“Which, translated, means he is somewhere about and still holding the key to your heart,” David said grimly.
She gave him a fond look. “David, friendship is sometimes better than love. We’ve always been good friends.”
“I’d like to believe that,” David Cornish said earnestly. “But I’d still prefer you to be in love with me.”
She tried to pass this off with a light laugh, saying, “Perhaps I am and don’t even know it. That’s the way it always seems to be in plays. And speaking of plays, what do you propose to try in London?”
He at once became the professional manager, which was what she’d hoped for. Frowning slightly, he said, “I’m reading a new comedy. I think I manage best in light things. And with the war ending so badly I think London will be looking for entertainment to cheer people up.”
“I fully agree,” she said. “I hope your comedy works out.”
“One other thing,” David said. “What sort of contract do you have with Sir Alan?”
She said, “None really. Just word of mouth agreement on each play. Why?”
“I’d like you to leave his management and join me,” David said. “I will pay you double the salary you’re getting now to make up for the gamble you’d be taking.”
Fanny listened in a confused state of mind. “I don’t know, David. I’d love to work with you again. And I’m sure you’re going to be a success. But I owe Sir Alan so much. I’d hate to leave him without discussing it with him first.”
“Then do it,” David said. “I’m not trying to raid his company. But if you and Hilda will join me I’d take it as a good luck sign.”
“I’ll talk to Sir Alan,” she promised. “He might be glad to have a new leading lady. A change might be good for everyone.”
David stood up. “I must be going. I have to see a theatre owner this morning about a possible lease. In any event I’ll be starting rehearsals in about a month. So see what you can manage with Sir Alan. I’ll be in touch with you.”
“I promise to discuss it with him right away,” she said, seeing the young actor to the door.
He halted to add, “And don’t forget to remember me to Hilda and extend my offer to her.”
“I will,” she said. And, kissing him on the cheek, “Good luck, David!”
He smiled. “Just seeing you and talking to you again has been luck enough for today.”
She closed the door behind him with a feeling of unreality. It didn’t seem possible that after all this time David Cornish had come into her life once more. She recalled how much she’d enjoyed acting with him and decided she would seriously discuss the matter of joining the new venture with Sir Alan. She knew the distinguished actor-manager would advise her well.
When Hilda returned she told the old actress of David’s plan and they were both filled with excitement. But before she was to have the opportunity to discuss the matter with Sir Alan there were to be other, darker happenings which she had not anticipated.
She was resting for the evening when Hilda came in to her bedroom to inform her that she had another caller. The old actress said, “A young woman.”
Fanny got up and donned a dressing gown and went out to see who it was. Standing there nervously waiting for her in a dark blue gown and matching bonnet was the attractive Dora Carson!
Fanny hurried over to her and embraced her. “Dora! What a surprise! You’ve hardly changed at all!”
“Thank you,” the dark-haired girl said quietly. “You must forgive my coming here!”
“Not at all,” she said. “I’ve been wanting to see you.”
Dora eyed her solemnly. “I’m afraid I’m the bearer of bad news!”
Not until that moment did it strike Fanny that this was more than a mere social visit. Her first thought was that there had been some sort of accident, that George was perhaps injured or even dead. Fear rose up in her and her throat became taut. She took several steps away from the subdued Dora.
Tensely, she asked, “What is it? What dreadful thing has happened?”
The lovely girl’s dark face was sad and frightened at the same time. She said, “It is difficult to tell you!”
Fanny reached out a pleading hand. “George? Is he all right?”
“Yes,” Dora said. “Please don’t fret about him. He is at least all right for the moment.”
“What do you mean?” This came from her in almost a wail.
Dora’s eyes met hers solemnly. “It’s Virginia! She is dead.”
A great part of the weight of her fear left her. Though still shocked she felt this was something she could cope with. No doubt George had been too stunned by the death he’d predicted to come to her himself with the news. Also, it was much more discreet for Dora to be the bearer of the sad tidings.
Fanny said, “Poor thing! So it has happened at last! George told me it would.”
