The opening night of “The Knight and the Lady” began a new phase of Fanny’s life. She was given a thunderous ovation by the fashionable audience and in the newspapers the next day the various critics gave praise to her remarkable talents. Nor were Sir Alan Tredale and the play ignored by those gentlemen of the press. It was agreed that the play was one of Sir Alan’s best productions and that in Fanny he had offered London a new star.
Fanny’s success opened to her a different kind of London, the London of the wealthy and privileged! She moved into a smart flat not far from the theatre and hired a maid and housekeeper-cook. Her new companions were people like Charles Dickens, Lucy Vestris, Charles Matthews and Sir Alan Tredale. It was a gay, romantic world which she had often dreamed about but which she’d hardly dared hope to attain.
However, she did not forget her old friends. She still occasionally paid a visit to the eccentric Gilbert Tingley at his Museum of Freaks and he considerea her his greatest success.
He never missed a chance to take her around the museum and introduce her to his current freaks and tell them, “What this young lady accomplished under my training, any one of you can do!”
The gaunt Silas Hodder was quite disgusted by this. One day as Fanny left the museum in his company, the skull-faced man said with scorn, “To hear him tell it you’d think you’d received all your training playing a mermaid for him! It is your acting in the provinces and especially the coaching by your late father which brought you success!”
“That is true, Silas,” she said sadly, thinking of those good days and wondering what had become of David Cornish from whom she’d heard nothing since she ran away from his company. Then brightening, she squeezed the arm of the odd, old man and told him, “Still, if it makes Gilbert Tingley happy to think of me as a protegée, I confess I don’t mind!”
“Aye,” the thin man lamented. “Trust you to be too tender-hearted. You have conquered London, my lass. But you must be made of stern stuff to keep your footing in this city!”
She gave him an amused glance as they walked along the narrow sidewalk of the grubby street. “You have managed very well, it seems!”
He snorted with derision. “I’m what you might well call a confounded failure! A beggar who torments gentlemen to give him alms! Not much to be proud of there! Meeting you is the best thing that ever happened to me!”
“And my meeting you was a turning point in my life,” Fanny insisted. “Had you not handled things so well that first day at the theatre I should never have got in to see Sir Alan.”
The gaunt face showed modest pleasure. “It was a small business, but I did manage it with a certain flair!”
“I’ve mentioned it because I have an offer for you,” she said as they walked along, she in an enchanting brown taffeta and matching bonnet and he in his somber black suit and tophat.
“What sort of offer?” he wanted to know.
“Sir Alan Tredale needs a new stage door manager for the People’s,” she told him. “And he favors you. He admires your way of handling people. He asked me to broach the matter to you.”
The tall, gaunt man halted and stared at her, his deep-set eyes moist with tears. “You are actually offering to restore me to a place in society?”
“I’m not sure it’s what you want,” she said. “You have so long made your way by your wits.”
Silas Hodder said bitterly, “A way which will certainly see me in paupers’ prison if I continue to pursue it.” He squeezed her hand. “You are a dear girl! I’m certain you have spoken to Sir Alan on my behalf!”
Fanny smiled. “I did bring up your name when he mentioned the position would soon be vacant.”
“I shall take it, my girl,” the gaunt man said excitedly. “It is my one hope of not losing touch with you!”
“That will never happen! You are too good a friend!”
“It will! It must!” the old man insisted. “You are now part of a London society which tolerates me only on occasion to enjoy me as a freak! I’m as odd to them as any of the displays in Tingley’s museum! Gradually they will drop me and I will no longer be part of your circle. But this solves everything! I shall guard your stage door every night!”
“I’m so happy you’ve accepted,” Fanny said. And then she added, “There is just one thing more.”
“And what, pray is that?”
“Your … appearance,” she said, warily. “I know it is helpful to look weird as a professional beggar. But Sir Alan will demand that you properly shorten your hair, dress a bit less somberly, and present a more normal facade. Do you mind?”
Silas Hodder hesitated for a moment, causing her to think she had offended him. Then he burst into laughter and said, “I declare, child, Sir Alan asked you to approach me because he feared to say such things himself.”
“True,” Fanny admitted.
“I don’t mind sprucing up in the least!” the gaunt old man said happily. “And I shall lose none of my dignity in the doing of it. I shall still make a first class guardian of the backstage area!”
