Beloved Scoundrel (21 page)

It was ended! She had wept much and could weep no more. Mostly she waited until dusk and then she and Nancy and Tom or she and Eric Mason would go out for a stroll. She wore a veil so as not to be recognized. It seemed the public felt that Lincoln’s blood was on the heads of all theatre people. And those who had known John Wilkes Booth were looked on as especially guilty.

P. T. Barnum called a meeting of the company on the stage of the shuttered theatre a fortnight later. He told them, “A few theatres are open. But criticism is still great and business is poor. However, time will cure all. I have every conviction that within a few months things will be on their way to normal. And in a year all will be as it was before.”

Old Leroy Barnes worried, “How do we live in the meantime, sir?”

Barnum sighed. “I can give some of you employment with my circus venture. And I will open again by the middle of the month even though business be slow.”

When the general meeting was at an end Barnum called Fanny aside, along with Eric Mason, Nancy and Tom Miller. He said, “It is my intention to open with a new Miller play. The public need some laughter in their lives at this time whether they realize it or not.”

Tom worried, “Is that too daring a plan?”

“I have always succeeded best when I have dared most,” Barnum told him.

Eric Mason agreed, “I think Mr. Barnum is right. A new play will bring the public who enjoyed
The Maid and the Miser
back from curiosity. It shouldn’t take long to build an audience for the new piece.”

“Exactly my view,” Barnum said. Then with a deep sigh he turned to her, “Do you feel equal in this time of sorrow of playing comedy, Fanny?”

She glanced at the big face, so sober now. “No,” she said. “I have decided against going on.”

There was dismay from all but Barnum. Eric Mason asked, “We need you Fanny! After all you are the star!”

“I would hurt the venture,” she said tautly.

Barnum nodded. “She is right. People associate her with John. Even his brother Edwin dare not yet go on stage. He is somewhere here in New York in hiding. It will be some time before I’d advise Fanny to take to the boards again.”

“What are we to do?” Eric Mason lamented.

“Fanny so cleverly interpreted Tom’s comedy.”

Fanny said. “I know someone else who can do as well.”

“Who?” The famous theatrical impressario asked.

“Nancy,” she said, indicating the petite blonde. “She is a good actress and thoroughly understands the plays.”

“You are right!” the blind Tom exclaimed. “If you are not to appear, dear Fanny, the one I would next suggest is Nancy.”

“Will you?” Barnum asked her .

“All right,” she said. “But remember, I’m only filling in until Fanny can return.”

Barnum took Fanny back to her hotel in his carriage.

He said, “It is too bad. John has cost you all this heartbreak and your career.”

She gazed out at the store fronts as they drove past. “It does not matter. I’m in no mood to work now. I need to do something to cleanse myself of my guilt feelings.”

“You should have no guilt.”

“If I’d gone to him I might have somehow dissuaded him from his awful act,” she worried.

Barnum said, “I doubt it. And you mustn’t closet yourself up and pine away from blaming yourself.”

She glanced at him with a rueful smile. “I have something quite different in mind.”

“What?”

“I’m going to Washington to offer my services to a major in the Medical Corps. The War is over but the hospitals are filled with the maimed. Help is badly needed and I have been accepted by the major. He also knew John and liked him.”

“You will not find such nursing easy,” Barnum warned her.”

“I do not want anything easy,” was her reply. “This is what I need. I’m sure of it.”

She planned to take the train to Washington on a Friday. On Wednesday afternoon she received a message from Edwin Booth, giving her the name of his hotel and asking her to come there in the late afternoon. She donned her black dress and veil and secured a carriage to take her to the quiet, old hotel.

Edwin Booth was waiting for her. When she knocked on the door of his room he opened it and showed her in. He looked even more pale than when she’d last seen him and terribly weary. He motioned her to an easy chair with a delicate motion of his slim hand.

She removed her veil and said, “I dare not openly show myself in New York. There is still much hatred of me.”

“I ask forgiveness on John’s part,” the actor said.

“No need,” she told him. “I cared for John and I’m not ashamed that we loved each other.”

Edwin nodded. “When you were last with me I told you I was sure that he cared for you more than any other woman. He later wrote to our mother in that same vein. She quoted from his letter without

really knowing who the lady, Fanny, might be. I felt you should know.”

In a small voice, she said, “I never doubted his caring. It was only his obsession that upset me.”

Edwin Booth said, “And in the end he brought shame on us all. Not only on the immediate family but on our profession.”

“It will not last,” she said. “Barnum says in a year it will be over.”

The handsome actor sighed. “I hope he is right and I may say he usually is. The people of our profession suffer enough hardship under ordinary circumstances. They should at least be allowed to work.”

“What about you?”

“I felt for a time I must desert the stage,” Edwin Booth said. He halted and turned to her. “But I know now I cannot. It is too much in my blood. I have no choice but to return. And fairly soon. What about you?”

She told him her plan, ending with, “I somehow feel this is a way of doing penance for John. I want it to count in his favor.”

Edwin Booth came to her and touched his hand on her shoulder and in a voice filled with emotion said, “Your loyalty and love in the face of what he did, is more than he could ever ask for.”

She stood up. “So we will all go on.”

Booth said, “Yes.” Then he studied her with sad eyes and continued, “May I make one more request of you?”

“If you like.”

“Go to Washington and do your nursing for a while. I think it may bring you peace in spite of the hardship. But sooner or later return to the stage. I do not care whether it be here or in England. Remember, that is where you belong!”

