“Well, that should settle it,” Fanny said hollowly. “Let the police decide his guilt, not the press.”
David looked surprised. “You think I’m being unfair to the fellow?”
Hilda Asquith spoke up quickly from her chair by the window, “I don’t think Fanny is in any fit state to talk about such grim matters today. She should be in bed resting.”
“I’m sorry,” the actor said at once. “You are right, Hilda. You both have gone through too much to talk idly about possible murders and the like. I apologize and I’ll take my leave.”
Fanny said, “You need not hurry away.”
He lifted a hand. “No. Hilda is right. You both need quiet. I shall call again tomorrow when you will have had more time to recover from the shock of all this.”
Fanny saw him on his way and then returned to collapse into a chair across from the one occupied by Hilda. She moaned, “It’s really too much! I don’t think I can bear it!”
“You will,” the old actress told her. “You must! If only to save the man you love.”
And this was true. Somehow Fanny managed to get through that day and night and the next. On the third day after the fire Dora Carson came again. This time Fanny guessed the worst before the dark girl said anything. She could tell by Dora’s pale, worn face.
Dora’s hands twisted nervously as she sank down in the chair which Fanny had offered her. She bent her head and said, “They came for him this morning!”
“Oh, no!” Fanny protested.
“The Inspector and two officers,” Dora said. “I stood by while the Inspector read the charge. He was most kindly in his manner!”
“How can they think George a murderer!” Fanny said, her eyes brimming with tears.
“The inquest indicated he should be placed on trial,” Dora replied, looking up at her for the first time. “I was afraid it might. The circumstances seem to be all against him. The housekeeper can’t recall asking him to buy the ant paste. The remnants of the paste were found hidden! The servants heard Virginia in her drunken tantrums warning George that she knew he was plotting to kill her. These all add up to placing him in the shadow of guilt.”
Fanny sat on the divan, trying to adjust to this latest bad news. Although she had expected it, it still was a blow. What had been a fearful possibility was now a reality!
Dora went on, “There was no fuss. George accepted the news very quietly. He asked for a few minutes to get some possessions together and time was granted him. He said farewell to the children and to me, and then he left with the Inspector and his men.”
“What can we do to help him?” Fanny worried.
“Very little. He has the best legal advice available. He anticipated all this happening and has been in touch with his solicitor. I had only to notify him.”
Fanny asked, “When will he be tried?”
“I don’t know that yet,” the other girl said. “We can hope it will not be too long delayed. In the meantime, George will have to languish in prison.”
“If only I could see him! Talk with him!” Fanny said.
Dora said, “You know that would not be wise.”
Fanny rose to her feet and began to pace slowly back and forth. “I feel so frustrated!”
“The fire at the theatre must have been a terrifying experience,” Dora said. “George was frantic until he had word that you were safe.”
“This last week has been like a hideous nightmare,” Fanny said, still pacing.
“At least you have been relieved of the strain of being on stage every night,” the other girl said. “Feeling as you do that surely had to be a great burden.”
“Not really,” she said. “I think it was better for me to be working. At least I could lose myself in my part while I was onstage.”
“I must confess my knowledge of such things are limited,” Dora said. “I know how you must be tormented about George’s fate. I share that torment with you.”
She was moved by the dark girl’s words. Crossing to her, she patted her on the shoulder. “You have been too kind to me, Dora, coming all the way here to keep me informed. You have more than enough to occupy you with looking after the children and the house.”
“It is better now that the funeral is over,” Dora said. “Virginia’s parents were extremely cold towards George at that time.”
Fanny frowned. “They knew their daughter to be an unstable alcoholic before she married George. Everyone knew it!”
“Of course they want to conceal that.”
“It should not be hidden. It ought to be an important part of George’s defence!”
“I’m sure his solicitors will take that in consideration,” Dora said. “I will make it a point to mention it.”
“How did the Reverend Kenneth behave at the funeral?” Fanny wanted to know.
