Free The Shadow Queen A Novel by Sandra Gulland Page B

and, one hand on the arm of his “throne,” smiled gravely and tipped his hat.
    I blinked back tears. If only Mother and my brother were with me now. I couldn’t wait to tell them.
    “Excusez-moi,” a woman said, standing to get by. The meeting was over.
    I stumbled down to the entry and pressed my way through the standing clusters of people toward the door. I felt dizzy and needed air.
    But—stars!— he was standing at the door, clasping people’s hands.
    A quaking overtook me. I looked to see if there might be another way out.
    “There she is,” he said, spotting me.
    I dipped into a deep curtsy, not daring to meet his eyes. I feared that my left leg was going to give out. “Monsieur Corneille,” I said at last, managing to rise.
    “I was hoping you’d still be here,” he said amiably. He turned to Monsieur la Roque, who was standing near. “This is the young woman I was telling you about—the daughter of Alix des Oeillets.”
    Monsieur la Roque regarded me with interest. “And you are …?”
    I must not faint! I took a slow breath. “Claude des Oeillets.” My cheeks were burning, my heart pounding, my mouth dry.
    “I’d very much like to see your mother again,” Monsieur Corneille said. “How long has it been? Twenty-three years?”
    “And perhaps,” added La Roque, “we might discuss the possibility of her playing the occasional minor role? We are in need of someone at the moment. It’s only a walk-on, but …”

CHAPTER 16
    M other pressed her hands to her throat, her eyes wide. “Claudette, I’m sorry—but I … I can’t. ”
    I couldn’t believe what she was saying! This was the most amazing opportunity! All our cares over, all our struggles—never to worry about the next meal. We’d be able to take Gaston to a healer who would know how to set him right. We’d hire him a tutor and eventually buy him an apprenticeship. I might even be able to save for a dowry— marry. “But, Maman, it’s the Marais, your theater.” I wouldn’t have to scrub down tavern outhouses anymore. “The play is a new one by Corneille, and it’s about the sorceress Medea, your favorite.” The murderess Medea who kills her own children—as my mother was killing me !
    She burst into tears. “You don’t understand.”
    “You’re right: I don’t!” I slumped down beside her on the rushes. I felt at a loss when my mother wept. I should be the one to weep! “Monsieur Corneille asked for you himself.” A prayer come true! But now it seemed it was all for naught. “He remembered you—you and Father. He remembered your names.”
    Mother made tight fists. “There’s something you don’t know.” Her voice was reverent and tremulous. “I vowed to forsake the theater on your father’s grave. ”
    “But Father wanted this, Maman,” I said, pleading now. Never mind that he had no grave! “He said acting was your God-given gift.”
    The terrified look in my mother’s eyes broke my heart. I put my arm around her thin shoulders, pressed my cheek against her frizzled red hair. “Those were his very words.”
    Mother wiped her eyes with the hem of her apron. “But it’s been such a long time.”
    “I’ll go with you—and Gaston too,” I said. “We’ll all go together. It’s only to talk about a walk-on role. You won’t have to do anything.”
    MOTHER HAD FRIGHTS in the morning, of course. I made her a calming lemon balm to take with her morning gruel. “I’m putting your little Virgin in my bag,” I assured her, refreshing Gaston on proper etiquette: stand tall, at least try to lock eyes (he was so shy), dip with a sweep of his hat. “Monsieur Corneille looks like a clerk, but he’s the greatest man in the land,” I said. “Treat him as if he were king.”
    “Oh Mary!” Mother sighed, fanning herself with her chicken-feather fan (in spite of the bitter cold). The very mention of the Great Corneille stirred up her humors, put her in a state of profound disarray.
    OUTSIDE, THE WORLD