Vintage Love (169 page)

“It’s not flattery,” the young officer protested. “You know I’ve always been in love with you!”

“Charles!” she reproved him and touched his hand gently with hers to show that she was indeed very fond of him.

His pleasant face shadowed. “I know. It has always been George hasn’t it?”

Fanny blushed. “What about George?”

“You should have married him. He was eager to marry you, he told me so himself.”

She shook her head. “Your father made me see how disastrous that would have been for both of us. And he was right.”

“You are a star of the stage who mixes with high society. You could marry him now,” Charles said. “Unhappily for both of you, it is too late.”

Fanny’s head swam and she said faintly, “Too late?”

He nodded. “He married Virginia. You knew father was determined to make the match. He succeeded. George and Virginia have a son and a daughter.”

She fought to recover herself from the shock of this news, telling herself it should not be important to her. She had not seen George for years. They lived in different worlds.

Looking away she said in a taut voice, “I hope Virginia has made him a good wife. I trust they are happy.”

“They are not.”

She turned to stare at Charles’ sober face. “Why do you say that?”

“Virginia was never right for George,” he said. “We all knew that. Even before the marriage there was the rumor of her drinking.”

“Has it gone on?”

“Worse than before. She disgraced George on several important occasions. Now he has stopped making social engagements altogether and devotes himself to his political career.”

“And Virginia?”

“Continues to drink and there is talk of her having affairs with other men behind George’s back.” He hesitated. “I might say one of those named is your escort of today, Simon Frith!”

“No!” she cried in dismay.

Charles shrugged. “You need not be upset by it. Virginia is to blame for her own conduct. She doesn’t even properly run the house for George or look after the children. Our cousin, Dora, has had to move in with them and take charge of the youngsters.”

This mention of Dora Carson made Fanny think fondly of the warm-hearted, poor relation of the Palmers. She said, “Dora was so kind to me. I hoped that George might marry her.”

“She would have made him a better wife than Virginia. But, again, father opposed George showing any interest in Dora. And to be truthful, George did not care for her enough to marry her. You were his single great love.”

“A downstairs maid!”

“That did not matter,” Charles said, looking at her directly. “I know you gave yourself to him. I do not think it wrong. What was wrong was your leaving the way you did.”

“What else could I do?”

“You might have discussed it with George,” his brother said. “He might have agreed to wait. To have tried to help you get a start on the stage.”

“I was too confused and frightened to wait,” she said. “The Reverend Kenneth had already labeled me as a harlot. To that, your father added that I was also a fool!”

“Father is a stubborn old man,” Charles said. “And as for brother Kenneth, he has always been a little mad. He has made a fetish of his religion. Last year he became so mentally ill he had to give up his post as assistant to the Bishop. Now he has recovered and has a small church of his own.”

She stared down at the grass. “It’s all past history. I only wish thing’s were better for George.”

“And I wish that they were better for you,” Charles said with urgency. “Simon Frith is no sort of man for you to be going about with.”

“He is only a casual acquaintance,” she countered.

“He has a bad reputation.”

“I know,” she said. “That is why I was careful to have Miss Asquith chaperone us.”

“You showed wisdom in that,” he agreed. “George thinks you have great talent.”

She smiled wistfully. “He gave me my first big audience the night he forced me to entertain Prince Aran!”

Charles chuckled. “Of course! That studgy Indian chap! And the bounder fell in love with you and wanted to take you back to India with him as his concubine!”

Fanny corrected, “As an instructress for his children.”

“No one believed that for a minute,” Charles said. “Not even father. George soon put an end to it!”

“Perhaps I should have gone,” she sighed.

“It would have been an experience,” Charles agreed. “I understand the Prince’s father died shortly after he returned to India and so he is the Maharajah now.”

“Has he returned to England since?”

“No,” Charles said. “And according to my father he has not answered any correspondence sent to him by the family firm. One gathers he does not forgive easily. He blamed the family for not turning you over to him.”

