Vintage Love (177 page)

The old actress said, “David can still use you in the play. You should see him.”

“No,” she said. “Not until I talk with George.”

It was nearly ten o’clock and the elderly Hilda, having an early rehearsal call, had retired for the night, when there came a knock at the front door of the flat. Fanny ran to open the door, her heart pounding with deep emotion, ready to throw herself into George’s arms.

But when she opened the door it wasn’t George who stood there but Charles. He was wearing civilian clothes and a heavy cape against the cold night air.

He looked sympathetic as he said, “I know it was not me you wished to find waiting out here.”

She shrugged. “It does not matter. I have become used to disappointments.”

“I’m sorry to be part of this one,” Charles said.

“Why was George not able to come himself?” she asked.

Charles looked grave. “He is here, waiting in the carriage below in which we both arrived. You’re to go down to him as he did not dare venture up here.”

She stared at Charles’ grim face and in dismay exclaimed, “Something’s wrong! Tell me! What is it?”

Charles placed his hands on her shoulders. “You must be brave. A dreadful thing has happened. Opposition members in Parliament have full information on George’s affair with you, including a list of dates on which you spent the night together. They hired private detectives to watch you both every minute. They now threaten to give this information to the press and ruin George socially and politically if he does not retire from public life!”

“Oh, no!” she said, closing her eyes. Tears trickled down her cheeks. “After all we have gone through!”

“The worst danger is that it would again cause tongues to wag about Virginia’s death,” Charles said. “So you understand why he did not dare come up here.”

“What is to be done?” she groaned.

“George must resign his seat in the House for the time being. In view of all the business of the trial that might be best anyway. If you were to leave the country, or best of all, marry someone else, there would be little point in involving you. Later on, when all is quiet again, George can resume his political career.”

“It’s too sudden! Too much of a shock!” Fanny cried, her head spinning, her whole being sick with grief. All her great hopes seemed to be shattered.

“George feels very badly about this,” Charles said. “Go down to him.”

“Dare I?”

“It should be safe enough. I’ll watch from the vestibule. When you have seen him the carriage will take him home.”

“I’m not sure I can say goodbye to him,” she told Charles brokenly.

He placed a comforting arm about her. “Rely upon your theatre training. You can carry it through and save him. If you persist in this romance you’ll both be destroyed!”

“All right,” Fanny said in a dull voice and went for her cloak.

It was snowing lightly and the waiting carriage had a mantle of snow on it. Fanny left Charles in the vestibule and went outside to the carriage.

Entering its dark interior she sat beside George. She was shocked by his appearance. If he had looked gaunt at the trial he surely looked ten years older now. He embraced her and kissed her gently. “Dear Fanny!” he said, holding her to him. “What are we to do?”

Steeling herself, she said, “Save what we can! I’ll go abroad for a while. You can live in peace. In a few years you can resume your seat in Parliament.”

“What about us?” George asked in agony.

She kissed him and caressed his face with her hands. “My dearest George,” she whispered, “we can never lose what we have had. A stormy love, yet a rewarding one. Perhaps one day we can be together again.”

“I want you now!”

“And you would soon hate me if I remained with you,” Fanny told him. “No. We must part. And there is always Dora. She loves you and nothing would make her happier than your asking her to marry you. All this while she has been a dedicated foster mother to your children.”

“Dora has been wonderful,” George admitted. “But it is you I love.”

“I know,” she said, resting her head on his chest. “But many people never do marry the ones they truly love. Our case is not so unusual, believe me!”

“How can I go on without you?”

She said, “We have our memories. You’ll be surprised how much comfort they will offer. In time, they may even be enough! Goodbye, my love!” They kissed again, embracing passionately one last time.

Then abruptly Fanny drew away from him and literally flung herself out of the carriage. He called after her, “Fanny!” She paid no attention but went inside and joined Charles in the vestibule. They both turned and watched the carriage move away.

“I gave a stellar performance,” she sobbed. “The trouble is, I wasn’t able to convince myself!”

He placed his arm around her. “Let us go upstairs. You need some brandy.”

A few moments later they stood facing each other before the blazing log fire, brandy glasses in their hands. The soldierly Charles raised his glass and said, “I offer a toast to a brave lady.”

Smiling wanly through her tears, Fanny replied, “If I may offer one to a loyal brother and a faithful friend.”

They drank and then Charles stared at her in silence for a long moment. He said, “I have a suggestion. Let me change that faithful friend to something more intimate.”

She said, “What do you suggest?”

“I want to be your husband,” Charles said quietly. “I’m not the one you really want. But I have always loved you devotedly. I think in time you might find it in your heart to care for me just a little.”

Fanny lay her hand on his wrist. “Charles, you are too kind!”

“Wait until I explain,” he said. “My regiment leaves for India within a week. We can be quietly married and you could accompany me as my wife.”

“Charles!”

“It will get you out of the country and you will have my protection as your husband,” he said eagerly.

Her eyes filled with tears again. She was past fighting the cruel tricks of fate which had so long kept her apart from George.

“Very well, Charles,” she said wearily. “I shall be honored to be your wife.”

