Beloved Scoundrel (19 page)

“He mentioned something of the sort in my letter.”

Edwin glanced at her, “My mother claims his mood is now one of despair. Indeed, she thinks he is on the verge of madness. He still refuses to accept that the South must be defeated.”

Fanny said, “Surely events must make it clear!”

“For anyone in a normal state of mind,” Edwin said. “A besieged Petersburg cannot hold out much longer. The Confederate Army is being beaten to its knees. There is hope in the air, and most feel that the war will end before summer.”

“I pray that it does,” she said.

“And I,” Booth agreed. “I’m leaving New York in another week to Boston to appear in the Boston Theatre. My little girl, Edwina, will not be able to go with me, she is not at all well. I do not dare to take any risks after losing her mother to a chest condition.”

“I understand,” she said.

“The child will remain here in New York,” the great actor went on. “I find it depressing to return to Boston. My dear wife is buried in Dorchester, you know. I cannot bring myself to visit her grave as yet. Perhaps one day, but not yet.”

Fanny said, “I had heard rumors you are to marry again.”

“It is true,” Edwin said. “A young lady native to the city of Philadelphia. I feel she may make an ideal mother for my poor Edwina.”

“I’m sure it is a wise move,” Fanny said.

Booth sat down again and eyed her worriedly. “I suppose we are not doing enough. One of us should go to Washington and try and reason with him.”

“He would not listen.”

“True,” the great dramatic star sighed . “He never has in the past.”

Fanny suggested, “We can only hope that with the war ending we can breathe a little easier. Once peace has come he cannot carry on with his absurd plans.”

Edwin eyed her with a dubious glance. “You do not know my brother as I do,” he told her.

They said little more about the absent John through the rest of the excellent dinner. But she could tell that Edwin was badly worried about his brother. He had a carriage come for them and saw her to the entrance of her hotel.

Removing his wide-brimmed black hat, he took her hand and kissed it, as he told her, “It is my great hope that Johnny comes to his senses and returns to you.”

“I hope so as well,” she said gently.

It was not a week later that she was summoned to the office of Phineas T. Barnum to find him closeted with a tall, dignified man with long dark sideburns and a mustache. She sensed something official in his manner and she was right.

Barnum rose and introduced her, saying, “Mrs. Cornish, I’d like you to meet Colonel Seton of the Secret Service Division of the Union Army.”

She bowed and the tall, imperious man returned her bow, and said, “Most kind of you to come here, Mrs. Cornish.”

Seating herself, she forced an outward calm which she did not feel. Glancing from Barnum to the other man, she said, “I’m at your service. But I don’t imagine how I can be of any help.”

Colonel Seton glanced at Barnum and then cleared his throat. He said, “I will be blunt, Mrs. Cornish. I have considered arresting you. But I consulted Mr. Barnum first and he assures me, that despite of your close relationship with John Wilkes Booth, you are a true patriot of the Union.”

Somewhat taken back by his words, she said carefully, “That is so. I have appeared only in the Northern United States. As a visitor from England I have tried to avoid politics, but my feelings must be on the side of those who are my friends.”

Colonel Seton’s face was stony. “It was not so with Mr. Booth.”

“We did not try to influence each other politically,” she said tautly. “Ours was an artistic and personal association.”

“Have you heard from him lately?” the Colonel asked.

“No,” she said.

The Colonel’s glance was not friendly and his tone was harsh. “So you do not know that his plan to take Lincoln as a hostage has failed miserably?”

“I heard nothing of it,” she said.

“Surely he boasted to you of his scheme before he left New York,” the secret service man said bitterly.

She felt there was no further point in evasion. So she said, “Yes. He did speak of it. I considered it too fantastic to be credible.”

Barnum now spoke up, “That is so, Seton. Fanny also told me and I dismissed it as nonsense by the same token.”

Colonel Seton looked grim. He informed them, “You both could be charged for withholding vital information helpful to the enemy.”

“In fairness I do not think you could truly say that,” Barnum protested.

Colonel Seton shrugged and went on coldly, “That depends on my judgment. For the moment, I’m more interested in the other matter we discussed.”

Startled, she asked, “What other matter?”

The secret service man stared at her and then said, “I fear I must charge you with employing Confederate spies in your company and helping them in their underground activities!”

She sat forward in her chair not certain that she had heard him correctly. “What did you say?”

Barnum came to her rescue, telling her, “He claims you have spies in your company and that you knowingly are protecting them.”

“That is not true!” she said sharply. “As I have told you, I try hard to avoid any political associations.”

“Really?” The secret service man sounded smug. “You have a Charles and Marie Dale in your company?”

She said, “Yes, of course. Mr. Dale is a fine old character actor much devoted to his daughter, who plays bit roles.”

“His wife, Mrs. Cornish,” Colonel Seton snapped.

“His wife?” she gasped.

“Yes,” the secret service man continued. “His wife and formerly his mistress. They are two of the most active spies in this part of the country.”

“I can’t believe it!” she said with utter amazement.

Barnum leaned forward. “How did you come to hire these two, Fanny?”

She stared at him and then the secret service man, knowing that she had fallen into a trap. She took a deep breath and said, “John Wilkes Booth begged me to give them work before he left the company. He made no mention of their political affiliation.”

“He did not tell you they were spies, just as he had been for most of the war?” Colonel Seton demanded.

“No. He said they had fallen on hard times and needed work.”

“And that was all you know about them?” Barnum asked.

