the eggs she discovered a fox had got into the hen run and carried off Brown Betty. The remaining chickens were in such a state of anxiety none of them had laid. Breakfast was a bleak affair.

Arabella was depressed by more than the weather. The morning’s post had brought her a brief note from Aunt Jocasta – written in a firm and upright hand, it stated that Affogato and Hypatia had arrived, and had been accommodated. There was no mention of their return, and no word from either of the children: Arabella sighed, and took her tea to her boudoir.

Edie, going to clear away the breakfast plates, found Charlie, Rosie, Aunt Mags and Gertie staring gloomily at the heavily laden washing lines, drooping in the garden.

“That’ll never dry out there,” she said. “Not in this weather. It ain’t raining cats and dogs, it’s raining camelphants and hippobottomuses. We could string up a line in the stables; there ain’t no horses there no more, and it’s dry.”

This idea provided strenuous occupation for the next couple of hours, and by late morning both the weather and the company’s spirits had lifted a little.

“That’ll please Pa,” Rosie said. “He’s gone to tell The Golden Lion we can’t open there just yet. He’ll be ever so pleased there’s a chance of getting everything dry by the weekend…”

Pa had not been cheered by his visit to the Lion. The landlord had shown little interest in his news; Sukie had remarked that it was a shame – but had he heard there was a child magician at the Supper Rooms, and everyone was going to see him?

“I might have noticed a poster or two,” Pa lied. “The charm of a child! Of course, the Steam Whistle Theatre Company has not one but two delightful children.”

“Do they do magic?” Sukie asked. “George says once your theatre’s been and gone, we’ll be looking for a magic act. Brings in the punters better than anything, he says.”

Pa left the Lion under a cloud; a cloud that was darkened by the sight of a queue waiting outside the Supper Rooms. As he passed, Jago appeared on the doorstep, carrying a sign announcing that the evening’s performance was sold out and no more tickets would be available until the next day. He pasted it up with a flourish, and made a face at the small boy nearest the door.

“Yah!” he said. “You’re too late!” The small boy burst into tears; the queue muttered, and began to disperse.

Pa hurried towards them, hands outstretched. “Ladies, gentlemen, girls and boys! May I have your attention! The Steam Whistle Theatre Company will soon be performing at The Golden Lion … don’t miss the chance to see us present King Lear. A once in a lifetime opportunity: seize it while you can!”

“Oi!” Standing in the doorway of the Supper Rooms, Jago was glaring at Pa. “You, old man! Get away! We don’t want none of that kind of chat here. Don’t you try riding on our coat tails – go and get an audience of your own, if you can. Stupid little company like yours … shoo! Shoo!” And he picked up his paste brush and lunged at Pa.

Pa, realising the crowd was relishing the confrontation, made a hurried exit.

Jago saw him on his way with a sneer, and went to report the incident to Mrs Moore and Mrs Snicket; the report made much of his own wit and bravery, and painted Pa as an outrageous chancer. Both women were delighted; Jago was praised to the skies, and rewarded with a large slice of bread and jam. He was not as grateful as he might have been; he had seen the heaped up coins on Mrs Moore’s office table, and was expecting sixpence at the very least.

Mrs Snicket was also interested in the shillings, sixpences, threepenny pieces and assorted coppers. “Do let me help you count our takings, dear Mrs Moore! Such a very satisfactory night, last night … and sold out again tonight! Although I’m not at all surprised: my darling Baby is the master of his art. And you must let me take it to the bank for you, I’m sure your domestic duties are always very pressing.”

Mrs Moore, who never let anyone into her inner sanctum, was taken aback by this offer. It would be beyond foolish to upset the mother of such a Golden Goose, however, so she agreed with a reasonable appearance of amicability. By the end of an hour they had agreed a total, and Mrs Snicket had retired to take Baby a cold collation of ham and chicken in order to keep his strength up.

She left Mrs Moore marvelling at how clumsy the child magician’s mother had suddenly become; twice she had knocked the table so hard that coins had tumbled all over the floor. She had had to kneel to pick them up, loudly lamenting her foolishness. Mrs Moore, carefully counting her share of the money into a cloth bag, was inclined to believe she had rather less than half of the takings – and she grew thoughtful.

Was there something a little slippery about Eliza Snicket?

Tying the bag with a couple of firm knots, she decided it would harm no one if she kept a watchful eye on her lodger.

The rain had eased to a mere drizzle as Pa stomped back to Uncaster Hall, brooding darkly on Jago’s behaviour.

“Rude. That’s what it was! Rude! It’s a free country.”

A sense of injustice became mixed with increasing anxiety about the future, and he was so deep in thought that he was unaware of Rosie and Charlie’s approach.

“Pa? What’s the matter? We’ve been waving for ages and you didn’t see us!”

Pa pulled himself together. “My precious darlings! No, no. All is well. And where are you off to, looking so bonny and blithe?”

Rosie wasn’t fooled by her father’s cheerfulness. “Pa, you’re worrying. Is it the curtains? Only, Edie had a wonderful idea and we’ve hung everything in the stables. Aunt Mags thinks they’ll be ready to use on Saturday!”

“Saturday?” Pa’s smile was enormous. “Then all is not lost! We must throw our hearts into our endeavours.” He spun round in a circle, hands on hips. “Flyers! We must have advertising flyers, thousands of them … and posters! We have to make certain that every man, woman and child in Uncaster knows that – at last! – the Steam Whistle Theatre Company is ready to show them the glories of Shakespeare. I must hurry away to shake the last coins from our money bags and set all in motion. Farewell, my dears!”

Rosie looked at Charlie. Gertie had mentioned the subject of flyers, and Aunt Mags had been crushing in her reply: “No money, Gertie. Not a penny. If we don’t get some kind of show up and running very soon we’re lost. There’s no money left for flyers, or any kind of extras. We can’t even go back to London because we can’t afford the tickets. I don’t know what we’ll do – I’m trying not to think about it.”

The children had listened, but said nothing. Once they had been released from laundry duty in the stables, their arms aching and their hands wrinkled like prunes, they had hurried into a corner.

Rosie was terrified at the idea of not being able to get back to London and Ma; Charlie, meanwhile, was worried about the future of the company. But they were united in their belief that something had to be done: if the adults weren’t going to take any action, then the children would. They had come up with a plan, a daring plan that they were on their way to putting into action.

They watched as their father strode down the road, oblivious to the misting rain and the puddles, before turning to head up the high street. Rosie made sure they were on the other side of the road from the Supper Rooms; she had no wish to see or hear Jago.

Once they were outside The Golden Lion, Rosie stopped. “You don’t think we should have checked with Aunt Mags about this, do you?” she asked.

Charlie shook his head. “She’d have said no. But just think of her face when we come back this evening with loads of money! Pa can have his flyers and posters, and we can pay the rent for next week!” He shoved his hands in his pockets and leant back against the wall in a lordly pose. “I might even buy you and Edie ribbons from that shop you’re always going on about.”

“I’ll buy them for myself,” Rosie told him. “It’ll be both of us earning it. But you can buy some for Edie if you want.” She gave Charlie a sideways look and was almost sure he was blushing. “You like her, don’t you?”

“So we’d better go and ask,” Charlie said, ignoring her. “Are you ready?”

Rosie shook out her damp shawl and folded it neatly round her shoulders. “Ready.”