In which Miss March admits a new player to the wild theatricals

It was undeniable, they were indeed suffering from a shortage of players in the March family theatre troupe, and if they were to continue performing, bearing in mind the increasingly complex characterisations of Jo's literary works, something had to be done. The seasoned performers, Misters Margaret and Josephine, were skilled at taking the parts of leading lady and heinous villain respectively, but the junior company were somewhat lacking. Master Elizabeth's performances were vastly inhibited by his inability to utter a word before an audience, while Master Amy, although perhaps the company's most enthusiastic thespian, was just too inexperienced and diminutive (oh fine, Meg could be plain when called upon to be so – too small!) to convincingly take an adult role. So a solution had to be found, and one was soon offered by Jo in the form of Theodore Laurence.

'We'll put it to a vote,' she announced one afternoon when Amy finally refused to play a boy any longer.

Amy looked scandalized. 'But Jo! He'll laugh at our acting and poke fun at us later. He'll – he'll bear our souls and tell our most appalling secrets!'

Jo snorted, and fearing a confrontation between her two spirited sisters, Meg injected quickly. 'I fear he would find us improper.' Amy nodded in agreement, but Jo persisted,

'Please! Let's try him?' She looked imploringly at Meg, in the hope that her sister's dedication to the stage would trump her sense of propriety, and that the prospect of a life-sized Roderigo would be too great a temptation for the love-struck Lady Violet.

The actress herself could think of nothing but the Laurence boy's eyes meeting hers as New Year chimed some weeks ago, and of the involuntary quickening of her pulse as his fingers had dressed her swollen ankle with snow. Since that evening Jo and Amy had built quite a relationship with their neighbour, and even Beth had – albeit reluctantly at first – ventured to the great house next door, but Meg had stayed away as much as she could, finding ever more urgent chores at Orchard House that could not be carried out my Marmee and Hannah alone. The lure of the flowers in the Laurence's conservatory – which Jo described with ever-increasing hyperbole – did not compare to the temptation of the boy himself, and Meg's sixteen-year-old heart was ill-prepared for the rush of feelings he inspired. To have him here – every day! – to have him cemented as a friend, or worse, a brother, would be unbearable.

A sudden rap on the props cupboard broke Meg's reverie and out tumbled the boy himself, laughing heartily as Jo released him from his prison. Heaven knew how long he'd been there and the unsuspecting sisters cried out in shock, retreating from the unwelcome figure as if he were a phantom or some other monster.

'Jo!' Meg's cries rang out loudest, horror at her sister's betrayal for a moment eclipsing the need to remain ladylike in before the imposter. 'How could you?'

Laurie (oh! good, chivalrous Laurie!) jumped at once to his friend's defence, dropping to his knees before the company, and proffering a wooden post box:

'Fellow artists, may I present myself as an actor, a musician, and a loyal and very humble servant. In token of my gratitude and as a means of promoting communication between adjoining nations, I shall provide a post office in our hedge, to further encourage,' with a wicked glance towards Amy, 'the bearing of our souls and the telling of our most appalling secrets.'

The younger girls laughed – indeed, Amy looked quite enamoured of the proposal – but Meg remained impassive, thinking only of her own appalling secret, and how Laurie could never be party to such truths.

As if sensing her unease, the boy turned his attention to the eldest March sister and spoke directly to her, his eyes burning into hers.

'I do pledge never to reveal what I receive in confidence here,' and with that look came the invitation that none of the others could interpret, the request to become something more than neighbours, something that could not yet be defined but could be begun, here, now. Meg understood it all too well and, reaching for Amy's discarded hat, offered the only response she could.

'Well then,' she said, adorning her boy's head with shaking hands and (hopefully) none of the telling tenderness with which he had dressed her ankle so many nights ago, 'arise, Roderigo - '

'Sir Roderigo!' interjected Jo.

- and the players bowed to the newest member of their company, who grinned with the sheer joy of a child who has just been given everything he ever desired, and doffed to them his already crooked hat.

...

Later, once the rehearsal is over and Mister Laurie has been deemed a 'capital addition to our number', Meg stays behind in the attic to tidy away their makeshift stage and collect her thoughts, smiling gently to herself as the younger girls bound downstairs with their new playmate. She is so lost in thought that Roderigo's presence behind her goes unnoticed until he rests a bold hand on her shoulder, and she turns, abruptly, wide-eyed.

'Apologies, my good lady,' the noble prince says hurriedly, his wayward hand already retracted and held aloft in deference. 'I just wanted to thank you, for admitting me to your circle, and for being such a fine leading lady, in every sense. I had a wonderful afternoon.'

His face is so open, his words so sincere, that Meg does not pull away, nor does she chastise him for approaching a lady unexpectedly, unchaperoned. Instead she smiles, concurring, 'As did I. You are a fine actor, Mr Laurence.'

He hesitates for a moment, as if thinking better of his words, but then speaks anyway. 'I don't believe I am a fine actor at all, Meg. To pretend to be in love with you…it presents no challenge at all. I fear that pretending not to be in love with you, when we are off the stage, will be a far greater task.'

He is only inches away and it would be so easy to take a step and let her lips meet his, for she knows, (how, she could not say, but she does) she knows that this is what he wants. She knows that it would be so easy to continue the pretence for another moment, to be Lady Violet and Roderigo and seal their passionate union with a kiss, this time heeding a previously disregarded stage direction from Jo's original script. But she also knows that this is wrong, that this is not how proper young ladies and gentlemen conduct themselves and so she steps back, turning away as she repeats her assertion.

'You are a fine actor, Laurie. I'm sure you will manage the task admirably.' And she exits stage left, leaving the boy – and so much else – in her wake.