Abigail was late for work again. Running up the back steps of the theatre towards the workroom, she contemplated the tedious tasks that lay ahead. Cyprien Blanc’s encouraging words before he rushed off for his coach the previous day, came back to her, briefly lifting her spirits.
‘One day,’ she thought, ‘I’ll enter this place through the stage door.’
‘I’m taking a few days away,’ Cyprien had said, before promising a second audition on his return.
If only she’d had the courage to ask him when he’d be back. Today was Friday. There couldn’t be that much to do in Norfolk.
The king rises and kisses her hand
Maybe next time Cyprien would offer her an acting role! Who knew where that might lead… Suddenly, she’s centre stage, taking a bow to deafening applause. As the curtain descends, sweetly perfumed bouquets land at her feet. Cyprien Blanc, beaming at her proudly, takes her by the hand and leads her over to the Royal Box.
What follows is the proudest moment of all. The King! Charles II himself. An elegant, bewigged figure in fine silk and linen, his face lighting up in admiration as he rises to his feet and kisses her hand. Then he speaks…
‘My dear!’ he says, his voice catching in his throat with emotion. ‘I have seen many interpretations of Juliet. But yours…’
Her daydream came to a abrupt halt when the door to the workroom flew open, revealing Mrs Suggs, an expression of sheer fury on her face.
‘So you deigned to turn up!’
Abigail took a step back in fright. Mrs Suggs was Miss