Beloved Scoundrel (24 page)

“I will see he has it,” she said impulsively.

“You?”

“Yes,” she said. “I have done very well. I have some money saved. And I will soon be returning to New York to work again. I can look after him.”

“I do not think it is a matter of money,” the surgeon said. “Cortez comes of a wealthy family but he cannot get along with them. Worse still, all his relatives are in California.”

“I know about that,” Fanny said. “Place him in my care.”

The major stared at her oddly. “I doubt that he would agree to such an arrangement. He has his pride. You should know that.”

“I have broken his defenses,” she said. “And as long as he does not know he is dying I’m certain I can manage him. I’m going to suggest that we marry.”

“Marry?” Major Furlong said. “He’s a dying man.”

“I know that. It doesn’t matter.”

Major Furlong stared at her. “My dear Mrs. Cornish, I beg of you to think of this carefully. You have no idea what you may be getting yourself into. The death of a consumptive is generally slow and dreadfully unpleasant.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I shall talk to him about it.”

And she did. The following afternoon as she and the dying man strolled in the pleasant gardens of the hospital. She said, “Peter, I want you to leave here. And I want you to marry me. Later, we can return to New York and when you have recovered we can head a dramatic company again.”

The hollow-eyed Peter halted and stared at her in astonishment, “Do you think all that possible?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “But we must first make a start. We must be married. In that way I can get you out of here and look after you.”

Peter was too choked with emotion to speak for a moment. Then he took her in his arms and held her tightly to his thin body. “I only believe this because you say it can be done. I believe in you, Fanny. And I love you.”

“I love you, Peter,” she said quietly.

He gazed at her sadly. “You didn’t before. What has made the change now?”

She felt she was not lying when she told him, “The change is in my heart.”

She arranged with Edna Burchill for Peter to come and share her room with her. She planned to remain in Washington continuing her hospital work for a few weeks after the marriage. For a wild moment she felt Peter was well enough to help her on the stage. But one rehearsal taxed his feeble strength so much she quickly gave up the idea.

Dr. Frank Sargeant took her aside at the hospital one day and almost angrily asked her, “Do you intend to go ahead with this mad marriage?”

“I do,” she said quietly.

“You’ll be wasting your life,” the young doctor warned her. “He is dying and you will be dragged through a horrible experience.”

She said, “Frank, you know me well enough to be sure I won’t mind that.”

“I’m fond of you, Fanny,” the young doctor said. “I’ve not much to offer but I would be forever faithful to you.”

Fanny gave him a sad smile. “I’m sure you would. But I do not love you.”

He shook his head in distress. “Do not tell me you also love him. You are marrying him out of pity. He ought to be warned!”

She felt danger close in on her. In dismay, she begged, “You wouldn’t! Frank! You mustn’t!”

The good-looking doctor stared at her grimly. “I should!”

But he did as she asked. She and Peter were married in the small chapel at the hospital. It was the first marriage held there since Major Furlong had taken charge of the hospital. The bleak little room usually reserved for death became a place of great liveliness!

The chaplain who married them was known to them both through his association with the hospital. Peter, in a civilian suit especially tailored for his worn frame, looked deceptively well as he stood at her side to become her husband. Major Furlong was best man and she persuaded Edna Burchill to stand up with her.

It was the means of winning over the gaunt woman. She broke into tears and begged forgiveness of Fanny. And she prepared the room as a bridal chamber for them. The house took on a new warmth it seemed, along with its mistress.

There was a short wedding party in the main ward of the hospital. She and Peter left to the cheers of the men for whom she had offered her entertainments. Peter walked steadily and only coughed a little during the afternoon. But he was worn out by the ceremony.

That night they shared a bed once again and if his lovemaking was but a pale shadow of that of the Peter Cortez she had known, it did not matter. They were blissfully happy.

They remained at the plain house near the hospital for a few weeks more. She continued to go over for an occasional concert and often Peter went with her and helped supervise the program, helping with her costumers and props. One day when he was about to leave for a performance he was stricken with a severe attack. His coughing brought up a good deal of blood and he was forced to remain in the room while she went on to do the show.

Dr. Frank Sargeant confronted her in the hallway afterwards, asking, “Where is your husband?”