The other girl stared at her. “What did he tell you?” she asked in a shocked voice.
“That Virginia was drinking herself to death. The doctor had warned her that she would not live a year if she went on. And so his words have proven to be true.”
Dora said, “It was not drink that killed her.”
This was a second shock. Fanny’s eyes widened as she asked, “
Not
drink?”
“No. She died of poison!”
“Poison!”
“Arsenic poisoning to be exact,” Dora went on grimly. “I found her dead in her bed early this morning.”
Fanny gasped. “How dreadful! She had come to such a point that she took her own life!”
Dora’s face was an expressionless mask. “That is the question.”
“What do you mean?”
“It is not known whether she took the poison deliberately or whether it was placed in her drink. She had been on another of her drinking bouts!”
Fanny listened in confusion. “Who would put poison in her drink?”
“The doctor called in the police when he discovered traces of arsenic still in her glass,” Dora said. “There will be an investigation. A coroner’s jury will decide what really happened.”
“How awful for George,” she said, worriedly. “This is bound to be a dreadful time for him. There will be publicity and the shame that goes along with a suicide.”
Dora said, “I don’t think you fully understand. There is a possibility that George may be involved.”
“Involved?” Fanny echoed.
“In Virginia’s death.”
“That’s preposterous!” Fanny cried, anger replacing her fear. “George is not that sort of man! He would never do such a thing!”
“I know that and so do you,” Dora said quietly. “But there are many who do not have the same knowledge of him. He is a Peer of the Realm now, and the public are often suspicious of those in high places.”
“I’m sure George can somehow clear himself!”
“I pray so,” Dora said. And then she revealed the most shocking news of all, adding, “You see, it is no secret that George made the purchase of the arsenic from a chemist a few days ago. It was in the form of ant paste which he’d bought at the request of the housekeeper.”
The room reeled around her. She saw the other girl move quickly to her and offer her an arm in support. Fanny moaned, “It can’t be! George would not do it!”
“I agree,” Dora Carson said leading Fanny across to the settee and easing her down into it, then taking a place beside her.
Fanny said, “He hasn’t been charged with the crime?”
“No. But I fear he may be,” Dora said. “The Doctor knows there was no love between Virginia and George; the housekeeper will testify about his buying the ant-paste. And the police found the remains of the ant paste hidden in a corner of a closet in the hall on the same floor as Virginia’s room. I could tell by the manner in which the Police Inspector talked to George that he believed the matter to be a grave one.”
Fanny closed her eyes and tried to straighten it all out. “George told you to come to me!”
“Yes, he was anxious that you should know,” Dora Carson said.
Realization of the shocking position in which she was in now came to her. “And he could not come here himself!”
“Hardly! If his close relationship with you became public information it might truly tie the noose around his neck!”
“Don’t say such things!” Fanny implored her, even as she knew this to be true.
“Forgive me!” Dora said, chastened. “I only wish to be of help to you both.”
Fanny bent to the other girl and kissed her on the cheek. “Dear Dora! What a saint you have been all these years! I vow I could not match your goodness. Now you are risking involvement in this dark affair by acting as messenger to me.”
Dora gave her a look of encouragement. “You must not accept the worst. He has not yet been charged with the crime.”
“From what you say he will be.”
“That depends on the result of the inquest,” Dora said. “It may well go in his favor. Even though the doctor was friendly to Virginia he cannot conceal the truth of her grave weakness for drink and the dreadful life she gave George! Until a year or so ago, she even entertained other men!”
“George told me all that.”
“She knew her own life was in ruins and she wanted to destroy him,” Dora said bitterly. “I never would have remained in the house but for the children.”
“You have shown him such devotion,” Fanny said. “He ought to have married you!”
“How can you say that! You know you are the only one he has ever loved!”
Fanny sighed. “Our love has been a tragic one from the start! How many times I wish we had never met, and how many times have I thanked Heaven for sending him my way! I do not know whether such a love has blessed or cursed us!”
