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.”
“George’s character will stand in his favor.” Fanny paused. “Unless his affair with me is dragged into it.”
“A man may have a mistress and still be incapable of murder,” Hilda said.
“That is surely so,” Fanny said, “but any black mark against George at this time will hurt him.”
The old actress suggested, “Could it have been someone else in the house who poisoned her?”
She frowned. “I suppose so. Though I can’t imagine who, and I’m inclined to go along with the suicide theory.”
“An abused servant?” Hilda said.
“I know little about the household,” Fanny admitted. “Or how many servants were employed. I would expect quite a few.”
“Or another member of the family; this Dora Carson, who brought you the bad news. Could she not be the culprit?”
Fanny shook her head. “Never! Dora is an even more unlikely suspect than poor George. I think we must consider it a suicide.”
“You must not try to see the Marquis again,” Hilda warned her. “It will be a temptation but you must fight it.”
“I will,” she promised. “And I pray that George will also behave with reason. He must not be seen coming here.”
“There should be no need of that so long as his cousin acts as his messenger,” the old actress said.
Fanny put aside her empty teacup and lay back against the pillows. She worried, “There’s one person involved who frightens me. The Reverend Kenneth! If he should decide to talk there is no telling what harm he may do!”
She was to live with these worries for some time. The following morning the newspapers carried the story of the mysterious death of the wife of a member of the House of Lords in headlines. It became the latest scandal on the lips of Londoners of every class. At the theatre the next night there was much discussion of the scandalous affair backstage. Fanny tried to avoid being dragged into the talk but she could not help overhearing some of it. And she was appalled at the number who nodded their heads wisely and decided George had killed his wife.
They were doing a new play, “The Lost Island,” about a group of people shipwrecked on an island in the Pacific. The play was filled with action, with Sir Alan playing the courageous captain and Fanny a noble lady among the passengers stranded on the island. Much special scenery was used, including scenes of the shipwreck and the island. Backstage was crowded with the special effects and the large crew needed to provide them.
Fanny was standing in the shadowed wings backstage ready to make her entrance when she heard a commotion from the rear of the backstage area and then the dread shout of, “Fire!”
The cry rang out above the words of the actors onstage and they halted in consternation. At the same instant there was the strong smell of smoke. Fanny hurried to the rear of the stage setting and saw clouds of smoke and flames rising from a distant corner where extra scenery was stored. Stagehands were desperately trying to battle the fire, seemingly without success.
She ran to the wings again in time to see Sir Alan Tredale, who was onstage, advance to the gas footlights and calmly announce to the large audience, “We have a small fire backstage, ladies and gentlemen. I ask that you retire slowly and in good order from the theatre until the danger is over, at which time you may re-enter and we shall resume the performance.”
The audience reacted speedily and in a panic rather than in good order. The frightened voices of men and women rose in a clamor as they scrambled, fought, and shoved their way to the nearest exits. It was a scene to strike terror in the soundest heart.
Above the din Sir Alan called out vainly for order as smoke swirled around him on the stage. The other actors made coughing exits while he knelt down and begged the orchestra to remain in place and strike up some lively tune to calm the audience. Fanny saw the stricken face of the orchestra leader as he hesitated over the request, and then saw him give way to his fear completely, throw down his baton, and join the maddened patrons in racing for the outside and safety. Needless to say the other musicians followed him, the violinists and horn-players clutching their instruments under their arms.
Sir Alan came stumbling out to where she was standing and glimpsing her, cried, “Come along, my girl! If we remain here we’ll be burned to death or suffocated!”
She allowed him to guide her to the stage door and out into the wide alley where other members of the cast stood huddled together in despair. At the same time the black autumn night was lit up with the flames shooting up through the roof of the backstage area of the theatre.
“The People’s is doomed,” Sir Alan said grimly. And he turned to those who had escaped with them and asked, “Are all the company and crew out?”
Silas Hodder staggered over to them, his head cut and bleeding. He said, “All out and accounted for, sir!”