She pictured her last encounter with the Prince and recalled the lean, grim face of the brown-skinned man. She said, “I’m sure he is a vindictive type.”

“I quite agree,” Charles said. “But enough of him. What about you?”

She told him of her adventures in provincial theatre and of meeting her father. She was careful not to mention David Cornish in describing these adventures and her coming to London and finding fame. She ended with, “I find a dedication to my stage career enough.”

“That can never be enough for a woman like you,” Charles argued. “You are sure there is no one else?”

“No one,” she said soberly.

“No use waiting for George,” he warned her. “Virginia comes from a long lived family of hard-drinkers, and she needs her marriage to George to cover up her drinking and her affairs.”

“What does the Reverend Kenneth think about her?” Fanny asked.

Charles sighed. “He visits her every so often and tells her she is headed straight for Hell. She, in turn, tells him to take the same destination. We’re truly a comfortable family,” he said acidly.

“It will work out,” she said. “There is Dora to solace George, and the children.”

“I’m not worried about him,” Charles said. “I’m concerned about you.”

“You needn’t be.”

“Marry me,” Charles pleaded, moving closer to her.

“Charles, I’m terribly fond of you,” she said, “but I can’t marry you.”

“Because of your feelings for my brother.”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Because I’m so completely confused.” She stood up. “It’s time I returned to Simon’s carriage.”

Also on his feet, Charles restrained her, saying, “I think fate made us meet here today.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Otherwise I might never have seen you again.”

“What do you mean?”

“My regiment is sailing for the Crimea in a day or two. Trouble is expected there.”

She frowned. “I’ve heard rumors. I didn’t know that English troops were being sent.”

The young officer said, “Nothing official yet! We are being sent ahead to the area as a precautionary move, as are some of our largest naval units.”

She gave a tiny shudder. “Another war! I had hoped they might be at an end.”

“Never believe that,” Charles said. “So even though we have met there is no time for us.”

Fanny looked up at the crestfallen Charles. “I shall pray for your safe return!”

He smiled. “And I shall try jolly hard to keep out of danger since I want to see you again.”

“Come back soon and safe,” she said in a soft voice.

“Dear Fanny!” Charles said with emotion and he took her in his arms and kissed her long and lovingly. When he at last let her go, he said, “If I get back will you think about my offer?”

She protested, “Don’t ask me for promises, Charles! I don’t want to make any I can’t keep.”

“Then don’t,” the young officer said. “And when I return I have the feeling you’ll be more sure of what you want. And I’m going to try and make sure you want marriage with me!”

Fanny smiled ruefully. “You’re very persistent!”

“Always!” he said, taking her by the arm and escorting her back in the direction of the race track.

When they reached the carriage Simon Frith was seated there with Miss Asquith, watching the race through binoculars. When Frith saw them coming towards the carriage he gave the binoculars to Hilda Asquith and came down to greet them.

Simon eyed the pair coldly. He said, “I did not know you and Charles were friends.”

She said quickly, “We’re old friends.”

“That is obvious,” Simon said in the same icy vein. “Since you chose to miss most of the racing to be with him.”

Charles spoke up, “We had a lot of catching up to do. We’ve not seen each other in years. I took more than my share of Fanny’s time as I’m being shipped out East in a day or two.”

This seemed to cheer Simon up. He said, “Are you? What luck! I wonder you don’t go on half-pay and let someone else take your place. It’s a fairly common practice, I’m told.”

Charles looked resentful. “Not for those who take the service seriously, though I hasten to agree there are only a few of us who do. I prefer to serve the Queen where needed and win my promotion rather than buy it.”

“Admirable!” Simon said with sarcasm. “Then we shall just have to carry on without you.”

“Not for long,” Charles said. “I have an idea the trouble out there will be settled shortly.”

“No need to rush,” Simon said with a sour smile. “I can promise to look after Fanny in your absence.”

Charles took this with good humor. “Since she is the darling of London I have no doubt there will be many to watch out for her.” He turned to the carriage. “Good day, Miss Asquith.” Then to Fanny, he said, “Remember all I have said.” He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. Then he nodded to Simon and turned and went on his way.