“Not like a loving brother, I can assure you of that!” Dora said with bitterness. “He barely spoke to George, but fawned on Virginia’s parents. And he was most abrupt with me.”
“Surely he will be kind to the children!”
“He did not seem to be aware of them,” Dora said with a frown. “I’d say that he’s on the edge of madness! A righteous madness in which he sees himself a saint and everyone else as sinners!”
“That is the form his madness has always taken,” Fanny said ruefully. “I’m sure that becoming a clergyman was the worst thing for him. He has become a fanatic in his zeal!”
“He may wear a clerical collar but there is little of true religion in him!”
Fanny nodded. “I must agree. I’m surprised that he has not further hounded me.”
“You must be careful. There is always that possibility. It is hard to say how he will react to George being changed with Virginia’s murder. I’m inclined to think it will please him.”
“Could he be so cruel?” Fanny wondered.
“I’m sure he could,” Dora said. “If only Charles would get here, he could act as a counterbalance to Kenneth.”
“His last letter said he was leaving the Crimea,” Fanny said. “He must be on his way.”
“I hope he arrives before the trial,” Dora said.
Fanny hoped for the same thing. She had great faith in the good-natured Charles and knew he would have a good effect on George. In time of trouble George was too prone to give way to despair. Charles had an exuberance about him and would help to instill the confidence George must show in his appearances in court.
Dora left after promising to keep Fanny in touch with the rapid turn of events. Fanny found the empty hours of waiting endless. Once more she was reminded how important the theatre was to her. Her dedication to the life which her father had wanted for her was an integral of her pattern of living which she needed badly.
• • •
She was grateful when a few days later David Cornish came in a carriage to take her to see the theatre he’d leased near Covent Garden. He invited Hilda along as well, but the old actress elected to remain in the apartment in case any messages arrived. So on the brisk autumn afternoon Fanny rode in the closed carriage to the Windsor Theatre which he had rented.
On the way they had to pass the ruins of the People’s and he had the driver halt for a moment so they might gaze at the charred wreckage. Fanny felt a great sadness well up in her, for it was in this lost theatre she had first had billing as a London star. Here the dream her father had treasured had come into being.
It was the end of an era for her! Yet the world of London seemed to have taken the tragedy in its stride. The street was filled with people who went their various ways with only a quick, curious glance at the charred ruins. Venders shouted their wares, street gamins laughed and ran recklessly between the carriages and the great wagons which lumbered along the cobblestoned street.
Finally the carriage halted before the Windsor which she saw was a building of brick and stone, with modest columns in front. It was smaller than the People’s but would be large enough for the audiences David would attract with a new company.
As they stood on the sidewalk admiring the building, he said, “It will be just about right in size. Better to turn away than to have empty seats. And best of all, it is near to being safe from fire.”
She sighed, “After what has happened, that is an important consideration.”
“We must view the theatre from the stage,” the young actor manager said, taking her by the arm and leading her along the narrow alley to the stage door.
Her first pleasant surprise was having Silas Hodder greet her. The old man had on a new gray frock coat and gray top hat and looked much less forlorn than when she’d last seen him. He opened the stage door to them and removed his hat.
“Welcome, Miss Fanny,” the old man said. “You see, thanks to your good services, I’m already on duty!”
“Wonderful!” she exclaimed.
David’s pleasant face held a smile. “I’ve managed to be in touch with many of the actors from Sir Alan’s company. You will almost think you’re back with the same group again.”
“With you as leading man and director,” Fanny said, looking up at him fondly. “It is like a dream come true, David!”
“It is only the beginning,” he promised. “Come take a look at things from the stage.”
They wandered out onto the stage of the shadowed theatre and she was dimly aware of the seating arrangements which included a good-sized dress circle and balcony. She saw how proud and happy the ambitious David Cornish was, and knew that one of her wishes had been fulfilled. David had at last seen the wisdom of making a name in London.
She turned to him impulsively and threw her arms around him and kissed him. “Good luck, David!”
