Beloved Scoundrel (13 page)

“I shall discuss it with John Wilkes Booth as well,” she promised.

“Ah, yes, Mr. Booth,” the Major said. “The ladies of Washington society dote on him. He seldom misses a party. But I must say he is an excellent actor as well.”

“He is,” she agreed.

The Major was ready to continue talking but a nurse arrived with an air of urgency and called him away. Fanny had enjoyed the meeting and was sincere in her desire to do something for the unfortunate wounded.

A serious-faced young man with a bandaged foot and using crutches to get along, suddenly halted before her and exclaimed, “Fanny Cornish! I saw you in
The Rivals!”

“Did you enjoy it?” she asked.

“It was first rate,” the wounded, young man said. “You and a blond man were playing the leads.”

“Yes. Peter Cortez,” she said.

“I saw him later in New York,” the young man said. “He enlisted in the same artillery company as myself. But I didn’t get a chance to talk to him. I was transferred to the front.”

She stared at the young man in amazement. “This is the first news I’ve had of Peter Cortez since he left the company. Are you sure it was he who enlisted?”

“Positive,” the young man said. “I asked the officer in charge and he told me it was the famous actor. Gave a lot of boost to our morale.”

“Have you any idea where he may be stationed?”

“Could be anywhere,” the young man said. “They had us constantly on the move. And he would be sent some place for training. I reckon he’d be an officer.”

“Perhaps,” she said, still stunned by the news. “So he may not have seen any action yet.”

“Not likely,” the lad said ruefully. “I’d finished my lot of training so I was ripe for the Confederates.”

She looked down at his foot. “Is it a bad injury?”

“No dancing for a while,” he said with a grim smile. “But the doctor tells me it will be all right. I won’t be going back though. And that doesn’t worry me a bit. I wanted to fight for the Union and I have. But now I reckon I’m lucky to be out of it and still alive.”

“I think you’re a brave young man,” she said.

“Thank you, ma’am,” the lad said. “I expect that Peter Cortez will make a name for himself as well. He sure was good on the stage.” And with that the young man limped on his way.

She was shocked by the news about Peter. He had not shown any interest in the war. But once he’d had the bitter quarrel with her he’d likely been in a dangerous mood. Rather than look for a theatre job which might be denied him he’d enlisted in the army.

Her reverie was interrupted by the arrival of Nancy. The petite actress said, “Tom Miller is anxious to meet you. I’ve told him all about you and Mr. Booth!”

“All right,” she said.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting so long,” the golden haired girl apologized.

Fanny smiled at her as they walked down a long ball passing many ambulatory wounded along the way. She said, “It didn’t matter I met several people.”

“Really?”

“Yes. One of them a Major Furlong who is in charge of this hospital.”

“I’ve seen him,” Nancy agreed. “Fine looking man with a beard.”

“That is him,” Fanny said. “And then I met a lad who came from the New York area and he gave me the most amazing news.”

“What?”

“You’ll find it hard to believe. Peter Cortez enlisted in his company. But the lad was sent on to the front while Peter was held back for training.”

“Peter! He’s the last one I’d expect to find in the army!” Nancy exclaimed.

“I know,” she said. “Still, I’m not all that surprised. He knew few theatre jobs would be available after what he did here. Few managers would hire him after Barnum put him on his blacklist. So he may have decided to look for adventure in the army.”

“If he’s not lucky he may find more than that, death or mutilation,” Nancy said sadly. “I don’t think I’d have the nerve to offer if I were a man.”

“That’s why Mr. Lincoln is going ahead with his conscription act,” Fanny pointed out. “As the grim truth about war comes back in the wounded and dead, it is hard to keep up enthusiasm. Volunteers vanish!”

They halted before a door and Nancy said, “Tom is in here. There are only four or five other patients with him. Most of them are bedfast and very badly wounded. So we must speak quietly.”

“I’ll remember,” she promised.

Fanny followed the small girl inside and over to a chair by a partly-opened window in which a dark-haired young man with a sturdy body and good even features sat. His eyes were heavily bandaged but he sensed their approach and smiled.

He said, “Fanny Cornish?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m glad to meet you, Tom Miller.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said. “I wish I could see you. You have a lovely voice.”

“I hear you were on the stage,” she said.

The boy sighed. “Yes. I started when I was ten. Worked in companies with my father. My mum died young. I played boy parts until I was old enough to do regular bits. And before I went in the army I was playing second leads.”

“You also have a nice voice,” Fanny told him. “I’m sure you were very good.”

“Dependable,” Nancy put it. “All the managers liked him.”

“I doubt if any of them would offer me a job now,” the young man said with a hint of bitterness. Then in a different tone, he added, “Not that I should complain. There’s worse off than me in this room.”

“I’m sure there are,” Fanny said, glancing at the pallid motionless figures in the other four hospital beds. “How did you get your wound?”

The young man said, “I was on the front line. The rain stopped before dawn, and then it grew bright and the sun was warm. Our guns started and we could see the Confederate infantry columns moving towards us. Couriers came spurring up to battery commanders and we all were ordered to take our places.”

“So it was in actual battle it happened,” she said.

“Yes. A big crash of artillery came and then a crackle of muskets. Suddenly we were very close to the Rebs, face to face, almost. Thousands of muskets sent out long sheets of flames along the lines! Great clouds of smoke rose up and the noise of the cannon deafened us! The man on my right dropped and I thought an order had been given to lie down. I threw myself on the ground. A moment later an officer came and prodded me with his sword told me to get up and resume the attack. I did and there was a flame brighter than all the others right in front of my eyes. I felt a stinging pain and I fell backward. When I came to I was in the hospital and my eyesight was gone.”