“You must not lose courage,” Dora said. “If we are all cautious I have a feeling George will not be charged for the crime.”
“If they find that I’m his mistress, he is almost bound to be placed in a worse light,” Fanny said.
“And your career would be ruined,” Dora added. “But I think no one aside from myself knows. So you are both safe in that regard.”
She shook her head. “You are wrong! At least one other person knows!”
“Who?”
“His brother, the Reverend Kenneth,” she said.
Dora looked worried but she went on to say, “That is not good. But George has strong influence over him, and Kenneth is mortally afraid of scandal which might harm his church career. I cannot see him wanting a brother in the criminal court!”
“George must go to him at once and silence him,” Fanny said.
“I’m sure that he will,” Dora agreed. “What about the old woman who let me in a few minutes ago?”
Fanny nodded. “She knows. But she can be trusted. She is like a mother to me.”
“Good,” Dora said. “Is there any incriminating evidence in the apartment in which you met George? Any articles of your clothing, or such, which might be identified with you.”
“No,” she said. “I have been careful about that. I feared for a while the Reverend Kenneth might break into the place in search of such things.”
“That is all to the good, then,” Dora said. “George asked me to send you his love and assure you he will somehow see you at the first moment possible.”
“No,” Fanny said. “He must not think about that! He must keep away! Give no one a chance to link him with me!”
Dora studied her sympathetically. “I’m sure no one outside the few we’ve mentioned have guessed about you two. You can be sure of my silence. And when this horror is over you and George may be able to marry.”
“I dare not think about that at the moment,” Fanny said. “All I wish for him is his safety.”
“I will be in touch with you if there are any other swift developments,” Dora said. “You can count on my playing the role of messenger between you.”
Fanny worried, “I do not like to have you further burdened with such a risky duty.”
Dora rose and touched a hand to her bosom. She said. “Never fear! Like you, I thrive on challenges. I shall manage this one easily!”
Fanny also was on her feet. She said, “Charles wrote that he expected to sail home from the Crimea at any time. If only he were here now, he would be a strong support for George.”
“True,” Dora agreed. “Perhaps by some good fortune he will arrive soon. No matter what happens, the next weeks and months are going to be difficult ones for George.”
“I realize that all too well,” Fanny said.
Dora started for the door. “I must go now.”
“Won’t you wait to have tea with me?” Fanny asked.
“No,” the other girl said. “I must not stay away from the house too long.”
“Very well,” Fanny said. “Give George my love and tell him I shall pray for him. You may reach me here or at the theatre. I’m seldom anywhere else.”
Dora gave her a gentle touch on the arm and in parting said, “Be your own brave self and we shall all survive this storm!”
Fanny saw her out and then came back into her living room and closed the door after her. She leaned against it and began to sob. At the same time old Hilda Asquith came hurrying out to join her.
Fanny managed to ask, “You heard?”
“Enough,” Hilda said, placing an arm around her and leading her to the bedroom. “I couldn’t help overhearing most of it! What a dreadful business!” She insisted that Fanny stretch out on the bed to rest.
Hilda hurriedly made tea and brought it to her. Then the older woman sat by her bed as they drank it and went over the situation.
Fanny said, “George’s wife must have somehow found the arsenic and committed suicide.”
“I expect so,” the old actress said with a frown. “But the young woman mentioned that the remains of the poison were found hidden.”
She stared at Hilda. “You think it unlikely that Virginia would administer the poison to herself and then go to the trouble of hiding the balance of it?”
“If I were the police I would wonder about it.”
“And you would be right,” Fanny said, badly upset. “It will make things worse for George.”
“A point against him,” the elderly actress said. “But you know he is not the sort to commit such a crime.”
“He’d never do it!”
“Maybe then, she was crafty enough to think of this and go to the final effort of hiding the poison to cast suspicion on her husband.”
“Yes,” Fanny agreed. “It is what might be expected of her in her hatred against him. She would do it purposely.”
Hilda said, “If the police are intelligent, that possibility should also occur to them.”