Drury lane, December 1790- Curtain rises PROLOGUE

"Catherine Royal! Where are you?! Come down this instant" screamed Mr. Truski in a bellow of rage. He was the theater's new producer and director of plays at Drury Lane...at least temporary anyways, since we couldn't avail to the services of the last one as he fled to Scarborough to look after his ailing mother.

Mr. Sheridan who was the owner of the theater was impoverished of a first class producer and time in his hands to produce the upcoming play Another Time by Evelyn Montour. He was sweating bullets about getting a producer in such short notice. And he thought that Mr. Truski fit the bill perfectly. Don't get me wrong Reader I don't hold any particular dislike or grudge against that man...it's just that he lacks the means of getting people to work with him in a calm and collected manner because of his short temper.

"I'm here", I replied, "in the Green Room". The Green Room was basically where actors and other performers waited backstage when they were not needed onstage or in their dressing rooms.

"Get your butt here...now!" he bellowed again.

I got up from the massive pile of linen and other little shreds of cloth that I was sitting on.

I made my way to the ground floor in my usual manner: sliding down the rope, an act of mine that neither Mr. Sheridan nor Mr. Kemble appreciated saying that it wasn't ladylike or safe. I would've taken the stairs just to buy myself some time to behold the unfailing comical, exasperated face of Mr. Truski but in this situation where I was being beckoned in utmost urgency, I knew he meant business, therefore I refrained myself from taking the liberty to entertain myself.

"Yes Mr. Truski?" I said, most innocently.

"Do you have any idea how behind we are in running this show? And it's all because of your laziness. Did you get the flyers and pamphlets from Bale? And did you post the flyers in the street?!"

Without pausing for me to reply, he continued "No... you didn't, I thought as much. Why Mr. Sheridan even gives you accommodation in the theater when you can't even run a simple errand is beyond me" he finished in exasperation. Some of the background dancers giggled in childish delight at me.

"I am sorry sir; I will go this instant to Old Bale and get the printed matter." I responded meekly.

He grunted in satisfaction, happy that I had acknowledged his presence of authority.

"Oh and you know where to put them up don't you...not in the southern parts of the village where people hardly go, put them up somewhere near the butcher's, the post and possibly near the Thames." He said airily.

I nodded, happy that I could pass a few minutes at Syd's. I set out, taking a shortcut by jumping fences and yards and climbing gates, enjoying the fresh winter air as it blew against my face, throwing my red curls back. I breathed in the smell of freshly cut grass and the pollen of the potted summer flowers. Swinging my arms, I whistled as I strutted, far in the distance I could see Syd chopping up tender portions of loins.

I reached Bale's shop just in time as he was closing his shop for his lunch break. Seeing me, he smiled, "Ah me little Cat, I thot you'd never turn up for them flyaars. That new goose was at me for them precious prints."

I returned the smile. "Yeah he is getting pretty anxious about producing that play isn't he?" I questioned.

"Anxious? Why that man is r'duced to a bundle of nerves! But by any means I don't want to keep you waitin', no, that would never do for a gentleman to treat a young lady as yourself. Come dear."

As Bale was rummaging through the pile of papers, trying to procure my flyers, I sat patiently on the chair, glancing at the huge mountain of paper. I had never in my life recalled his shop being so flooded before!

"Why is your store so overcrowded all of a sudden? Who in the whole of London would order so many copies of the same thing?" I broke out.

"Well some man came to me some time ago and said that his situation called for desperate measures and he needed a LOT of brochures...urgently. He said that he would also provide me with free ink and generous tips if I pushed away me oth'r orders and 'got goin' so I did" he chuckled.

I picked up a brochure; the title read "THE IMPOSSIBLE MADE POSSIBLE BY WALLACE'S MACHINES." The title looked depressing to me for some reason, so I put it back and read no further.

"Ah 'ere it is, sitting under them brochures, I must have put them there in absent-mindedness when my printer was boiling."

I thanked him and paid him his fee. I set for the eastern part of the village, where the post office was, putting up flyers on mail boxes, poles, street lamps, park benches and on birch and hazel trees. I also distributed pamphlets to people passing in the streets.

After I ran out of paper, I headed to Syd's to while away the time with a hearty talk.

Syd has always been a brother figure to me since I was abandoned by my parents at a very young age and Mr. Sheridan who took me in could also find no trace of my family so Syd has been the closest thing to which I could call my family. I arrived at the shop and Syd greeted me warmly without even looking up to see who had showed up. "Well, well 'ow are you Cat, I haven't seen you since morning, been running errands for Husky?" he asked. I nodded. Husky was our nickname for .

I nodded. "I just finished "spreading the word" as he likes to call it."

"Let's go for a walk Kitten, I think that me legs are getting a lil' stiff standing up for so long." I readily agreed for a stroll, it was always so relaxing to walk with Syd. We exited the shop and passed the theater. "So Cat, 'ow's your writing carrying on?"

"Uh... it's pretty perpetual" I said more enthusiastically than I felt.

"Isn't your writin' been perpetual for far too long now?" he smiled a little slyly.

I shrugged. He continued "You know Cat you'll soon be edgin' your way into lady hood. You don't always expect Mr Sheridan to take you under his wing forever do you?" I was speechless that this perturbable topic concerning my future path was coming from Syd who usually had a rather wishful thinking mindset and optimistic view of life.

"Well it's not like I am slugging around my writing, I've been pretty busy as Mr. Truski has been sending me out on a couple of errands of late."I justified myself. . I suddenly remembered Mr. Truski, my duties were quickly prioritized and I remembered I had spent a little too much time dawdling - or perhaps I wanted to escape this pessimistic topic. Perhaps.

"Well I think I have to go back now and show my beaming dutiful face or else it could cross his mind to have a word with Mr. Sheridan to chuck me out of the theatre"

"Wait Cat before you leave I want to inform you that there's a writin' competition going on. Stories, essays, poems, anythink and everythink can be submitted, the last day is the 14th. It's taking place in Oxford Street. I 'eard of it yesterday and I thot you would like to join, so I signed you up."

My eyes grew wide with disbelief.

"You what?"

"Well I couldn't do anythink, could I, yesterday was the last day for registration and I thot you'd p'rhaps enjoy the experience, and you've always complained 'bout 'ow them publishers never appreciate you, so I enrolled you cos I knew you'd be mad at me if I didn't."

"Thanks" I said shortly. "And it's not my fault if those publishers don't know a good writing piece when they see it."

"Don't even mention it" he said casually.

"Oh and every writer faces their fair share of rejection, so I don't stand alone here when I say this but...yeah I'll dig up something for the competition, so don't you worry" I smiled.

"Bye Cat."

"Bye." I turned heel and left.

Back at the theatre in the wardrobe room, I jumped on my couch and heaved a sigh.

I checked the calendar, it was October 29th. I had more than a month to submit my story.

So that was the first part of my first story. I really hope you liked it, if not, please speak your mind in the comment section below.