“I fear those in the audience will not fare so well,” Sir Alan said grimly. “They are in full panic and trampling on each other!”
Silas Hodder said, “It was arson, sir. A masked man came running in and struck me down. I was stunned for a moment! By the time I came round he had set the fire and made his escape!”
“No doubt one of Tobias Wall’s thugs,” the actor said angrily. “I did not think the opposition would sink to such a despicable thing as this!”
Fanny heard the sounds of fire engines clanging and tugged at the distinguished actor’s arm. “It will not be practical or safe for us to remain here! The fire fighters are arriving and they will need to work from here. There is also the danger of the building collapsing!”
“Quite so!” Sir Alan said and he called out to the grim, frightened actors and crewmen to move out of the alley and away from the danger. Then he led the way with Fanny at his side. The melancholy group straggled along, knowing their jobs and many of their material possessions were being destroyed by the flames.
When they reached the street and mingled with the maddened patrons, it became evident this was no minor calamity. People were still jammed in the exits and the screams of those trapped inside could be heard. Many had already been trampled to death underfoot or suffocated in the panic-stricken flight from the burning theatre.
The fire engines with their teams of strong horses pulled up. The bright red and brass trucks and the firemen in their red uniforms and brass helmets added to the color and clamor of the scene.
Fanny watched as they went about battling the fire with an orderly precision born of experience. These stalwart fellows in their shining helmets and red jackets had the trucks drawn close around the burning building, the pumpers working and the hoses streaming water to stem the flames within minutes of their arrival.
They also helped to clear the jammed exits and carry out those who had collapsed or had died. Despite their valiant efforts the flames continued to spread until the entire huge wooden structure was ablaze. Doctors had been summoned and surgeries set up in near-by pubs and shops. Dazed survivors of the blaze stood staring blankly at the flaming building or went about frantically crying out the names of relatives or companions who had been in their company and were now lost.
A fireman in high rubber boots, his clothing black with soot and smoke, his face as dark as that of any Ethiopian went over to shere the company had gathered and warned them to move further up the street.
“The walls will burst! Get away while you’ve time!” he cried, moving down the line of spectators with his warning.
They took heed of his words and saw that the fire trucks and engines were being moved. The horses pawed the cobblestones and neighed in terror as they waited to be led from the danger area. Ladders were retrieved and some left behind as frantic warnings circulated among the firefighters. These last brave ones to move from near the doomed structure barely escaped before the front wall bulged out with a puff of smoke and flame and rained rubble on the street.
Sir Alan’s noble face was highlighted by the reflection of the fire as he sadly watched his theatre collapse in a flaming ruin. His arm around Fanny and in a tight-lipped voice, he said, “It is the finish for me! I shall retire! After what has happened here tonight I never wish to step on a stage again!”
“You will feel differently later,” she comforted him. “You will find another theatre, begin once more.”
“Too late,” Sir Alan said sadly. “I have been thinking about retirement to a quiet cottage somewhere in the country. Now I know the time has come.”
She did not attempt to argue with him. After a while the crowd began to disperse. Police had arrived to take charge. Already thieves and pickpockets had joined the crowd to make a miserable profit on the tragedy.
Silas Hodder found a carriage to take Fanny and Hilda to their apartment. The old woman was in a state of shock and near collapse. Silas Hodder decided he should come along with them to help Hilda up the stairs.
By the time they made the short journey the old actress had recovered herself sufficiently to require hardly any help, but they both invited Silas up for a brandy. The stage door man did not refuse.
He sat in a high-backed chair, gaunt and shattered, as Fanny tended to his cut head and tied a bandage neatly around it. She asked him, “This arsonist. Did you get a good look at him?”
Silas shook his head. “He was masked, just as I told Sir Alan! But I do know one thing. He wasn’t a big man, he was of no more than medium size!”
“So you do recall something,” she encouraged him. “If you keep trying you may remember more details.”
“What he was wearing?” Hilda Asquith suggested.
The gaunt-faced man frowned. “He struck me with a club of some sort. I only had a quick flash of him! But I think he was wearing dark clothing!”