“I shall remember,” she said in a voice choked with emotion.

The famous actor kissed her gently on the forehead and then saw her to the door. Afterwards, remembering him on that afternoon, she thought he was the saddest person she had ever met. Only the passing years would bring him back to a kind of normalcy and his rightful acclaim.

Her friends were at the railway station to bid her goodbye. She had visited rehearsals of the new play and was delighted by the excellent comedy playing of Nancy. She was sure that the petite blonde would be a new star once the theatre got properly under way.

Eric Mason was daily expecting his wife and daughter from England and so was also in a buoyant mood, especially since his own part in the new play was excellent.

Tom Miller held her hand a long while before she stepped aboard the waiting railway car. He said, “I admire you for what you are doing. And what you did for me!”

“I did very little,” she laughed. “And you brought me a wonderful play.”

“My writing plays was your ideas,” he reminded her. “And you gave it to me in hospital. I hope you can do half as much for some of the others you meet there.”

“I shall surely try,” she said.

The train whistle blew. There was a round of frantic kisses and goodbyes and then she hurried aboard. As she made her way along the aisle to take a seat she almost bumped into an elderly, pleasant looking man.

“God bless my soul!” the big man exclaimed. “If it is not my old shipboard friend, Mrs. Cornish!”

She stared at him a moment, noting the white hair and lined face before she recognized him as Adam Burns. The friendly hardware merchant who had been the first to help them in New York. He had sent them to Mrs. Larkins’ lodging house and been in a way responsible for their being hired by Barnum.

“Mr. Burns!” she said, her face lighting up. “It has been so long. I’ve often wondered about you.”

“We sort of lost track of each other,” the elderly man said. “Are you on your way to Washington?”

“Yes.”

“So am I,” he said, glancing around. “Would it not be pleasant for us to share a seat?”

“I’d much enjoy it,” she said.

Adam Burns went down the fairly well-filled car until he came to a vacant seat. He took her hand bag and stored it on the rack above along with his own small valise. Then he sat by her.

“I saw you not long ago,” he told her. “In the play
The Maid and the Miser.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Very much. I had a hard time securing tickets. I was going around to speak with you. But I hesitated, it has been such a long while since our first meeting.”

“I would have been pleased to have seen you,” Fanny assured him.

He smiled. “Thank you. Another time.”

She asked him, “How have things gone for you?”

His kindly face clouded a little. “The war touched me as it did us all. I lost my grandson at Gettysburg.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yes. A tragic affair,” he said. “My business prospered since I dealt in war supplies. In fact I’m now on my way to see some Washington officials about an expansion of my services.”

Fanny said, “So much has happened in so few years.”

He gave her a sympathetic glance. “I was so shocked when I heard of your husband’s death. What a fine fellow he was.”

“I have never forgotten him.”

“Nor are you likely to,” the old man said.

“Then there was that unfortunate business of John Wilkes Booth. And you were his co-star.”

Her cheeks warmed. “I’m sure you must have read many lurid details of our relationship in the yellow press.”

“I believe in my friends before I believe newspapers,” the elderly man assured her. “I can imagine you as nothing but a good influence on that madman who murdered our President.”

Fanny said, “I hoped for a little he might give his full interest to the theatre and remain away from politics. I tried to make him realize he should. Unhappily I was wrong.”

“The Booths are a strange family,” Adam Burns said. “I know some people who believed the father to be a madman.”

“The unhappy thing is that all theatre people have suffered for the crime of one actor,” she said. “Edwin Booth and the others in the family are virtually in hiding. Many theatres remain closed. And I have had to leave the stage temporarily because my name is associated with John Wilkes Booth.”

“Have you thought of returning to England?”

She sighed. “Many times. But I have certain reasons for not returning there.”

“So what are your plans in Washington?” Fanny said, “Major Furlong of the Medical Corps has very kindly offered to accept me as a volunteer worker in the hospital which he heads. I look forward to doing worthwhile things there.”

“Commendable!” The old man said. “And what I might have expected of you. I know you are one not to waste your time.”

The friendly exchange between them continued throughout the train journey. They had dinner together in the elegant dining car and Fanny felt much less lonely than she had expected. They parted when the train reached the Washington Railway Station and she was met by Major Furlong.

The major was as friendly as ever. He and Adam Burns exchanged pleasantries and then the hardware merchant went his way while Major Furlong sought out her trunk and had it taken to his waiting carriage.

“I have found you quarters on the outskirts of the city near the hospital,” the major told her as they rode through the dark night in his carriage. “I trust this is agreeable to you.”

“Yes. I do not wish to live in the city. I want no social life.”

“Much different from the old days,” the major mused.

“These are different times.”

“So they are,” he agreed. “But it may surprise you how quickly Washington has returned to normal every day routine. The War and Lincoln’s assassination seem already to be far in the past. The city is humming with activity. The nation moving on! Only in our hospitals is the War still being fought.”

“Are the wounded being forgotten and neglected?” she worried.

“I cannot say that,” the bearded Furlong spoke with caution. “But with the battles ended it is far harder to get proper money and supplies for our hospital work.”

Fanny said with some bitterness, “One might expect that.”

“However, we manage,” the surgeon said. “But we are desperately in need of volunteers. I’m pleased to have you with us.”

“I’m happy to have this opportunity to serve.”

“You shall be under my wing,” he said. “And I think it might be wise not to make mention of your close friendship with poor John.”