“That is why Sir Alan wants you for the post,” Fanny assured him.
He patted her hand and they resumed their walk. “Consider that I have accepted!”
And so it came about that a new-born Silas Hodder arrived to serve at the backstage entrance of the famous old theatre. The transformation in him was satisfyingly complete. He donned a fresh brown frockcoat with yellow checkered trousers and a fawn vest. His battered, black tophat was replaced by one of dark glossy brown. A golden watch-chain graced the fawn vest and he stood at his post with a dignified air. His short gray hair gave his face a less macabre appearance and he soon became a favorite of all the company.
Fanny would have considered this new life on which she’d embarked the happiest time of her existence, had it not been for some memories which haunted her. She had never truly been able to forget her first love Viscount George Palmer. And she felt pain whenever she thought of David Cornish. She knew her running away had caused him unhappiness and she had cared for him greatly and believed in his talent.
But her promise to her father to strive for success on the London stage had been more important to her than anything else. She had deserted David because he’d wanted to tie her to acting in the small towns and cities of the provinces. Her father had warned her that this could easily be a dead end for her, and had urged that she try London. He would have shared the adventure with her had it not been for his untimely death.
As for Viscount George, the old Marquis had soon made her realize that this perfect love was one which could never be. So she had come to think of this early romance in that way, even though she knew she would never forget the handsome young man. For his sake, and her own, it was a dream to be forgotten.
There was no reason why this should be difficult since she had been caught up in the theatrical excitement of the London Stage. Discounting Lucy Vestris and her husband, Charles Matthews, there were no more gifted actor-managers on the London boards than Sir Alan Tredale. She was sure she might have fallen in love with the aristocratic, older actor if he had not been a happily married man with a family of three girls not much younger than herself.
As it was, he became a sort of foster-father to her in addition to being her co-star. There was no question that she would continue to be his leading lady and that her popularity would grow with each new play in which they appeared. Meanwhile she was making many important friends in the world of London’s upper classes. The fantastic events of her first descent on the city seemed to belong to a dark world which no longer existed. Though one of her new friends, Charles Dickens, told her in his solemn way, “Do not be deceived by your good fortune, Fanny! Behind the facade of this world of fashion we know there exists a sewer of dangerous slums!”
“I had some experience of them when I first came to the city,” she assured him. “But I have hoped that things are better now.”
The famous novelist’s handsome face was bitter. “Not so!” he said. “The other evening I toured some of these slums with Inspector Field of Scotland Yard. I confess I was sickened. We opened the door of a dilapidated house and were stricken back by the pestilent odor issuing from it! Field held held up a lantern to show ten, twenty, thirty—it was hard to tell—men, women, children, for the most part naked, heaped upon the floor like maggots in a cheese! Poor souls evicted from their homes so that we might build New Oxford Street and other fine streets without regard to where these unfortunates whom we clear out are to find shelter!”
“Must it always be like this?” she lamented.
“That is a question I often ask myself,” Dickens said with a sigh. “I have used my pen to fight such conditions but I begin to fear it has been too feeble a weapon!”
“That is untrue! Your writings are not only popular but they have shown up many social evils.”
“To what avail?” the famed novelist asked. “I begin to wonder about my purpose in life. What has it all meant and how much is it worth? My domestic life is no longer happy. I find escape only in my friends in the theatre like Sir Alan, Forester and Macready!”
Fanny was all sympathy for her friend. “You must not feel so! You are a success and doing much good!”
This discussion ended when Sir Alan and some friends came to join them. They went on to supper at a favorite restaurant in the Strand. Fanny sat a distance away from the novelist at the long table heaped with fine food and wines, but she watched him during the lively conversation and revelry and saw him to be more restrained and sober than the others.
• • •
Months went by and it seemed that this new life on which Fanny had embarked would continue forever. Sir Alan scheduled new plays and they all were successful. Offstage, Fanny led a quiet life in her small flat near the theatre. And it was there one day in February of the following year that she had an unexpected visitor, none other than the elderly character woman with whom she’d worked in the provinces, Hilda Asquith!
The aristocratic old actress wore a shawl over her thin coat and her lined face under a black bonnet looked more gaunt than when Fanny had last seen her. The two embraced on this gray, winter afternoon and then sat together over tea and cakes provided by Fanny’s housekeeper.
“But what are you doing in London?” Fanny asked the old actress.