He laughed. “How can I have anything else with you at my side?”
These words brought her back to the grim reality of her life once more. David Cornish did not guess her true state of mind, did not know that the man she loved was shortly to be tried for murder. If George were convicted and sentenced to be hanged, could she force herself to go ahead with this new stage project? Fanny much doubted it!
Fanny spent as close to a pleasant afternoon with David as was possible in her troubled state of mind. When he said goodbye to her at the door of her flat, he invited her to dinner that evening and suggested that he call for her around seven. Reluctantly, she agreed, thinking it would help occupy her mind. When curtain time came and she had no show to do she was always restless.
David returned to the carriage in high spirits and she waved to him as he was driven away. She stood there watching wistfully after the vanishing carriage for a little. Several times during the afternoon she had been at the point of being completely honest with him. She felt in fairness she should tell him about George and her relationship with the titled young man. Should the trial go against him, she might not be able to serve as leading lady in David’s company. In fact she didn’t know what such a turn of events would do to her.
She went inside and began mounting the stairs to the rooms she shared with Hilda Asquith. Perhaps tonight she would find the opportunity to tell David her dilemma and get his reaction. She feared it might not be a pleasant one since she was aware that David continued to have a romantic interest in her. It was all terribly confusing!
Fanny found the key to the door in her purse and fitted it into the lock and opened it. As she entered the flat she found the elderly Hilda there ready to greet her.
There was an anxious look on the old woman’s face as she said, “You have a visitor, Fanny!”
Fanny looked beyond her and at once cried out her joy. For it was none other than the stalwart Captain Charles Palmer who rose from the high-backed chair and crossed the room to her.
“Charles!” she said with deep relief. “How good to have you safely back!”
“Dear Fanny,” the young man said, taking her in his arms and kissing her gently. Then releasing her, he said, “If you could guess how many times I dreamed of this moment when I was in that Godforsaken Crimea!”
“Let me study you!” she exclaimed, standing back and holding his hands in hers as she looked at him. His frame had filled out and his skin was bronzed. His heavy side-burns matched his mustache and the entire effect was one of more maturity. He looked at least ten years older than when she had last seen him only a little more than two years earlier.
He smiled grimly, “Well, tell me the worst!”
“You look older but more rugged. I should say from the female point of view you are much more interesting.”
Charles laughed in his good-natured way. “That is most pleasant to hear.”
She led him by one hand to the settee, saying, “I don’t know anyone I wished to see more. I’ve been praying for your return this last week.”
The young man at once became sober-faced. In a quiet voice, he said, “I have seen George.”
“You know everything, then,” she said tensely.
“Yes,” he hesitated as he glanced around. “Can we talk quite frankly?”
She saw that Hilda had discreetly withdrawn to the bedroom and closed the door. She said, “You may. Hilda is to be trusted completely.” And she sat down.
He sat across from her, his pleasant face shadowed. “As you know, it is a bad business.”
“I don’t dare think how bad it may be,” Fanny said. “From the moment of George’s arrest I have known no peace.”
Charles surveyed her in silence for a moment. “Poor Fanny!” he said. “You will remember that I long ago warned you against falling in love with George.”
She felt her cheeks burn and she stared down at her hands, nervously clasping and unclasping. “Unhappily one is not able to control one’s feelings in such matters.”
“So it would seem,” he said dryly. “In fairness, I warned you long ago when you were a servant in our house. And I again warned you before I left for the Crimea. Yet you began seeing him soon after that.”
“It was not planned on either of our parts. We bring each other as much pain as happiness,” she said wearily. “Yet we do not seem to be able to live apart from each other.”
“I deeply regret that,” Charles said. “And I’m surprised that George spoke of your affair in almost the same tone as you. He feels you are fated for each other, though you may not be fated to bring each other any lasting good.”
“That about sums it up,” she said. “He had no life with Virginia. And I have never truly loved anyone but him.”