EDIE WAS UP EARLY THE FOLLOWING morning; Arabella’s letter was on the hall table, ready to take to the post, and she picked it up. I’ll save my lady a walk, she told herself – and ran out into the sunshine.

Mr Tramways had just opened up, but even so Edie wasn’t his first customer; Olio Sleevery was leaning on the counter, sorting through a bundle of papers. He sneered when he saw Edie and turned his back on her.

“Got a letter to post, Mr T,” Edie said. “Letter from Mrs Poskett.”

Olio Sleevery did not turn round, but he paused in his sorting.

“Pop it on the counter,” Mr Tramways told her. “Man’ll be here to collect any minute now.”

As Edie thanked him and skipped out into the sunshine again, Olio Sleevery gave the letter a sly glance. Seeing the name his gaze sharpened, and with a swift movement of his hand knocked it to the floor.

“How careless of me,” he said, and as he picked it up he deftly exchanged it for one of his own. Putting Arabella’s letter in his pocket, he finished his business and left the Post Office with no word of thanks. Mr Tramways snorted his disapproval, then scooped up the letters and put them in the collection bag.

Once outside, Olio Sleevery scanned Arabella’s impassioned plea to her sister-in-law and whistled through his teeth. “So! Thinks she’ll go begging, does she? ‘If not for me, dear Jocasta, then for the children…’ Ha!” He crumpled up the letter and tossed it away. “No help now, Mrs Arabella Poskett. Not a single penny. I’ve a buyer waiting who’ll pay me nine hundred pounds for your home … and I’ll not lose that chance!”

He began to walk away, but stopped as a thought came to him. What if someone else saw the advertisement for a large house in Uncaster? Swinging on his heel, he strode back to the Post Office.

“I’ll take the rest of those.” He picked up the remaining copies of The Free Press.

Mr Tramways bristled. “You will not! That’s a paper for anyone who wants one.”

“And I’m wanting them.” Olio scowled and marched out, and there was nothing the old man could do to stop him.

Rosie, Gertie and the bruised and battered Charlie were already in the kitchen when Aunt Mags came marching in, Edie in her wake. When she announced the morning’s menu, only Rosie looked cheerful.

“Bread and water?” she said. “We can pretend we’re prisoners!”

Arabella, coming through the door, heard her. “Prisoners? Oh no, Rosie dear! Is staying here as bad as that?”

Rosie looked embarrassed. “It was Aunt Mags saying about the bread and water,” she said. “We love it here. Truly! Don’t we, Charlie?”

Charlie nodded. “Best lodgings we’ve ever had,” he said. “Hope we can stay here a good long time.”

Arabella suppressed a sigh and Edie gave her an anxious glance. Charlie, unnoticing, went on: “Rosie’s never had a little theatre to sleep in before!”

Seeing Arabella’s puzzled expression, Rosie explained, “He means our curtained bed.”

“Oh!” Arabella’s face cleared. “The four-poster! There’s an even bigger one in the blue bedroom, but we don’t use it because the curtains rotted away.” She sat down and took a letter from her pocket.

As she began to read, Pa came puffing through the door. “Good morning, my dear companions! And what a busy day it will be. Rosie, Charlie and Edie too, if her duties will allow – you will spend the day handing out our most wonderfully handwritten flyers.”

He bowed to Arabella, but she was frowning over her correspondence and didn’t notice.

“I will take it upon myself to find a printer, and once we have posters – paid for by the talented younger members of our little company, and I include you in my description, dear Edie – we will paste them here, there, and everywhere.” He stopped, and gave the younger members a considering look. “And as for tonight … perhaps more singing, my darlings? Followed, of course, by a loud and clear announcement that this coming Saturday, finally and at last, the Steam Whistle Theatre Company will be presenting that much anticipated and longed for production … The Death of King Lear!”

He stood back waiting for enthusiastic agreement, but Aunt Mags merely nodded. “So we have a couple of days to get ready?”

Pa beamed at her. “Correct, dear Mags.”

Before Aunt Mags could answer, Arabella gave a sharp exclamation. Everyone at the table turned to look at her, and she flushed. “I’m so sorry, that was unpardonably rude … but Aunt Jocasta is unbearable! She says she only now understands the depths to which the Poskett family has sunk – oh, whatever have my darlings been telling her?” She flung the letter down on the table, and wiped her eyes. “I did so hope they might be missing their mother, just a little…”

“I’m sure they are – in their own way.” Aunt Mags tried to be comforting.

“Absence will surely make the hearts grow fonder,” Pa declared. “Dear lady, you have been kindness itself to us poor strolling players. Without your hospitality we would have been lost: quite lost.”