As if in answer Hilda Asquith coughed, a deep, hacking cough. “I have been ill,” she confessed, after the seizure passed. “I’m not longer well enough to travel. David Cornish gave me two months salary and urged me to rest until I regained my health.”
Fanny smiled her approval. “David always had a kind heart.”
“That he does,” the old actress agreed. “But I grew weary of my small room in Manchester. And feeling better, I decided I would come to London.”
Fanny took the old woman’s thin hand in hers and said, “I’m so glad you’re here. You must live with me until you’re completely well!”
Looking embarrassed, the old actress protested, “I could not dream of that! Imposing myself on you!”
“I’d like to have you here! I’m lonely!”
“With all your new friends and your success? We have heard about your London triumphs!” Hilda Asquith said.
Fanny smiled ruefully. “To be truthful, my success hasn’t made me all that happy! Though I do admit I have been more fortunate than I deserved.”
Hilda eyed her fondly. With emotion, she said, “That is not so! You have worked hard for your success! And you inherited much of your dear father’s talent!”
“Thank you,” Fanny said. “My father will always be a guiding force in my life.”
“He dearly loved you!”
“I know,” she said, her eyes blurring with unshed tears. “He wanted me to become a star of the London stage, and I have.”
Hilda agreed, “He would be so pleased.”
Fanny smiled at the old actress. “As soon as you are well again I shall have Sir Alan find a role for you in the new play. Then you can work without having to travel.”
“You think me talented enough for the company?”
“I say you have much more talent than many playing with us now,” Fanny assured her. “And what of the others? Has David made a success of his touring group?”
“He has done remarkably well,” the old actress said. “He is now a respected name in the provinces. He has his choice of the best theatres in all the towns.”
“I’m so happy for him!” Fanny said fervently.
Hilda gave her a knowing glance. “He took your leaving us hard.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“He was in a black mood for weeks after,” the character actress confided. “We all tried to help him. I talked to him and tried to make him understand you’d left to carry out your father’s wishes. In the end I think he came to terms with your decision.”
Fanny bit her lip. “I hope so,” she said in a small voice. Her eyes met the bleak, faded, blue eyes of the old actress. “In a way, I loved him.”
“And he had eyes for no one but you!”
“It made it doubly hard for me.”
“And for him,” the old actress sighed. “But then life is never easy, is it? He has achieved success and so have you.”
Fanny said, “Has he ever mentioned my being on the London stage?”
“He spoke of it one day when I was alone with him, after I became ill and he had come to my room to visit me. He had read a review of your latest London appearance and he was proud of you. He came close to saying that you had done right in leaving us.”
“But he did not say it?”
“You know David Cornish. His pride would not allow that. Yet I feel he now realizes you followed the right path. The bitterness has passed.”
“I pray so,” Fanny said.
“It has, I’m sure!”
She asked, “What about him? Has he shown any interest in anyone else?”
Hilda Asquith smiled bleakly. “It is a question I expected you to ask. For a while it seemed that girl whom you trained to take your place, Maude Lyons, would win his affections. I can promise you she tried hard enough.”
“And?”
“It didn’t work,” the old actress said. “Maude did well enough as leading lady but he showed no interest in her off the stage. In fact he treated her so coldly she left at the first opportunity and David had to find a new leading woman.”
Fanny felt both pleasure and sadness in the news. It was warming to know that David’s love for her had been so true, but troubling to think she might have turned him into a bitter bachelor.
She said, “I wish he would find someone to love and who would love him. He needs someone.”
“What about yourself?”
Fanny blushed. “I have been too busy for romance. I have many male friends to escort me about, but I have made no romantic friendships.”
Hilda nodded. “I think it has been much the same with David. He has worked hard to become a provincial star. And if I’m not wrong, one day he’ll make his mark here in London.”
“I hope he does,” Fanny said sincerely. “I’m sure he could be a success here if he tried hard enough. My complaint was that he could not see beyond the provinces.”
“He does now,” Hilda assured her. “I think you have shown him the way.”
Fanny hoped this was true. She could think of no happier development than David Cornish coming to London and gaining a reputation in the great city. They could be friends again if only he could find it in his heart to forgive her. But would it ever be the same? Would they resume as lovers? She was not sure. Still vivid in her mind and heart was the image of Viscount George Palmer. Though she hadn’t seen or heard of him in a long while she knew that he was still the great romance of her young life!
