Spring 1944 was well advanced as the Crawshaw Troupe moved their entertaining base to East Anglia. The transfer was achieved by packing the stage, piano, props and costumes into an enormous van, and the performers into a coach and two cars. Now, after eight tedious hours of travel, the convoy had almost reached its destination, where the weary players would have to be polite and responsive to the people housing them for the coming year.

   The vehicles slowly separated, the van peeling off to the left along a narrow gravel drive, leaving the coach and cars to continue towards Reepham.

   ‘Are you sure about this, Madeline? We don’t have a hope in hell of turning the van round in this narrow lane if we’ve taken the wrong turning.’

   ‘Keep going, oh ye of little faith,’ she said with casual confidence as Frank began to brake. This had to be the right road; she was fairly sure of it. But the letter in her pocket was nagging at her, disturbing her concentration, and she stirred, longing for privacy and an opportunity to read it.

   A quick glance at the newspaper cutting this morning before setting out had made her feel sick, and she had tucked it back into the envelope with Phyllis’s letter and thrust them deep into her pocket. But it was time to face the truth and work out the consequences for those she loved.

   ‘If you say so,’ Frank grunted and put his foot on the accelerator again, and the van surged forward along the uneven drive. Ancient birches lined the route, their fresh green leaves trailing in cascades around elegant silver trunks, giving the impression the trees were reaching down to caress the vehicle as it passed.

   They rounded a sharp bend and slowed, edging across a narrow hump-backed bridge, then Frank braked to a halt and sat gawping.

   An ancient Elizabethan manor house was spread before them, surrounded by a placid moat, while the setting sun gleamed red in the western sky.

   Madeline’s heart sank. This was no farmhouse. The thick brick and timber facade with its iron-studded wooden door and cosy leaded windows, looked as though it had sprung straight from a history book, and could have played host to the magnificent Queen Elizabeth on one of her stately progressions around the country.

   ‘Pull in over there, would you, Frank?’ Rudy said and pointed to a wide gravel area on the right and then he turned to Madeline. ‘Frank may be right. This doesn’t look like a farmhouse to me. Would you ring and ask for directions, my dear? We haven’t got much daylight left if we need to find another turning.’

   She jumped down and pulled on the iron bell chain hanging from a bracket by the massive front door, even doubting her own navigation skills now.

   Somewhere inside, the bell clanged. There was a long pause, and eventually the door opened and a well-dressed woman in her early fifties stepped forward, giving her a friendly smile. ‘Good evening.’

   Madeline held her hand out in greeting. ‘I’m so sorry to trouble you. I’m Madeline Hanson of the Crawshaw Troupe. We’re looking for the Hamilton farm and appear to have taken a wrong turning.’

   ‘No, no, my dear, you have come to the right place. It’s not an easy turning to find, and I was considering sending my husband down the drive to direct you. I’m Shelagh Hamilton.’

   A fit-looking gentleman a few years older than his wife appeared by her shoulder, and Shelagh placed her hand on his arm. ‘This is my husband, William. He’ll show you round to the barn. It’s difficult to find unless you know the way. You can park the van inside, but come straight back, won’t you. I’ll put the kettle on, and supper is almost ready. You must be starving after your journey.’

   ‘Come this way.’ Mr Hamilton had a firm, resonant voice. He offered Madeline his arm and took her back to the van where he explained the route to Frank and Rudy and then invited her to accompany him on foot. They walked ahead, leading the van back over the bridge and left along another narrow gravel track and through a stand of trees. Five-minutes later, they arrived at their destination, a stone-flagged courtyard surrounded on three sides by farm buildings. Facing them was the ancient thatched barn that was to be their headquarters. Its doors were wide open, and they could see a vast stone floor inside, which had been cleaned in readiness for them. To the right, a second old barn housed an array of farm equipment, while a modern stable block lay on the left, with a broad rolling landscape of fields and hedges stretching into the distance beyond.

The stables instantly caught Madeline’s attention, for there were several sets of well-polished tack hanging in the darkened interior, and she could smell the familiar aromas of horseflesh and hay. ‘I see you keep horses, Mr Hamilton.’

‘Indeed, I do.’ He gave her a wry, humorous smile. ‘But they’re a liability rather than an asset now. My sons are serving in the armed forces, none of the land girls can ride, and the horses need daily exercise.’