She halted, uneasily. “He felt he should rest.”

“Nothing more?”

“No!” she lied.

The young doctor shook his head. “You’re not gaining anything by lying to me, Fanny. Bad enough that you have lied to him.”

“I do not know what you mean!” she protested.

“Peter had a second attack of coughing up blood after you left. Your landlady in a panic sent over here for a doctor. I went to attend him.”

Tears sprang to her eyes “Is he all right?”

“He has survived the attack.”

“Thank God!”

“But he will have another, and then others,” the young doctor said grimly. “Do you understand now what you’ve done?”

“We are happy!” she told him. And she pushed him aside and fairly ran back to the house.

Her great fear was that Frank might have told her sick husband the truth about his condition. But it seemed he had stopped just short of that. Peter was restive because he knew he was worse but she was able to persuade him that rest would bring him back to health.

Stretched out on the cot in the room, he said weakly, “I shall never be able to go onstage again.”

“You must!” she said, seated by him and holding his hand in hers.

The pale Peter shook his head wearily. “I’m not even sure I could stand New York again. The pace of the city would be too much for me.”

“You will manage. You’re just too impatient,” she said, deciding that they had best stay where they were, where help could so easily be summoned.

Then something she had not foreseen happened. A message arrived from New York. It was from Nancy Miller. She wrote, “Dear Fanny, our congratulations on your marriage. You are needed here at once. Tom has a new play ready for production and I cannot be in it as I’m four months along with a happy production of my own. It is your chance to be a star once again!”

Chapter 12

Fanny wanted to keep the news from Peter. But there was no doing this. And as soon as he read the letter he was full of ambition for her.

“You must go to New York,” he said. “It is your chance to win your place back again.”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure I’m ready.” Although her real reason was her concern for him.

The thin blond man crossed the room and kissed her on the temple. He said, “You will go to New York and I will be with you. If my health improves I may be able to join you in the play.”

Fanny gazed up at him fondly. “How I wish you could!”

“We shall see,” he said. “Meanwhile you must reply to Nancy at once and begin packing to leave here.”

“And you must rest so you will be equal to the journey,” she told him.

He offered her one of his rare smiles. “I’m looking forward to returning to New York.”

She rose, “And I’m sure you will like Tom Miller. Like yourself he has suffered greatly because of the war.”

Peter said, “It is time to forget all that and move on to the future.”

So the move was decided upon. She at once consulted Major Furlong and Dr. Frank Sargeant about the wisdom of her husband making the trip. Both men were worried at the prospects, but both agreed it should make no real difference.

Major Furlong said, “Unless he overdoes things it ought not to make him worse.”

Frank Sargeant was perhaps a trifle more cruel as he said, “Whether he remains here or not he’ll be dead in six months.”

She eyed the two in the small, white office and said, “In that case, gentlemen, we shall go to New York!”

Major Furlong saw her to the door of his office and said, “We shall miss you here, Fanny. You have done much for us. As for Peter, he is in at least one way a lucky man. To have you as his wife for his final days must be more than he’d ever hoped for.”

She thanked the kindly surgeon and started down the hall. She had only gone a short distance when she heard the rapid footsteps of someone coming after her. She turned to see that it was young Doctor Sargeant.

His pleasant face was troubled. “I’m sorry, Fanny. I didn’t mean to be cruel back there. I felt you are entitled to know the truth.”

“It’s all right, Frank,” she said quietly.

“Don’t forget me, Fanny,” the young doctor said. “You know how I feel about you.”

“I do.”

He hesitated a moment longer, “Give my good wishes to your husband. I hope we may meet again one day.” And then he turned and walked swiftly back in the direction of the wards.

She sighed as she saw him go. She had come to like him in her time at the hospital. And there was no chance of her forgetting him.

The prospect of the trip seemed to work miracles for the ailing Peter. For almost a week he had no serious coughing spells. At least none that she was aware of. But the evening before they left Edna Burchill took her aside for a whispered conference after Peter had gone up to bed.

The older woman said urgently, “He has been hiding the worst from you!”

“What do you mean?”

“Twice, when you’ve been out arranging for the journey to New York, he has had spells in which he coughed up blood.”