Once again Edie glanced at Arabella, but nothing was said and Pa settled down to his dry bread with every indication of satisfaction.

The day went on: Edie decided she would stay at home to help with the household duties, and to keep an eye on Arabella, although she did not say as much; Charlie and Rosie went out with their bundle of flyers with Vinnie to help them.

Meeting Pa later, they were delighted to be able to tell him that every flyer had found a home. Pa, after congratulating them, had good news of his own – he had found a small printing works that was happy to do a rush job, and posters would be ready that afternoon.

He walked back to the Hall with his children, expounding the glories of Theatre and Music as they went. Even the discovery of a number of screwed-up flyers lying in the road did not depress him.

“They’ll have taken note of the time and place,” he said. “Have faith, my children! Talent will out!”

Rosie, walking silently at his side, was not so sure. She had been secretly pleased when George called time at The Golden Lion the night before; the latecomers had scared her. How would they feel when their drinking was interrupted by a play? Or would they take no notice, and behave as if King Lear and his daughters weren’t there? If they were a failure, what would happen then?

Rosie’s stomach tied itself into knots as she wondered. No money would mean they were stuck in Uncaster, and the thought of not seeing Ma made the knots tighten painfully.

“Pa,” she said, “what if we can’t go home? Will Ma ever be able to come here?”

Pa, interrupted in the middle of a monologue about Hamlet, looked at her in surprise. “Don’t you go worrying, Rosie pet. We’re at the very beginning of our adventure! And we’ll be sending for Ma in no time at all.”

“But what if they don’t like us?” Rosie insisted. “What if nobody wants to see King Lear, and we don’t make any money?”

“Not want to see Lear?” In Pa’s view, this was an impossibility. “My love – what are you saying? Of course there’ll be money! And soon we’ll be one big happy family again.”

Choosing his words carefully, Charlie asked, “Pa … what would happen if we weren’t able to stay at Uncaster Hall?”

“Ods bodkins!” Pa threw up his hands. “Whence has happiness fled? Where is hope? Where is positivity?” He seized Rosie and Charlie in a bearlike embrace, and danced them along the road until they were laughing. “Trust me, my darlings! All will be well!”

As he let them go, Charlie put his arm round Rosie’s shoulders. “We’re singing tonight, remember … and that’ll be another three shillings. Three more tomorrow, as well. There’s money coming in already, Rosie. Pa’s right: it’ll be fine.”

But, when the evening came, it wasn’t at all fine. When Charlie, Rosie and Edie arrived at The Golden Lion, Sukie met them with a grave face.

“Not tonight, ducks,” she said. “We had complaints, see … and George, he thinks he lost sales. The old boys liked it, though, so you could come back tomorrow for half an hour or so in the afternoon. George wouldn’t say no to that.”

“Couldn’t we just have ten minutes?” Charlie begged – but Sukie was adamant.

As the three children walked away, the mournful sound of a train whistle echoed in the evening air; there was the distant chuff-chuff-chuff as the last train of the day set off back to London.

“It’s all going wrong.” Rosie was near to tears. “We’ll never be able to go home.”

Charlie was frowning. “It’s not fair. She told us we could sing and we really need the money. I’m beginning to wonder why we ever came here.”

Rosie gave herself a mental shake. “At least we’ve made a friend. We’ll always be friends, won’t we, Edie?”

“Yes.” Edie agreed with an emphatic nod. She pointed to the bright new poster on the wall at the end of the street. “Ooooh! Looks wonderful, don’t it?”

The poster did look appealing, and Charlie cheered up a little. “Maybe Pa’s right and we’ll get an audience.”

“Just as long as they aren’t like those apprentices, last night.” Rosie shuddered. “Did you hear what they were shouting?”

“I tried not to,” Charlie said – and then, “Look! There’s another poster! Pa was really busy this afternoon, wasn’t he? Maybe it’ll be all right without our extra money after all.”

“Will we come back tomorrow?” Edie asked.

Charlie was doubtful. “I think Pa wants an all-day rehearsal… Hey! You’ll be able to watch, Edie!”

“I never did see a play before!” Edie was thrilled, and as she and Charlie turned the corner into the high street she took his arm and began asking him what he would be doing, and what everyone else did to make the play work.

Rosie, keeping an anxious eye out for Jago, walked behind them. There was a lump in her throat, and a hollow feeling in her stomach. It’s all horrible, she told herself. Edie’s the only nice thing here. She sniffed, and rubbed her eyes. I do so wish we could go home to Ma, or that Ma could come here. I do miss her so…