“Likely,” Fanny mused. “He would be least noticed if he wore dark things. If Tobias Wall was behind what happened tonight he has more than one death on his conscience!”
“I’ll warrant that,” Silas Hodder agreed. “The last count the firemen and police made were over thirty dead and three times that many injured.”
Hilda Asquith said, “I’m only thankful all the company escaped. But now they have no work.”
Fanny reminded her, “It does not matter for us. You and I have an invitation to join the new company David Cornish is forming.”
The old woman brightened. “I was thinking it might be the workhouse for me! But if David wants me I’m willing to join him as long as my old body allows it.”
“I, too, am cast into the depths again,” Silas Hodder said lugubriously. “No doubt I shall soon be back to begging and sleeping in cemetery crypts once more.”
Fanny put an arm around him fondly. “I think not! When I have told David Cornish what a fine stage door man you are I’m sure he’ll be begging you to work for him!”
Fanny slept little that night. The next morning she and Hilda sat long over breakfast talking about the fire and their future. For a short while she forgot all about George and his plight. Then it came back to her. It seemed that misfortunes arrived in parcels.
Their first visitor of the day came at noon. It was David Cornish and he brought copies of all the London morning newspapers with him. The young actor was warmly sympathetic.
He hugged Fanny and then old Hilda, saying, “You might have died in that fire last night!”
“I’d be no great loss,” old Hilda smiled mirthlessly. “A noisy old bag of bones. But it would have been different if Fanny had gone, with all her future before her!”
Rather morosely, Fanny said, “I wonder if my future will be worth having?”
“Of course it will!” David said. “Dreadful as last night was you must not let it allow you to lose your zest for life. We theatre people, above all others, need that.”
She said, “Sometimes it is hard to cling to. Sir Alan has decided to retire. He told me last night he will not attempt to start over.”
“Then the theatre has lost a fine and gallant old actor,” David said with sincerity. “He will be missed. But it does solve one problem. You no longer need hesitate in joining me.”
Fanny smiled ruefully. “That is true. Hilda and I will be glad to accept your offer. And there is the stage door man whom I can recommend. He has been a good friend to me. I’d appreciate your finding a place for him.”
“I shall have need of a stage door man,” David said. “If he is a friend of yours, send him along. In fact, I’d like the names and addresses of all the company. Sir Alan surrounded himself with good actors. I’d consider it a privilege to hire as many of them as I can use.”
Hilda Asquith said, “I’m sure Silas Hodder can supply you with a list. If not, you can go directly to Sir Alan for it. I’m certain he’d be glad to help.”
Fanny was studying the headlines. She said, “Thirty-seven killed and nearly a hundred injured! What a terrible thing!”
David nodded. “According to the Times it is suspected that a thug hired by a rival theatre manager started the fire. Do you think that possible? Can their be such villainy and rivalry among theatre managements in this city?”
“Yes,” she said. “You must keep that in mind when you start your company. Some of the cheap theatres south of the Thames are solid against the new and better companies who are taking away their business. Yet I did not think even they would do such a dastardly deed as was committed last night.”
David said, “I shall maintain extra guards at my theatre. A tragedy like this must not be allowed to happen again. I would expect it to go hard with the criminal if he is found.”
“The chances are he won’t be,” Fanny said with a sigh. “There are so many evil men in London willing to take on any criminal task for the right payment.”
David gave her a knowing look. “I’m sure of that, just as I’m sure that the evil in London is not confined to the lower classes. Have you read of the mysterious death of Marquis George Palmer’s wife?”
Fanny was taken by surprise at his sudden reference to this matter. She tried to maintain a calm facade, calling on all her skill as an actress. She said, “I read about the case but I gave it scant attention.”
David, who happily seemed to be ignorant of her having had any relationship with the Palmer family, or who had forgotten if she’d mentioned it, said, “I’ve read the accounts carefully and I think it’s plain this fellow has poisoned his wife. I’d be willing to bet he’ll be arrested for the crime.”
“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!