Fanny was shocked by the account. “A dreadful business! Let us hope it will soon end!”

“It won’t until every last Reb is on his back with a bullet or a bayonet in him,” the young man said angrily.

“You must not talk so, Tom,” the sympathetic Nancy said taking the young man’s hand in hers.

“I cannot help it,” he said. “I feel my life is ruined. What is there for me now?”

Fanny said, “You are in good health except for your eyes. There must be a way for you to live a useful life.”

“As an actor?” he asked, bitterly.

“Perhaps not as an actor,” she said, slowly getting to an idea which had been forming in her mind. “But I recall that many of the best comedies we did in England, including one called
Wild Oats
were written by an Irish playwright who had been an actor and lost his sight. Have you ever thought of writing plays?”

“No,” he said.

Nancy’s face brightened. “That is truly a good idea!” she exclaimed. “I never thought about it.”

“It came to me because of the playwright I mentioned,” she said. “It seems to me your experience on the stage and your knowledge of what audiences like could be of the
utmost
help to you.”

Tom was listening now with more interest. He said, “It is true I have the words of a lot of plays in my mind.”

Fanny told him, “Pick one out and think about it. Pull it apart in your mind. Then plan one something like it but with an idea of your own.”

“Do you think I could?” he asked.

“I’m sure of it,” she said. “You could dictate it to someone like Nancy who understands how to put dialogue and stage directions down.”

“I’d be happy to help,” Nancy said enthusiastically.

The young man with the bandaged eye was silent for a moment. Then he said, “It might work. I will think about it.”

“Do that,” Fanny said. “And if you come up with a play suitable for me I promise I shall see it is given performance. It could be the beginning of a real career for you.”

“We’re looking far ahead,” the blind man reproved her. “But I thank you for giving me hope.”

“That is something we all need,” Fanny said, rising. “I wish you luck . And when I next come to Visit perhaps you’ll be able to tell me the story of your first play.”

“You are a kind woman, Fanny Cornish,” he said. “And I shall try very hard!”

Fanny bade him goodbye and then waited at the door until Nancy finished taking with him. The petite, golden-haired girl finally joined her and they made their way out of the busy hospital to their waiting carriage.

On the drive back to the city, Nancy told her, “You have done poor Tom Miller a great service. He actually seems to have some interest in living Now.”

“I meant all I said,” Fanny assured the other girl.

‘Tom knows that and that is why it means so much to him,” Nancy went on happily.

Fanny smiled. “I’m pleased that my short visit did some good.”

“He is clever. I think he can write a play,” the girl said.

“So do I,” Fanny agreed.

The visit to the hospital ward had been a revelation to her. It had also wearied her. As soon as she reached her room she rested for a little. She could not get the hospital out of her mmd. Then John Wilkes Booth came to get her and have her go to the theatre with him in his carriage.

She put on her shawl and prepared to leave with him. “I was resting,” she said. “Tonight is an important one.”

“It is,” the actor said, flamboyant as usual in his brown suit and black cloak. “Half of the big-wigs of Washington are coming to see us. I have heard that even that confounded Abe Lincoln is attending.”

Fanny gave him a reproving look as they started down the stairs. “You mustn’t speak ill of our president.”

“And who says so?”

“I do for one,” she said as they reached the ground floor and went out to take the carriage.

The handsome John Wilkes Booth eyed her with some surprise as he stepped up into the carriage beside her and the carriage started for the theatre. He said, “What has put you in this patriotic mood?”

She told him about her visit to the hospital, ending with, “I promised Major Furlong we would do some sort of benefit for those poor men in his care.”

“You promised too much,” Booth told her. “It would suit you better to consult with Barnum and me first!”

She smiled at him. “I don’t think that important. I’m sure I can persuade you both to join me in the effort.”

John Wilkes Booth made no reply. As they reached the theatre she saw there were a long line of people waiting to purchase the cheap balcony seats which would go on sale when the doors were opened. She had rarely seen such a line.

She tugged at his arm. “Do you see that crowd?”

Booth looked pleased. “It would seem we are the main attraction in Washington tonight.”

They got out of the carriage and as he was paying the driver she studied the street in front of the theatre again. And it was then she noticed standing away from the ticket line a familiar figure. And he was watching them. It was the hunchback.

She turned anxiously to John as he joined her and in a low voice told him, “That man! The hunchback! He’s standing there near the front of the theatre. Watching our every move!”

John Wilkes Booth gave a haughty glance in the direction of the bizarre figure and said, “He has a right to stand on the street there if he likes. What does it matter?”

“There’s more to it than that!” she protested. “He is watching us for something!”

They had gone down the alley and were now at the stage door. Booth gave her a knowing look and said, “It would be best if you forgot all about that fellow. You need to concentrate on the work ahead tonight.”

She gave him a reproving look. “You know more than you are telling me.”

“I cannot help what you think,” he said as they entered the stage door and made their way up the iron stairway to their dressing rooms.

She entered her dressing room and Booth followed her. This was not his usual practice and she felt he did it because he feared she was still badly upset. She turned to him .and said, “I feel helpless! Like a target for some evil! Do you ever think of carrying a pistol?”