With the arrival of Hilda Asquith life in the London flat became less lonely. And as soon as Hilda was well enough she took her place in the company with Fanny and Sir Alan.
Silas Hodder, secure in his position of stage door manager, was much impressed with the old actress. He privately told Fanny, “Miss Asquith is not only a talented actress but a fine woman! It is my intention to invite her out to supper one night!”
And to Fanny’s amusement, he did. Hilda accepted and the two became close friends. The company appeared before enthusiastic large audiences every night and it seemed that nothing would change this pleasant world.
True, there were ominous rumblings of approaching trouble in the Crimea. There were some who went so far as to predict war with Russia! And the miserable poverty of many in the city and countryside in this era of growing industrial prosperity and the making of a new wealthy middle class did not appear to distress young Queen Victoria or her Consort, Prince Albert.
Then, without warning, a troublesome rivalry began in the London theatre world. Sir Alan Tredale was too much of a gentleman to initiate any such thing, and the other noted stars of the London stage, Charles Matthew and his wife Lucy, were close personal friends. It was from a much less exalted section of the theatre managers that the ill-will sprang.
There were a group of cheap companies presenting lurid dramas of a type gradually losing appeal. They blamed their vanishing audiences on the prosperity of Sir Alan and his company. These theatres south of the Thames presented such thrillers as Gloomy Dell and Suicide Tree. One of the gaudiest managers of these cheap drama houses was Tobias Wall, who had been pointed out to Fanny at several London restaurants.
Tobias Wall was a stout, red-faced man with graying side-whiskers and a florid manner both on stage and off. He wore frockcoats of atrociously loud plaids and his bad manners matched his poor taste. But he did have a following among the rabble and he became the chief among the trouble-makers for the People’s, Covent Garden, Drury Lane and Haymarket theatres.
He sent bully boys to annoy patrons lining up at these theatres to purchase tickets and also had these same roughnecks shove their way past the ticket takers to pass out handbills of the current Tobias Wall play in the theatres. Appeals to the police did little good; the bullies were dispersed only to return soon again. The London police could not be at the theatres constantly as they had other calls on their services.
Silas Hodder had several run-ins with the bullies trying to force their way in the stage door and though he and the other backstage crew had managed to repel the thugs, he was gloomy about the developments.
As Fanny paused to talk with him on her way out of the theatre one evening, the gaunt-faced man told her, “I don’t like it, Fanny! I don’t like it at all! Sir Alan is taking this too lightly! I say Tobias Wall and his lot are out to cause us serious trouble!”
She sighed. “I know others who agree with you. I will talk to Sir Alan and urge that we take more precautions.”
But when she approached the gentlemanly stage star he only showed pain on his handsome face and spreading his hands, asked, “What can I do? I will not stoop to the methods of these villains. I can only depend on the police and hope they will soon tire of baiting us.”
The hot summer came and some of the hooliganism ended. It appeared that Sir Alan had been correct. The worst of the conflict seemed to have passed. One August afternoon when there was no performance at the theatre Fanny accepted the invitation of a young admirer, Simon Frith, to accompany him to the races. She agreed on the condition she might bring Hilda Asquith along as chaperone. The charming, blond, young Simon was the son of a wealthy London brewer and had the reputation of being a rake, so she felt she must be especially cautious with him.
To her surprise, Simon cordially agreed that Hilda should accompany them in his carriage. And so they all three drove out to Ascot.
It was a hot afternoon and both Fanny and the elderly actress had worn light dresses of cotton lawn and carried parasols to protect them from the sun. Simon Frith in light gray frockcoat and gray tophat was perspiring fiercely as they arrived at the racetrack. The circular track was surrounded by the carriages of the gentry and the less affluent strolled about between the carriages.
“I vow it is the warmest day of the season,” Simon said, after he’d found a place for the carriage and a groom had taken his horses off to a shady spot. He stood beside the carriage wiping his forehead with a large white linen handkerchief. “My apologies for bringing you out on such a day.”
“I do not get to the races very often,” Fanny smiled. “So I’m bound to enjoy myself. And so is Miss Asquith.”
“It is all quite thrilling!” Hilda Asquith agreed.