“Yes,” she said unhappily. “I had no idea they were man and wife or spies.”

“Well that is what they are,” the Colonel said.

Barnum turned to him, “You can see that Mrs. Cornish is innocent of any wrong-doing in this.”

“So she claims,” the secret service man said.

“It is true,” she insisted. “What are you going to do about them?”

“They will be arrested,” Colonel Seton said. “I propose to have my men at the theatre tonight waiting for them.”

“Charles Dale is playing important parts, he will not be easy to replace,” she protested.

“That is no interest to me,” Colonel Seton said. “You have until tonight to prepare someone to take his place. And I warn you, if word of this gets to those two, I will arrest you along with them. You will be held responsible.”

“I think I can arrange a replacement without his knowing,” she said quietly.

“There had better be no errors, Mrs. Cornish,” the grim Union man warned her. “If they escape you will be held in their confederate. And charged thus!”

Barnum protested, “That is hardly fair, Colonel. Those two who might hear they were suspect from someone else. You cannot hold Mrs. Cornish fully responsible for them.”

“I fear, I must,” the thin man replied coldly. He stood up and bowed to them both and then left the room.

Still seated, she glanced at the big P.T. Barnum saying, “I can’t believe it!”

“I’m afraid it’s all true.”

“I might have suspected,” she said ruefully. “John came to me to hire them just before he vanished.”

“Bad business!”

“I agree,” she said, rising. “Will our troubles never end!”

It almost seemed that they never would. She secretly arranged with the stage manager, Leroy Barnes, to have two other actors engaged and rehearsed. And she arrived at the theatre feeling tense.

They were playing
Merchant of Venice
and she

had arranged for the other actor to dress in a small cubicle away from the rest of the company. The understudy would be ready to quickly take on Marie’s role. As curtain time drew near Leroy Barnes came to her dressing room and informed her that Colonel Seton and three secret service associates had come backstage.

She went down for her first entrance, her temples throbbing and her eyes taking in all that was going on in the murky area backstage. Deep in the shadows Colonel Seton and his men waited, standing against the rear wall. She had barely reached the stage when the stout Charles Dale came down in his velvet jacket and breeches in the role of “Bassanio.” He stood for a moment speaking in pleasant fashion with one of the other male actors.

Then Colonel Seton and his men advanced on him. The old actor saw them approaching and at once gave away his guilt by turning and attempting to escape. The Colonel and his men were on him and holding him struggling with a moment.

Wild-eyed, he angrily demanded, “What is the meaning of this nonsense?” And seeing her, he called to her, “Are you going to allow this, Mrs. Cornish?”

She went up to stand before him and said soberly,

“I’m sorry Charles. It is the fortunes of war, I fear!”

He frowned indignantly. “What are you talking about?”

Colonel Seton faced him and in his cold voice said, “We have all the proof a court will need. We’re arresting both you and your wife for spying!”

Word must have been sent to Maria for she now came racing down the iron stairway from the dressing room wailing. She ran to her husband only to be seized by Colonel Seton and likewise charged. The secret service men took both of the actors out of the theatre before the curtain rose.

Colonel Seton remained a moment to inform her in his arrogant fashion, “At the moment we shall proceed no further against you. But should you be involved in any other matter of question I make no promises.”

She said, “I do not think you need worry, Colonel.”

“It is you who must do the worrying,” he said in his sarcastic fashion. “At least as long as John Wilkes Booth remains alive and continuing his black career!”

She was happy to have Leroy Barnes come and whisper it was time for her entrance on the stage. She was able to move away from the hateful Union Secret Service man without making any further conversation.

That night she owed a great deal to Eric Mason for keeping the performance up to standard. Knowing she was unsteady as “Portia” he played his “Shylock” to the hilt. He never had given a better performance.

Afterwards he came to her dressing room and in a mood much more friendly than usual, he told her, “I know you are upset. May I escort you to your hotel and perhaps we might enjoy a midnight supper there?”

She turned from her mirror and said, “Thank you. The idea is appealing, Eric. I shall not refuse your offer.”

So it was that an hour later she found herself sharing wine and a light supper with Eric in the same quarters which she had so happily shared with John Wilkes Booth. Eric moved about the living room of the suite restlessly, his wine glass in hand.

“This is where we first met,” he reminded her turning to her as he stood by the window.

Seated by the table, she said, “Yes. And I did not guess then how fortunate the meeting would be.”

He smiled wryly. “Your company is constantly being faced with replacements.”

“So it would seem.”

“I would not worry too much about Charles and Maria,” the British actor said. “I have been talking with some of the others and they feel with the war so nearly ended, it cannot go too hard with spies.”

She sighed. “I hope not. I had come to like the two.”

He arched an eyebrow. “In spite of the fact they deceived you?”

“Yes. I can even forgive them that. This war has been a sad business which has divided brother from brother in a mad fashion.”

“You are thinking of John Wilkes Booth and his brothers?”

“I suppose so.”

“Were you truly in love with him?” the lean Britisher asked. Then he immediately blushed and apologized, “You must forgive my asking.”

She smiled at him in mild surprise. “The question is not at all like you.”

“I know,” he said, blushing and looking down. “I have tried to keep a respectful distance from you, Fanny. “

“Until tonight,” she said, with a tone of curiosity.

“Yes,” he said. “Until tonight. I put it down to the unhappy sequence of events. I felt sorry for you and wanted to be of some comfort.”

“You have been,” she said quietly.

“And you have not answered my question. Were you in love with John Wilkes Booth?”