“He didn’t mention them!”

“No,” their landlady said. “And he asked me not to say anything. But I thought you should know.”

“Thank you,” Fanny said tautly. “You have done the right thing. I shall have to be extra careful of him until we are safely in our hotel.”

Edna Burchill nodded. And then she said, “Forgive what I said about theatre folk when you first came here. From what I’ve seen they’re just like everyone else.”

“You’re a good woman, Mrs. Burchill,” Fanny told her and then went upstairs.

Peter was almost jaunty the morning they left. He was wearing the new clothes he’d purchased, especially cut to hide his alarming thinness. A casual glance at the dapper man in his gray suit and tophat would not reveal his true condition. And though Fanny knew it was mostly brave pretense on his part she was relieved to see him looking so well.

Even the tiring train journey did not seem to bother him greatly. And when they reached the hurly-burly of the New York Railway Station, he insisted on carrying one of their valises. Fanny sought out a porter to relive him of the burden as quickly as possible. She also gave the porter the tickets for their heavier luggage.

Then they moved outside to the spot where carriages drew up to meet the passengers. It was a pleasant, sunny day and Fanny was happy to be back in the most exciting city she had ever known. The signs of wartime had vanished. There were few men in uniform to be seen and everyone seemed in a buoyant mood.

The porter came with the information he’d had her trunks placed in a carriage at a stand across the street from the railway entrance. The man asked, “Will I have him drive over here? He’ll have to wait his turn in the line of carriages.”

Fanny glanced at the extended line of carriages and also at Peter. He was beginning to really look ill, as if he might collapse at any moment. So she made an instant decision, “I think we should walk over there to the carriage and save the time.”

The porter tipped his red cap. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll lead the way and mind the traffic. Some of the wagons go by at a fast clip!”

“I shall,” she promised.

Peter said, “Take my arm!”

She did although she felt it to be just a gallant gesture on his part. He was in much greater need of support than she. But she smiled up at him and took his proffered arm.

They had to wait for several wagons to clatter by before they dared the crossing. Then they started out rather hurriedly. She suddenly heard a shout of warning and the clamor of a wagon nearby. Before she could grasp what it was all about, Peter cried out, and at the same time hurled her forward with all his limited strength!

She was caught unexpectedly and fell forward onto the cobblestones. At the same instant a wagon thundered by and crushed Peter. She would also have been a victim if he had not shoved her forward to safety.

Men came running up. A woman screamed. She heard a rough voice say, “Runaway horse! Going at a dreadful speed! They’ve caught them now!”

Fanny scrambled up from the dirty cobblestones and knelt at Peter’s side. His eyes were wide open and staring and blood was pouring from the corner of his mouth.

A large, black-bearded man knelt with her and said, “I am a doctor, Madam. Let me see what I can do!”

“You must save him!” she sobbed.

The doctor examined Peter carefully and then turned to her with a sad expression on his bearded face. “I’m sorry, Madam. It is too late! Your husband must have died instantly!”

So this was her introduction to her return to the City of New York. The journey which had begun with so much anticipation had ended in a tragic accident. As soon as the word got around Fanny’s friends were quick to rally about her.

After the funeral, Tom and Nancy, along with Eric Mason and his wife, Myra, joined her in her suite in the National Hotel. P. T. Barnum had attended the service and burial and spoke to her kindly, but business matters pertaining to his new circus had made it impossible for him to be with her at the hotel.

Nancy, already showing signs of her pregnancy, sat next to Fanny on the divan and said, “You must not let this tragedy change your mind about the play.”

Fanny said, “I’m not sure I want to go through with it.”

Tom Miller, spoke from his chair, “My dear, you knew that Peter was destined soon to die in any event. Perhaps this way was better.”

She glanced at the blind playwright with her red, tear-stained eyes and said, “I cannot accept that. While he lived there was hope.”

The slender British leading man, Eric Mason, said, “But as I understand it Mr. Cortez wanted you to do the play.”

“He did,” she agreed. “Very much so.”

“Then you should do it,” Nancy pleaded. “If only to make sure his sacrifice wasn’t in vain.”

“I would have been killed there in the street but for him,” Fanny said.