Simon replaced his hat on his head and glanced about bleakly. “I’m afraid it is all too familiar to me.” The races had not yet begun and vendors were going about hawking cold drinks and food items. Itinerant acrobats and other entertainers were giving the crowd gathered there a sample of their talents. Later one of their number would go from carriage to carriage with a tin cup for donations. Jockeys were also appearing on finely-groomed horses and it presented a colorful spectacle.
Simon Frith told them, “If you will excuse me, I have a favorite bookmaker whom I must find before the horses run!” And with a bow he left them and vanished in the motley crowd.
Old Hilda Asquith smiled. “It would appear young Mr. Frith is more interested in betting than in female companionship. I fear my being here is hardly necessary.”
“You are wrong in that,” Fanny told her. “I need company while Simon attends to the races and there is always afterwards to consider. I have heard some distressing stories about our charming host.”
“At any rate I’m enjoying it,” the elderly actress said. “I have never attended such a grand affair before.”
Fanny was about to make a reply to this when a young man in the red and gold jacket and blue breeches of an army officer came up to their carriage. Removing his black hat with its gray plume he addressed himself to her.
“Well, Fanny, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me so soon!” he said.
She stared at the pleasant-faced, fair-haired young man for a moment before she recognized him. Then she exclaimed, “You’ve grown a mustache, Captain Charles!”
“I have but I can’t imagine it has made so much difference in my looks,” he teased her good-naturedly. “I’m afraid I made so little impression on you, you’ve forgotten me!”
“Not at all,” she said with a small laugh. “You remember you were always a favorite with us downstairs.”
The young army officer said, “But it’s downstairs for you no longer, Fanny. I’ve seen you on the stage playing opposite Sir Alan. You’ve become a star of the London stage.”
“You’ve seen me at the theatre?” she asked, pleasantly surprised.
“Several times,” Charles Palmer assured her. And with another of his amused looks, he added, “And I’m not the only one. Another member of my family whom you must remember a lot better than you do me, has also watched you on the stage.”
Fanny felt her cheeks burn. “Really?”
“I have much to tell you,” Captain Charles Palmer said.
“The races are about to begin,” she told him. “Miss Asquith and I are awaiting the return of Simon Frith.”
“Simon?” Charles raised his eyebrows. “You are mixing in fast London society, my girl. Do you think Simon would excuse you if you joined me for a short chat and left Miss Asquith here to entertain him?”
She smiled in confusion. “I’m not sure he’d approve.”
Hilda Asquith had taken in the situation and at once spoke up, saying, “Go on with your friend, Fanny. I will explain to Mr. Frith when he comes back. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“There you are!” Charles said warmly. “Miss Asquith is on our side!”
She turned to Hilda and said, “Tell Simon I won’t be long.” Then she allowed Charles to help her down from the carriage and lead her a distance from the track.
As they walked, a cry rose up from the race track, and people began hurrying by them in the opposite direction, anxious not to miss the first race. Charles glanced at her, “You don’t mind missing the race, I trust.”
“No,” she said. “I’d rather talk.”
“And so would I,” he agreed. “So many things to say. There is a big oak tree back here which will offer some shade.”
They reached the huge tree which was within sight of the race track. The area surrounding it was deserted and so they were able to sit together on the grass and talk without interruption.
Charles studied her with admiring eyes. “I must say you’ve grown a lot move lovely! And you were a beauty at the start!”
“No flattery, please,” she said.
“It’s not flattery,” the young officer protested. “You know I’ve always been in love with you!”
“Charles!” she reproved him and touched his hand gently with hers to show that she was indeed very fond of him.
His pleasant face shadowed. “I know. It has always been George hasn’t it?”
Fanny blushed. “What about George?”
“You should have married him. He was eager to marry you, he told me so himself.”
She shook her head. “Your father made me see how disastrous that would have been for both of us. And he was right.”
“You are a star of the stage who mixes with high society. You could marry him now,” Charles said. “Unhappily for both of you, it is too late.”
Fanny’s head swam and she said faintly, “Too late?”
He nodded. “He married Virginia. You knew father was determined to make the match. He succeeded. George and Virginia have a son and a daughter.”
She fought to recover herself from the shock of this news, telling herself it should not be important to her. She had not seen George for years. They lived in different worlds.
Looking away she said in a taut voice, “I hope Virginia has made him a good wife. I trust they are happy.”
“They are not.”
She turned to stare at Charles’ sober face. “Why do you say that?”