Simon watched after him. “I say, he has a nerve!”

Fanny gave the young man a reproving glance. “If you wish me to continue being your friend you must not speak any evil of Charles.”

Simon expressed amazement. “You are so serious about him?”

“He is like a brother to me.”

“A brother,” Simon said mockingly. “That I can endure. And I assure you I shall leave his name unscathed!”

Fanny said, “Good! If you’ll help me up into the carriage I’d like to enjoy the rest of the races.”

“By all means,” Simon said, helping her. “There is just one important race to be run now.”

Hilda Asquith removed the binoculars from her ancient eyes to joyfully inform Fanny, “Would you believe it? Because of Mr. Frith and his very obliging bookmaker I’m the winner of a full five pounds!”

“Wonderful!” Fanny said, amused.

At her side Simon said, “You see what you’ve missed. Not to mention the pleasure of my company as well.”

“I do regret that,” Fanny said.

Simon eyed her warily. “Thank you, though I doubt that you mean it. One tends to not take actresses too seriously.”

“Then you’re making a mistake,” Fanny frostily assured the young roué.

“So you and Charles Palmer are friends,” Simon mused. “Do you know his brother, George?”

“The Viscount?” She hoped she was not blushing again.

Simon said mockingly, “Knowing the family as you do I would suppose you would be familiar enough with him to call him George.”

Fanny could not help giving him an impish glance and saying, “Just as I understand you are ‘intimate’ enough with the family to call his wife, Virginia.”

This time it was Simon’s face which reddened shockingly. He rushed to grab the binoculars from Miss Asquith and hold them to his eyes as he said, “I believe the horses are lining up for the final race now!”

It was January 1855 and the shadow of the war in the Crimea hung over all England. Opinion was divided as to whether the war had been justified and whether Britain and her Allies were winning it. One thing was certain; despite all the government propaganda it was not a popular war. There were ominous rumblings among the common people as they learned from war correspondent William Howard Russell’s eye-witness stories in the
London Times
the truth about the miserable and meaningless affair.

Most deaths among the British troops were not from battle but from disease, starvation and exposure. Battles were planned by incompetent and stupid generals which led to the senseless slaughter of their men. There were few heroic bright spots such as MacMahon storming the Malakov redoubt and Florence Nightingale holding aloft her lamp to comfort the wounded and dying in the crowded, stinking wards and corridors of makeshift hospitals in Scutari and the Crimea.

And there was the Charge of the Light Brigade, the gallant legion which rode to doom in the “Valley of Death” at Balaclava. The full facts of this affair were not yet revealed to the British public. So it was a grim irony that the incompetent Lord Cardigan who had indeed led the Light Brigade in the charge was received with all the adulation due a war hero on his return to London. He was greeted by cheering mobs and his picture was displayed in shop windows. The Queen and Prince Albert invited him to stay at Windsor where he described the charge with becoming modesty. Bands met him at railway stations to serenade him with “See the Conquering Hero Comes.”

Fanny Hastings was among those who suspected that Lord Cardigan was neither a hero nor a conqueror. Captain Charles Palmer was one of the few who had made the ride into the Valley of Death and survived with only a minor injury. His letters to her had been bitter and revealing. He could not wait for the meaningless war to end. He spoke longingly of returning to England and seeing her again.

• • •

One evening in February following the performance, Sir Alan Tredale came to visit Fanny in her dressing room. The lean, distinguished actor was still in his dressing gown and he had an engraved invitation in his hand.

Sir Alan had heard her express her views about the war and the folly of the sacrifice of the Light Brigade. So now he stood by her with a somewhat troubled expression on his aristocratic face.

Clearing his throat, he said, “Fanny, an invitation has been left in my dressing room. It is for both of us, so I have come to discuss it with you.”

Seated before her dressing room mirror in her robe, she gazed up at him with raised eyebrows. “And who has sent us this invitation?”