Fanny was dreamy from the evening’s work, having had her fill of goose and perhaps too much port. Looking up at David, she said, “I don’t think I have ever been so happy before!”
“Nor I,” he said.
“You saved my life the first time we met,” she said. “And ever since you have made my existence more pleasant for me.”
“I would be lost without you,” he told her.
She smiled at him. “We shall keep on working and one day we shall star together in London in a fine play!”
“Perhaps!” David said. “London is a long way off. Many are lost along the way.”
“We don’t be,” she said. “I feel it!”
He said, “I have some brandy in my room. I want you to stop by and drink to our always staying together.” David was one of the few in the company with his own room. It was small, but he did not share it with anyone.
Something warned her that if she accepted his offer she might find herself facing a greater involvement than she desired. But she liked him and didn’t want to hurt his feelings. David meant a great deal to her. So she decided to take the risk.
She went to his room with him. He lit the single candle on his dresser and then gently helped her off with her cloak. With a smile, he said, “Welcome to my area of the castle! It is rather chilly, but mine own!”
“You’re doing a lot better than I am,” she reminded him. “Old Hilda Asquith snores most mightily!”
He had produced a brandy bottle and glasses, and pouring the amber liquid into the glasses, gave her one. “To us!” he said. “And to our success in the new year.
“To us!” she said, her pretty face shining in the glow of the candle light.
They drank and he said, “I know how you can cure that snoring problem.”
“How?”
“Move in with me!”
“David!”
“I mean
marry
me and move in with me,” he said, placing his glass on the table, then taking her into his arms.
She gazed at him with affection. “Please, David!”
“I mean it,” he said with intensity. “These last few weeks I’ve been tormented with my longing for you!”
“I care for you, David,” she said softly. “I care so much! But marriage is not for us! We’re just at the beginning. To be a wife and mother might be the end for me!”
“Others have married and succeeded on the stage!”
“A very few,” she reminded him. “Look at Forester and his wife. They take miserable jobs and lead awful lives so they can pay the way for their children!”
“They don’t seem to mind,” David protested.
“We would,” she said. “Or at least
I
would!”
“I don’t care!” he said, pressing her close to him. “I’m willing to take any risk to have you as my own.”
“Dear David!” she whispered.
He looked down into her face and in a troubled voice told her, “I think you have deceived me. Not told me all about your past. That you have loved someone else and are still in love with him!”
She shook her head. “No!” But she knew it was very close to being the truth.
“I believe you have kept many things from me! There is a man somewhere to whom you are still faithful!”
She smiled ruefully. “That sounds like a line from one of our plays.”
“I mean it,” he went on. “I long for you. I adore you! I’m willing to make any sacrifice for you, but you hold back. It must mean you do not care as much, or that you are in love with someone else.”
Fanny stared at him in silence for a moment. Then quietly she said, “Do you want me to begin this new year by giving myself to you?”
“I can think of no gift that would make me happier,” he replied.
Fanny sighed. She knew that she had made an initial error in coming to the room to drink with him. But she also knew she had weighed this risk and decided to take it. She had come to feel so close to this man, been given his friendship, and had responded so warmly that he had fallen passionately in love with her.
She had to face that in many ways she had encouraged his passion. She realized this. Still in his arms, she said gently, “I do care for you, David. And I will lie with you. But I will not allow you to enter me.”
His handsome face showed a shadow. “What sort of loving will that be?”
“I cannot risk being with child at this point in my career,” she said simply.
“You will not!”
“How all-knowing you are!” she mocked him. “Certainly
you
will not bear a baby! I can be surer of that than you can about my fate. Do you wish to make me miserable?”
“No,” he said, unhappily. “You know I don’t!”
“Then let me arrange this my way,” she said. “I will show you my love and relieve your longing.”
David stood there in confusion as she moved away from him and began to unbutton the front of her dress. She placed her things carefully on a chair and when she finally turned to him completely naked in the cold room he was still standing there dressed.
She shivered. “I’m cold! Take off your clothes and get into bed with me!”
“Fanny!” he said, a tremor in his voice as his eyes feasted on the supple young lines of her nude body.
Fanny moved to him and began to unbutton his shirt and help him undress. In the end he was feverishly discarding his clothes. Then he lifted her in his arms, lay her on the bed and joined her.
They stretched out together in close embrace. Their kisses were warm and moist. She could feel the firmness of his lithe body next to hers. Then his hands explored her breasts and lightly touched the rest of her body, finding her most itimate places. She felt her own passion rising and she was grateful to George for the diversity he’d shown in his lovemaking!
In David’s arms she was able to remember those other moments. And now she would call on them to show her fondness for this man who in many ways was closer to her than George had ever been. She moved her lips down to his hairy chest and slowly down his body. She gently kissed his thighs and then made love to him in the way which George had taught her.
David’s soft moaning ended in a sudden cry of ecstasy. She lifted herself up and pressed her long red hair against his chest again, kissing him over and over.
He lifted her up to the pillow and staring at her in wonder said, “You minx! And what did that do for you?”
“I manage well enough,” she said. “Do you doubt that I care for you, David?”
“No,” he said. “I doubt it no longer. But I also know I was right. That there
was
someone before me. Someone who taught you things you’d never have known otherwise. I want to hear about him! I demand it or I shall be forever jealous!”
She snuggled close to him. “All right,” she said. “I shall tell you about George.” And she did, explaining it was a first love entered into without thought and with much passion. She finished with, “I know now we had to part, if only so I could meet someone like you.”
David kissed her with tenderness. He said, “You have told me all and I shall never again be jealous of you. I feel for the first time you’re truly mine!”