“Virginia was never right for George,” he said. “We all knew that. Even before the marriage there was the rumor of her drinking.”
“Has it gone on?”
“Worse than before. She disgraced George on several important occasions. Now he has stopped making social engagements altogether and devotes himself to his political career.”
“And Virginia?”
“Continues to drink and there is talk of her having affairs with other men behind George’s back.” He hesitated. “I might say one of those named is your escort of today, Simon Frith!”
“No!” she cried in dismay.
Charles shrugged. “You need not be upset by it. Virginia is to blame for her own conduct. She doesn’t even properly run the house for George or look after the children. Our cousin, Dora, has had to move in with them and take charge of the youngsters.”
This mention of Dora Carson made Fanny think fondly of the warm-hearted, poor relation of the Palmers. She said, “Dora was so kind to me. I hoped that George might marry her.”
“She would have made him a better wife than Virginia. But, again, father opposed George showing any interest in Dora. And to be truthful, George did not care for her enough to marry her. You were his single great love.”
“A downstairs maid!”
“That did not matter,” Charles said, looking at her directly. “I know you gave yourself to him. I do not think it wrong. What was wrong was your leaving the way you did.”
“What else could I do?”
“You might have discussed it with George,” his brother said. “He might have agreed to wait. To have tried to help you get a start on the stage.”
“I was too confused and frightened to wait,” she said. “The Reverend Kenneth had already labeled me as a harlot. To that, your father added that I was also a fool!”
“Father is a stubborn old man,” Charles said. “And as for brother Kenneth, he has always been a little mad. He has made a fetish of his religion. Last year he became so mentally ill he had to give up his post as assistant to the Bishop. Now he has recovered and has a small church of his own.”
She stared down at the grass. “It’s all past history. I only wish thing’s were better for George.”
“And I wish that they were better for you,” Charles said with urgency. “Simon Frith is no sort of man for you to be going about with.”
“He is only a casual acquaintance,” she countered.
“He has a bad reputation.”
“I know,” she said. “That is why I was careful to have Miss Asquith chaperone us.”
“You showed wisdom in that,” he agreed. “George thinks you have great talent.”
She smiled wistfully. “He gave me my first big audience the night he forced me to entertain Prince Aran!”
Charles chuckled. “Of course! That studgy Indian chap! And the bounder fell in love with you and wanted to take you back to India with him as his concubine!”
Fanny corrected, “As an instructress for his children.”
“No one believed that for a minute,” Charles said. “Not even father. George soon put an end to it!”
“Perhaps I should have gone,” she sighed.
“It would have been an experience,” Charles agreed. “I understand the Prince’s father died shortly after he returned to India and so he is the Maharajah now.”
“Has he returned to England since?”
“No,” Charles said. “And according to my father he has not answered any correspondence sent to him by the family firm. One gathers he does not forgive easily. He blamed the family for not turning you over to him.”
She pictured her last encounter with the Prince and recalled the lean, grim face of the brown-skinned man. She said, “I’m sure he is a vindictive type.”
“I quite agree,” Charles said. “But enough of him. What about you?”
She told him of her adventures in provincial theatre and of meeting her father. She was careful not to mention David Cornish in describing these adventures and her coming to London and finding fame. She ended with, “I find a dedication to my stage career enough.”
“That can never be enough for a woman like you,” Charles argued. “You are sure there is no one else?”
“No one,” she said soberly.
“No use waiting for George,” he warned her. “Virginia comes from a long lived family of hard-drinkers, and she needs her marriage to George to cover up her drinking and her affairs.”
“What does the Reverend Kenneth think about her?” Fanny asked.
Charles sighed. “He visits her every so often and tells her she is headed straight for Hell. She, in turn, tells him to take the same destination. We’re truly a comfortable family,” he said acidly.
“It will work out,” she said. “There is Dora to solace George, and the children.”
“I’m not worried about him,” Charles said. “I’m concerned about you.”
“You needn’t be.”
“Marry me,” Charles pleaded, moving closer to her.
“Charles, I’m terribly fond of you,” she said, “but I can’t marry you.”
“Because of your feelings for my brother.”
She closed her eyes and sighed. “Because I’m so completely confused.” She stood up. “It’s time I returned to Simon’s carriage.”
Also on his feet, Charles restrained her, saying, “I think fate made us meet here today.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Otherwise I might never have seen you again.”