   She turned to him, hardly able to keep the enthusiasm out of her voice. ‘I could help with that, Mr Hamilton. I grew up in the country and was riding from an early age. It would be a pleasure to take one of the horses out after spending hours rehearsing the acts.’

   He raised his eyebrows and laughed with genuine good humour. ‘My dear, that would be most welcome. I’d imagined you would all be city people with no interest in horses. Would you care for a tour of the area tomorrow morning? We can take the horses for a good gallop before sitting down for breakfast.’

   The very thought sent energy coursing through her, and she could feel her shoulders straightening as though she were already in the saddle. She breathed in deeply, inhaling the familiar smell of the stables. Already, the tension and tiredness were easing from her muscles, and she could almost feel the rush of fresh air through her hair. ‘I would like that very much. But I need to be back for rehearsals at nine.’

   ‘You are a lazy stop-in-bed then!’ he teased. ‘I shall be out at six, and back for breakfast at eight. If you can manage such an early start, then meet me here.’

   ‘Oh, I’ll be here,’ she promised, and gazed out over the countryside. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

   The van had caught up with them now, and Frank was reversing into the near corner of the barn. Ten minutes later, their host escorted them back to the house by a shortcut that took them across the tranquil moat via a small brick-built footbridge.

   He led them to the back door, bending his head to duck under the low lintel and into an enormous kitchen that looked to have dated from the late sixteenth century. A dark stone-flagged corridor linked this to the entrance hall, and from there they were shown into the dining-room where Mrs Hamilton was bringing food to the table.

   Madeline paused on the threshold to take in the glorious room before her. The oak-panelled walls should have made the space feel gloomy and dark, but evening sun flooded in through tall windows, each of them comprising many small leaded diamonds of glass, bathing the room in golden light.

   ‘Come on in,’ Mrs Hamilton said with a welcoming gesture, and directed them to their seats. Two robust young women dressed in uniform shirts and dungarees were already seated, and within minutes, they were tucking into a delicious meal, chatting about their work and getting to know each other.

   Mrs Hamilton smiled at Rudy and Madeline. ‘I must apologise for my son’s absence. He’s taken one of the land girls into Norwich today. She wanted to visit the market. I can’t imagine what’s keeping them.’

   Madeline noticed two empty chairs at the table with settings laid for them, and she glanced at Mr Hamilton. How strange. He had told her that his sons had been called up for active service and were no longer living at home.

   As soon as she decently could that evening, Madeline retired to the bedroom she had been allocated. The newspaper cutting Phyllis had sent her was burning a hole in her pocket, and she needed to read it more thoroughly and digest the content.

   She sat down on the soft feather mattress, took the slip of paper from her pocket and smoothed it out on her knee, then at last she plucked up her courage to study it.

   Belaugh! His very name evoked memories she had tried hard to forget.

   The headlines proclaimed:

Businessman Freed

   She shivered. It was frightening to think that perverted man was loose on the world again, free to do more harm as he willed.

   Bernard Belaugh, clothing manufacturer, released after serving only half of his prison sentence. Plans are already under way for him to take control of three production plants in Leicester. He will be installing a revolutionary new manufacturing system to improve uniform output.

   So that was the bribe he had used to gain his freedom. He must have been planning and negotiating this for months. But what concerned her was the effect his return would have on Phyllis. That splendid woman would find life difficult and would have to fight every inch of the way if she wanted to keep control of the business she had been managing for the last four years.

   With the War Office behind him, Belaugh would have the authority to impose his decisions on her, and wrest control for himself.

   She folded the cutting and placed it inside her book, then sighed. At least she had no cause to have anything further to do with him.

   She looked up as she heard footsteps crunching on the drive. Voices drifted up from the front of the house. A male voice spoke in an undertone, and it was followed by a tipsy female giggle. ‘Oh, go on, Mr Hamilton! Let’s give them the first verse.’

   The male voice murmured a reply, and the giggle came again. ‘Oh, I don’t care if it does,’ and she raised her voice in song. A few moments later, he joined in.

   Curiosity overcame Madeline, and she peeped around the curtain to see two shadowy figures climbing unsteadily up to the front door, unlocking it and entering. She smiled, but suspected Mrs Hamilton would not be pleased with her son for coming in drunk and disorderly like this. She remembered her brother Matthew’s early experiments with alcohol and girls. It was all part of the learning process. The noises continued for a few minutes, then silence settled over the slumbering house.

♪♫