“A heroic deed,” Tom Miller said. “And you shall be acting equally heroic if you go on with the play. No one will condemn you for it.”

“New York has changed,” Nancy told her. “The war appears to be forgotten. And there is no longer any resentment against theatres or actors. That has all been forgotten.”

“Edwin Booth said it would pass,” Fanny recalled.

“He is on the road again and achieving great success,” Eric Mason informed her. “So you need have no fears because of your relationship with John.”

Fanny studied them all with a resigned smile on her lovely face. From her long time friend, Nancy, to the newly arrived pleasant Myra Mason, they were all determined to see her continue with her plan to do the new play.

“I cannot hold out against all of you,” she said with a sigh. “So I expect I shall do it.”

Rehearsals for
A Mixed-Up Marriage
began a few days later. It did not take Fanny long to
realize that the play was perhaps the best Tom Miller had written and that her leading role was bound to win her many new friends as well as charm the old ones. Playing a flighty, absent-minded young woman of great charm was a new experience for her and she enjoyed it.

Eric Mason made a strong leading man and all the rest of the company were good. Nancy continued to
attend nearly every rehearsal despite her advancing pregnancy and Myra Mason filled in the small part of a maid, competently.

Eric Mason confided to her after the first rehearsal, “I’m sure this will be another hit for Tom and for all of us.”

“I agree,” she said.

The newspapers made mention of her return to New York and also offered some items concerning the play. She was relieved to discover no insinuations against her in the press, nor any mention or her friendship with John Wilkes Booth. Nancy had been right when she’d said much of this had been forgotten.

Still, Fanny found herself feeling lonely and defeated. Her marriage to Peter Cortez had helped her forget the tragedy of John Wilkes Booth’s death. Now with Peter also suddenly lost to her she was again a prey to her memories and grief.

Even the fine first-night notices for the play did not make her feel satisfied. She knew that love alone without the excitement of the theatre would not satisfy her. But she was also aware that the peak was a lonely place without people close around you whom you liked and could trust.

The play settled down to a long run. Tom began working on a new one shortly after a tiny, but lovely, daughter was born to him and Nancy. Fanny occasionally took the young daughter of the Eric Masons with her in her carriage. They were all staying at the same hotel and she often spent time with the happy group.

But at night, when the last curtain had come down and any late-evening party was over, she found herself alone. It was strange that she began to think much of those early days on the stage back in England. Of her father, and David, and mixed in with these memories the romance she’d had with Lord George Palmer.

One afternoon when she and Nancy were together in her apartment, she spoke of her state of mind, telling her friend, “I seem to be living in the past these days. And I have a strong desire to see England again. To return to London.”

Nancy said, “Then why not do it after the play closes here?”

Nancy smiled at her. “You may have more friends over there than you expect. A London manager has asked Tom to go over and stage
The Maid and the Miser
there as soon as possible. We plan to go at the time this play ends its run. So we will be there!”

“Wonderful!” Fanny said happily.

“And I can think of no reason why you should not star in it over there as you did here?”

Fanny shook her head. “They’ve forgotten me in London. They will surely want someone else.”

“Tom will look after that,” Nancy promised.

It was two weeks later that Nancy told her of the arrival of the play backers for the London engagement. They had come to New York to see
A MixedUp Marriage
with the idea of doing it as well. P.T. Barnum was having a gala party for the visitors at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and all the company were invited.

Fanny felt it was like the old days before the War. New York was once again in a brilliant mood. The ballroom of the Fifth Avenue Hotel was filled with a distinguished company of well-dressed men and women. The evening performance had been especially exciting since they had all known their British visitors were in the audience. Now Barnum was hosting this grand party for them in his usual extravagant manner.

When Fanny arrived she was greeted by the famed impresario who at once introduced her to a white-haired Britisher Edward Mulholland. It turned out he had created a new group of backers for the theatre and while he was new to management he intended to be successful at it.

Edward Mulholland studied her with twinkling eyes, and said, “You are a credit to us, my dear. Your performance tonight was charming. It is long past time you returned to London.”

“You think so?” she asked.

The white-haired man said, “I’m certain of it. You must meet the others associated in our venture.”