“What do you mean?”
“My regiment is sailing for the Crimea in a day or two. Trouble is expected there.”
She frowned. “I’ve heard rumors. I didn’t know that English troops were being sent.”
The young officer said, “Nothing official yet! We are being sent ahead to the area as a precautionary move, as are some of our largest naval units.”
She gave a tiny shudder. “Another war! I had hoped they might be at an end.”
“Never believe that,” Charles said. “So even though we have met there is no time for us.”
Fanny looked up at the crestfallen Charles. “I shall pray for your safe return!”
He smiled. “And I shall try jolly hard to keep out of danger since I want to see you again.”
“Come back soon and safe,” she said in a soft voice.
“Dear Fanny!” Charles said with emotion and he took her in his arms and kissed her long and lovingly. When he at last let her go, he said, “If I get back will you think about my offer?”
She protested, “Don’t ask me for promises, Charles! I don’t want to make any I can’t keep.”
“Then don’t,” the young officer said. “And when I return I have the feeling you’ll be more sure of what you want. And I’m going to try and make sure you want marriage with me!”
Fanny smiled ruefully. “You’re very persistent!”
“Always!” he said, taking her by the arm and escorting her back in the direction of the race track.
When they reached the carriage Simon Frith was seated there with Miss Asquith, watching the race through binoculars. When Frith saw them coming towards the carriage he gave the binoculars to Hilda Asquith and came down to greet them.
Simon eyed the pair coldly. He said, “I did not know you and Charles were friends.”
She said quickly, “We’re old friends.”
“That is obvious,” Simon said in the same icy vein. “Since you chose to miss most of the racing to be with him.”
Charles spoke up, “We had a lot of catching up to do. We’ve not seen each other in years. I took more than my share of Fanny’s time as I’m being shipped out East in a day or two.”
This seemed to cheer Simon up. He said, “Are you? What luck! I wonder you don’t go on half-pay and let someone else take your place. It’s a fairly common practice, I’m told.”
Charles looked resentful. “Not for those who take the service seriously, though I hasten to agree there are only a few of us who do. I prefer to serve the Queen where needed and win my promotion rather than buy it.”
“Admirable!” Simon said with sarcasm. “Then we shall just have to carry on without you.”
“Not for long,” Charles said. “I have an idea the trouble out there will be settled shortly.”
“No need to rush,” Simon said with a sour smile. “I can promise to look after Fanny in your absence.”
Charles took this with good humor. “Since she is the darling of London I have no doubt there will be many to watch out for her.” He turned to the carriage. “Good day, Miss Asquith.” Then to Fanny, he said, “Remember all I have said.” He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. Then he nodded to Simon and turned and went on his way.
Simon watched after him. “I say, he has a nerve!”
Fanny gave the young man a reproving glance. “If you wish me to continue being your friend you must not speak any evil of Charles.”
Simon expressed amazement. “You are so serious about him?”
“He is like a brother to me.”
“A brother,” Simon said mockingly. “That I can endure. And I assure you I shall leave his name unscathed!”
Fanny said, “Good! If you’ll help me up into the carriage I’d like to enjoy the rest of the races.”
“By all means,” Simon said, helping her. “There is just one important race to be run now.”
Hilda Asquith removed the binoculars from her ancient eyes to joyfully inform Fanny, “Would you believe it? Because of Mr. Frith and his very obliging bookmaker I’m the winner of a full five pounds!”
“Wonderful!” Fanny said, amused.
At her side Simon said, “You see what you’ve missed. Not to mention the pleasure of my company as well.”
“I do regret that,” Fanny said.
Simon eyed her warily. “Thank you, though I doubt that you mean it. One tends to not take actresses too seriously.”
“Then you’re making a mistake,” Fanny frostily assured the young roué.
“So you and Charles Palmer are friends,” Simon mused. “Do you know his brother, George?”
“The Viscount?” She hoped she was not blushing again.
Simon said mockingly, “Knowing the family as you do I would suppose you would be familiar enough with him to call him George.”
Fanny could not help giving him an impish glance and saying, “Just as I understand you are ‘intimate’ enough with the family to call his wife, Virginia.”
This time it was Simon’s face which reddened shockingly. He rushed to grab the binoculars from Miss Asquith and hold them to his eyes as he said, “I believe the horses are lining up for the final race now!”