Next morning when the elderly Hilda heard the news she sputtered angrily, “Isn’t it enough to ask you to give up the man you love without asking you to leave your country and the theatre?”

Fanny raised a protesting hand. “It is best this way.”

“I say it is nonsense and needless,” the character actress said. “You love London and the stage! David will find you a part in his new company. You know that!”

“If the yellow press attacked me it might destroy his London venture,” Fanny said. “I would never forgive myself for that.”

“He wouldn’t care!” Hilda said.

“I would,” Fanny told her. “The only safe thing is for me to leave London.”

Hilda gazed at her sorrowfully. “It will be like losing a daughter! You’re positive you don’t want me to talk to David about this?”

Fanny turned away from the old woman to hide her tears. “Positive!”

The next development in the mad rush of events came the following day. Fanny had shut herself up in her flat until she received word from Charles as to the time and place of their wedding. When he arrived the next afternoon he was once again wearing his uniform, but she could see by his worried expression he had things other than the wedding on his mind.

“Charles, what is it?” she greeted him.

“My brother—” he began and stopped.

“George? What has happened to him?” There was fear in her voice.

“Not George,” Charles said in a grim voice. “Kenneth, the Reverend Kenneth!”

The name of Kenneth brought forth a vision of the evil priest who in his fanatacism lacked any trace of charity in his heart. With dismay, she asked, “Is he going to try to harm George in some way? Use me to harm him?”

Charles shook his head. “No,” he said. “It seems the trial completely deranged Kenneth. Last night he hung himself in his room near the Cathedral. He left a note behind admitting he was the one who set the fire in the theatre in which you were playing, the one in which so many people died! He asked forgiveness!”

“I often wondered if it might have been he,” Fanny said. And turning away, she asked in a low, anguished tone, “Is the agony never to end?”

“The Palmer family have brought you nothing but grief,” Charles said. “George took you from the theatre you loved. Kenneth railed against you and in his hatred wound up murdering many innocents! And here I am, offering you a second-rate love and the doubtful pleasure of living as an army officer’s wife in distant India!”

Fanny quickly faced him again. “Yours is no second rate love, Charles. You were always the strongest and best of the three. I shall willingly marry you and go to India. And with God’s blessing we shall be happy together!”

“I pray that we shall,” Charles said solemnly, taking her in his arms. “I shall return tomorrow at seven. We shall take a carriage out of London and be married in a country chapel whose vicar I know. We shall need witnesses.”

“Hilda Asquith and Silas Hodder,” she said promptly. “They shall be here ready to accompany us.”

“Your last ties with the stage,” Charles said with a sad smile. “I’d say they’ll make excellent witnesses.”

“What about Kenneth’s funeral?” she asked.

“It will be private. Tomorrow morning. We hope to keep his suicide a secret, along with his confession that he set the fire. The Bishop takes the position that he was demented at the time of his death and not responsible for what he wrote. The family are in full agreement, as we’ve had enough disagreeable newspaper publicity for the moment.”

“It is surely for the best,” she agreed.

He took her in his arms. “Until tomorrow evening,” he said.

At first Hilda Asquith stubbornly refused to take part in Fanny’s wedding to Charles Palmer. But Silas Hodder won her over. The old stage door man was extremely persuasive and ready, as always, to do anything to help Fanny.

Seven o’clock chimed on the mantel clock the next evening. Fanny sat ready in coat and bonnet, solemnly awaiting the arrival of Charles. A nervous Hilda and Silas waited in the adjoining room. Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Fanny slowly rose and went over to open it, trying to look happy so Charles would not be hurt.

The door opened and standing there looking handsome in greatcoat and top hat was David Cornish! The young actor removed his hat and came inside. “Surprised?” he asked.

“David!” she stammered. “I’m waiting for Charles. We’re to be married tonight.”

David shook his head. “No!”

“No?”

“Charles sent me as his substitute,” the actor said.

“I don’t understand!” Her head was reeling.

David took her in his arms. “Charles realized he wasn’t being fair to you. He came and talked with me. He told me it would be best for you to marry and leave London, but that he didn’t feel he was the right man. I told him he was correct. That
I
was the man!”

“But David!” Fanny protested. “You’re opening your first company here in London!”

He smiled and shook his head. “Not any longer. I’ve turned the whole project over to Sir Benjamin Fuller. He will head the company and star in my place. I have accepted an offer to play in America. We open in New York in a month. The vessel leaves within a few days. I also have an opening for a leading lady, whom I would prefer to be my wife!”

“David!” she cried out in wonder. Tears of joy filled her eyes, for in that moment she knew this was right. It was what she had truly wanted without ever admitting it! The stage was a fever in her blood of which she’d never be cured. Her father must be smiling at her now from wherever he was, she thought fleetingly. He had known better than she did that she could not desert her destiny!

David’s lips were on hers, his arms held her tightly to him and Fanny knew this was the beginning of something new and wonderful which would last for them as long as life itself.

This edition published by

Crimson Romance

an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

www.crimsonromance.com

Copyright © 1978 by W. E. Dan Ross

ISBN 10: 1-4405-7293-3

ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7293-7

eISBN 10: 1-4405-7294-1

eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7294-4

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

Cover art © 123rf.com