Read Online Exit the Actress by Priya Parmar - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Priya Parmar
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tipped her face up to us…
Rose—and her young gallant.
“Go,”
Meg said quietly, turning to me. “Get her out of here. I won’t say a word, but do it now and be quick.”
“Who
is
it?” Lil whispered, confused.
“You never mind. Ellen, go
now.
”
I scrambled down the back steps to the pit and ran up the side aisle towards the stage.
“Rose! Rose!”
I whispered urgently. “It’s me. Come away with me now.”
“Ellen?”
Just then the main house doors banged open behind me. Mr. Killigrew and old Samuel, the night watchman, stood framed in the light of the doorway. “God Almighty, Harry!” Mr. Killigrew thundered, squinting into the dimness and stalking down the centre aisle with his great dog Kitt trotting beside him.
Quickly, I vaulted up onto the stage.
“Now,
Rose, you
must
come with me,” I half pulled, half dragged her into the shadowy wings and then pushed her out through the stage door.
“But, Harry—”
“No, Rose!” I said, manoeuvring her down the lane away from the theatre. “That was Harry’s father. It’s
his
theatre,” I panted, pulling her down the wet cobbled street. “You two have just destroyed the new scenery for
Claracilla,
the play Mr. Killigrew himself
wrote
. Please, believe me. You cannot go back there. He could hold you for the damage, or worse, you could wind up in the clink.”
“But Harry—” Rose repeated, belligerently dragging her feet.
“Harry will never say it was you,” I said, impatiently tugging her along. “Don’t
worry,
Rose. You won’t be blamed. Rose,
move
!”
“No!” Rose turned to face me squarely, her jaw grimly set. “Harry hasn’t
paid
yet. For tonight. I need my money, or Madame Ross will turn me out. It’s been a whole evening, Ellen. I can’t come away with nothing to show for it.”
“Oh!” Instantly, I loosed her arm.
“I will wait in the alley by the stage door,” she continued. “Harry won’t let me down. He will come,” she finished with quiet dignity. How odd: she was not drunk at all.
I watched dumbly as she smoothed her gown, straightened her small hat, and pinched colour back into her cheeks. She flashed a bright smile. Her professional face, I suppose. Composed, she turned and began walking back towards the theatre.
“Ellen”—she turned—“you have nothing to fear, I would never tell them that you are my sister.”
“
Rose
—” I flushed, mortified that she had guessed my thoughts.
“I would never want to shame you, Ellen,” she said softly, looking like Rose again.
In one movement, I was beside her. I squeezed her hand tightly. “Good night, dearest Rose,” I said, kissing her still pale cheek.
“Good night, Ellen.”
I watched her disappear up the lane. She did not turn round again.
Loyal Rose.
Watching her go, I determined, from now on, always to be proud that she is my sister.
Sunday, August 16, 1663 (exhausted)
No one but Meg knows it was Rose. Harry, bless his lying tongue, said he was drunk and alone and lost his way, and so came to the theatre in search of his father. An unlikely story, but he is sticking to it. Mr. Killigrew keeps asking
who
was with him, but Harry will not give way. I keep my head up—sally, jibe, and flirt with the audience. Just like any other day. It
is
any other day, I tell myself.
Mr. Fuller was brought in to repair his beautiful scenery. It will take him all night. Mr. Killigrew is stony-faced but silent. He didn’t make his usual fuss about the cost. How could he? Harry is keeping himself scarce. I have not yet seen Rose. Say nothing.
Smile.
Later—Drury Lane
Rose was hemming my new gown with tiny, clean stitches when I came home. “Do they know?” she asked, expertly snipping off a thread.
“Not yet.”
When I Am All Alone Up There
Tuesday, August 18—Theatre Royal
“Ellen!” Alice hurried up the aisle to me. “Mr. Hart and Mr. Killigrew want to see you.”
“Why?” I asked, alarmed, nearly dropping my basket.
“No idea, but
Rose—and her young gallant.
“Go,”
Meg said quietly, turning to me. “Get her out of here. I won’t say a word, but do it now and be quick.”
“Who
is
it?” Lil whispered, confused.
“You never mind. Ellen, go
now.
”
I scrambled down the back steps to the pit and ran up the side aisle towards the stage.
“Rose! Rose!”
I whispered urgently. “It’s me. Come away with me now.”
“Ellen?”
Just then the main house doors banged open behind me. Mr. Killigrew and old Samuel, the night watchman, stood framed in the light of the doorway. “God Almighty, Harry!” Mr. Killigrew thundered, squinting into the dimness and stalking down the centre aisle with his great dog Kitt trotting beside him.
Quickly, I vaulted up onto the stage.
“Now,
Rose, you
must
come with me,” I half pulled, half dragged her into the shadowy wings and then pushed her out through the stage door.
“But, Harry—”
“No, Rose!” I said, manoeuvring her down the lane away from the theatre. “That was Harry’s father. It’s
his
theatre,” I panted, pulling her down the wet cobbled street. “You two have just destroyed the new scenery for
Claracilla,
the play Mr. Killigrew himself
wrote
. Please, believe me. You cannot go back there. He could hold you for the damage, or worse, you could wind up in the clink.”
“But Harry—” Rose repeated, belligerently dragging her feet.
“Harry will never say it was you,” I said, impatiently tugging her along. “Don’t
worry,
Rose. You won’t be blamed. Rose,
move
!”
“No!” Rose turned to face me squarely, her jaw grimly set. “Harry hasn’t
paid
yet. For tonight. I need my money, or Madame Ross will turn me out. It’s been a whole evening, Ellen. I can’t come away with nothing to show for it.”
“Oh!” Instantly, I loosed her arm.
“I will wait in the alley by the stage door,” she continued. “Harry won’t let me down. He will come,” she finished with quiet dignity. How odd: she was not drunk at all.
I watched dumbly as she smoothed her gown, straightened her small hat, and pinched colour back into her cheeks. She flashed a bright smile. Her professional face, I suppose. Composed, she turned and began walking back towards the theatre.
“Ellen”—she turned—“you have nothing to fear, I would never tell them that you are my sister.”
“
Rose
—” I flushed, mortified that she had guessed my thoughts.
“I would never want to shame you, Ellen,” she said softly, looking like Rose again.
In one movement, I was beside her. I squeezed her hand tightly. “Good night, dearest Rose,” I said, kissing her still pale cheek.
“Good night, Ellen.”
I watched her disappear up the lane. She did not turn round again.
Loyal Rose.
Watching her go, I determined, from now on, always to be proud that she is my sister.
Sunday, August 16, 1663 (exhausted)
No one but Meg knows it was Rose. Harry, bless his lying tongue, said he was drunk and alone and lost his way, and so came to the theatre in search of his father. An unlikely story, but he is sticking to it. Mr. Killigrew keeps asking
who
was with him, but Harry will not give way. I keep my head up—sally, jibe, and flirt with the audience. Just like any other day. It
is
any other day, I tell myself.
Mr. Fuller was brought in to repair his beautiful scenery. It will take him all night. Mr. Killigrew is stony-faced but silent. He didn’t make his usual fuss about the cost. How could he? Harry is keeping himself scarce. I have not yet seen Rose. Say nothing.
Smile.
Later—Drury Lane
Rose was hemming my new gown with tiny, clean stitches when I came home. “Do they know?” she asked, expertly snipping off a thread.
“Not yet.”
When I Am All Alone Up There
Tuesday, August 18—Theatre Royal
“Ellen!” Alice hurried up the aisle to me. “Mr. Hart and Mr. Killigrew want to see you.”
“Why?” I asked, alarmed, nearly dropping my basket.
“No idea, but
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