And so on that cold New Year’s night in that bleak room they entered on a new phase of their relationship. She felt they were as close as most husbands and wives, perhaps closer than many, and they both agreed that when they had achieved their ambitions they would marry. They worked together with a new interest and understanding and it seemed that this simple life they were leading would satisfy them for a long time to come. But some unexpected happenings were awaiting them in the wings.
In February the company moved on to Parkington, which did not receive them as well as Rigby. They remained there only three weeks and were in Wenside for early March. David and Fanny were starred in all the performances now, and they spent most of their offstage time together. It was accepted by all in the company that the two talented young people were lovers.
Wenside was as hospitable to Barnaby Samuels and his company as Rigby had been. Also, the theatrical lodging house was larger and better kept. Fanny now had her own room, which offered her two premiums; she did not have to suffer the character woman’s snoring, and David could come to her bed for their love-making.
They were doing a new play, “The Wicked Countess,” when Barnaby Samuels came down with gout. While he could still direct the plays, his left foot was too painful for him to take part onstage. It became imperative that another character man be hired. He sent an urgent appeal to London and by the next train an elderly actor named Ernest Hansom came to join the company.
From the first rehearsal Fanny found herself liking the rather pompous, dignified actor. He had iron-gray hair and a stern, brick-red face which showed few lines though he was well along in middle-age. Before he arrived, Barnaby Samuels quietly warned the company that Ernest Hansom had been a leading West End actor who had come to bad times through bouts of drunkenness.
The actor-manager had explained, “He is one of those men who can remain sober for weeks and then vanish for the same period on a drunken debauch. Because of his failing, he is now forced to work in small companies such as this. I pray that you do not offer him drink and avoid accepting any invitations he may offer to have you drink with him.”
At the time David Cornish had grumbled, “That sounds like bad news to me. I’d say Barnaby is making a mistake hiring the fellow.”
“But if he is truly a fine West End actor we can benefit by his experience,” she suggested. “And he may remain sober with us.”
“From my experiences with drunken actors he’ll slip sooner or later,” David predicted.
But now that Ernest Hansom was lending his presence to their company even David Cornish was lost in admiration of his talent. The red-faced man was a much better actor than Barnaby Samuels and the company gained in strength from his acting.
When Fanny was first introduced to him the old actor had seemed rather startled. He had quickly covered his surprise but she had noted it and wondered about the reason. She did not mention this to David as she did not think it important.
Several weeks went by and they continued doing repertory in Wenside. The weather became pleasanter with the coming of spring, but Wenside was another factory town as gray and grim as Rigby. However, this meant little to the theatrical company since the audiences were enthusiastic and attendance was nearly at capacity in the old Opera House.
They were preparing a comedy, “The Caretaker’s Bride,” and Ernest Hansom and Fanny were not in the last half of the first act which was being rehearsed. So they sat together in the rear of the dark auditorium watching Barnaby direct David Cornish and the comedian in a long scene.
Ernest Hansom had been completely sober thus far and knowing his weakness, Fanny admired him for this. The company had been careful in the use of alcohol in his presence but this alone would not have stopped him from getting drunk if he wished.
As the rehearsal went on the old actor turned his stern face to her and said, “David Cornish has a lot of ability.”
“That praise is meaningful coming from you,” she said. “We all respect your talent.”
“Thank you,” the gray-haired man said with a bleak smile. “Though I fear I have not made the best of myself.”
“You are doing so well here.”
He gave a deep sigh. “This has been good for me. But only the London stage satisfies me now. That should be the goal of all actors wishing to prove themselves. It should be your goal.”
“I do want to play in London,” she said. “My father was an actor. I’m sure he must have played there. I have been told he had great ability.”
“What was his name? Perhaps I may have met him,” the old actor said.
She blushed and shook her head. “I cannot tell you his name.”
“Oh?”
“No,” she said. “You see he deserted my mother and me not long after I was born.”
“A cruel fellow,” the old actor said quietly.
“I have tried not to hold it against him,” Fanny said. “My mother never did. She taught me to revere his memory.”
“I would have expected her to have been bitter.”
“So would I,” Fanny said. “At least, I would have until I came into the theatre myself. Now I understand better why he left us. It was because the theatre meant so much to him. I wish to follow in his footsteps and give my life to the theatre.”
“Your talent warrants your wanting to do that,” Ernest Hansom said. “Yet you are treading dangerous ground. It is known by all the company that you and David Cornish are lovers.”
Again she blushed. “I do not deny that. I’m fond of David. I believe in him also.”
“Yet this liaison could end by wrecking both your careers.”
“I will not let it,” she said firmly.
He stared at her. “You almost convince me.”
“I mean it. I take every precaution,” she replied, without attempting to explain more.
“Drink has been my compelling passion,” Ernest Hansom said bitterly. “I can never be certain when it will drag me down again.”
She reached out a hand and touched his arm. “We are fond of you, indeed proud of you. I’m sure you will not let it happen!”
“Not willingly,” the character actor said. He stared at her a moment and said, “Do you recall that on our first meeting I stared at you for a long moment in a most unseemly way?”
“Yes,” she said. “I do remember. And I wondered about it.”
He nodded. Then he said, “It was because you looked so remarkably like someone I knew long ago.”
“Really?”
“Someone with your lovely face and coloring,” he went on, then paused. “May I ask, was your mother’s name Mary?”
It was her turn to be shocked. She stared at him and in a small voice said, “Yes.”
“I was sure of it,” he murmured.
“How do you know this?”
“Because I am your father,” he said gently.
Seated beside him in the darkened theatre she studied Ernest Hansom in confusion. She thought she was going to faint. Her head reeled and she could not collect her thoughts sufficiently to make any sort of reply.
He reached over and placed a comforting arm around her. “Do not hate me! I have lived a long life of regret for deserting you and Mary! I tried to convince myself she had probably married someone else and you were being brought up well. I never dreamed that one day I would find you again!”