Booth, still as the Cardinal, raised his hand for silence. And when they gave it to him, he said, “I thank you for the fine support you gave us tonight!”
Then he led her up the iron steps with the cheers of the company following them. He saw her to her door and halted. “Will you have a late supper with me somewhere?”
“Yes,” she said. “You must be badly in need of food. You’ve had nothing but black coffee since you reached the theatre.”
His eyes twinkled. “They should have offered their applause to the coffee. It was the miracle worker. I’ll come for you in twenty minutes.”
Booth had a carriage waiting to take them to Caspar’s, a popular downtown restaurant. It was filled with late diners but the stout head-waiter beamed at John Wilkes Booth and led them through the crowded room to a table for two on a small terrace with a half-dozen other similar tables. Fanny was used to being stared at in public but it seemed to her that tonight every eye in the place was upon them.
She had chosen a fine yellow gown with a matching cape. Booth was all dash and charm in black and wearing his usual cloak. They had no sooner been seated than a tall, dark-bearded man in the uniform of a Major in the Union Army came over to their table and bowed respectfully.
He said, “My congratulations on the fine play tonight. You were both outstanding. I trust Mr. Booth will be playing with you regularly, Mrs. Cornish.”
She smiled, “Thank you. We’re not sure about that yet.”
The Major gave his attention to Booth next. “You must remember me, sir. I am Major Furlong. You were at the last party given by my wife and myself.”
Booth nodded and showed a strange friendliness towards this man in the uniform of the army which he hated. He said, “Most enjoyable affair.”
“We are having another tomorrow night,” the Major said. “I would ask you and the good lady to join us when you are finished at the theatre.”
“That is most kind of you,” Booth still on his feet for the visitor, said, “We will be there.”
“I shall so inform my wife,” the bearded major said with a smile. He bowed to them and strode off to rejoin his own table.
As Booth sat down she gave him a surprised look and said, “How easily you accept invitations for us!”
“If I elect to play with the company again tomorrow, you can at least accompany me to that party,” was his reply.
She smiled. “You strike a hard bargain.”
“I must with you.”
“And I had no idea that anyone with such strong southern sympathies would fraternize with members of the Union Army. You treated the major as an old friend.”
John Wilkes Booth looked amused. “He is a friend. I have friends on both sides. And it is useful to my career and to the cause of the Confederate for me to have friends in high places in Washington.”
“How complex you are,” she marveled. “You continually amaze me.”
“Let us hope I may continue to,” he said suavely. Then the waiter came and he ordered a feast of food and drink for them.
Fanny was pleasantly surprised to find that the usually abrupt and temperamental Booth could be a friendly social creature when he liked. And there was no doubt that his charm attracted much attention. In addition he had great talent, more than she’d realized.
Well into their dinner, she gazed at him across the table and said, “Until tonight I had no idea of the power you possess as an actor.”
“You brought out the best in me,” he said gallantly.
“That is not so,” she protested. “It was you who lifted me and the others to a higher level of playing than ever before.”
His sharp black eyes fixed on hers. “Was I the equal to Edwin?”
“I have always felt you to be his superior.”
“Many do. But not enough. I have tried to emulate my father. He was truly great. Edwin is too mild in his approach to the great roles. But there is a new fashion in the theatre for this sort of playing. And so he is given my father’s cloak, while I am denied it.”
“If you continue as you did tonight no one can stop you from being famous,” she said.
“I must move quickly,” he said. “Get seen by the large Eastern cities before Edwin returns. He is going to be in England for a while yet. I have to make my mark in the minds of his supporters before he returns.”
“You will not do that in the South,” she said.
“New York is where I must win acclaim,” he replied. “Not even Washington is important.”
She said, “Mr. Barnum has promised me a season in New York when we are finished here. If you would remain and share the star billing with me, you could arrive in New York with your own trained company.”
He gave her one of his winning smiles. “I tell you what,” he said. “Have Barnum confirm that and it is a deal.”
“I’ll send a telegram tonight,” she promised.
The terms which Barnum offered John Wilkes Booth did not satisfy him. He wanted more salary than the producer had paid Peter Cortez. There was a flurry of telegrams back and forth and then it was settled. A happy Fanny quickly went over the plays in the repertory and changed a few at Booth’s request. He had favorite roles he wished to include. After that it was merely a matter of rehearsing and playing. And when they left Washington a theatre in New York would be open to them.
Fanny still felt badly about Peter Cortez. In many ways she blamed herself for giving way to his wishes and becoming his mistress. He was a young man of many good qualities but he was spoiled by his wealth. He felt it should buy him anything he wished, including friends and love. And his mad jealousy of her had made him turn his back on both her and the profession he had chosen.
Barnum would not employ him again and would send the word out to the other theatre managers. It would be impossible for Peter to obtain any sort of decent work. If he remained in the theatre he would have to settle for some small travelling company touring the towns and villages. She could not see his pride allowing him to do this and she worried about what would happen to him.
The next night they played She Stoops To Conquer and John Wilkes Booth again gave a fine performance and earned much applause. The box-office people reported that tickets were selling far ahead on the strength of’ the Booth name.
That night she had her first taste of many evenings which were to follow in which she and John Wilkes Booth were guests of Washington society. Major Furlong’s mansion had a huge ballroom and it was filled with dancing couples when they arrived.
A predominant number of the men wore the blue of the Union Army. She was surprised and amused to find that Booth seemed on good terms with many of them.
Nor did he expound his political views while they were at the party. He played the unlikely role of apt listener as the various officers told stories of the trials and triumphs of the Union Army.
She stood with a polite and attentive John Wilkes Booth as Major Furlong went on to a circle of mixed officers and civilians of his views. In part he said, “There is no question that Lincoln will have to enact a conscription bill. The army must have more men!”
John Wilkes Booth asked quietly, “Will the people accept such an act? Will there not be riots?”
The bearded Furlong pounded a fist in his hands. “By God, if there are riots the military will quickly put them down!”
One of the younger officers said, “I say what we need as much as conscripts is a leader capable of decision. The Union Army could use a Robert E. Lee!”
“We will find one,” Major Furlong promised. “The President is aware of the problem.”
“I hear the Confederate navy are playing havoc with our Union ships,” still another officer said.
Booth nodded. “I have heard the same thing. That there was a good-sized battle off the Virginia coast only yesterday and the Feds were the victors!”
“Careful, Booth!” Major Furlong warned him. “That is very secret information. It is better not to mention such things at this
time. There are ears everywhere they warn me, listening for the Feds!”
John Wilkes Booth smiled. “You must forgive me. I’m only an actor. We know little about such things.”
Fanny watched her companion closely all through the evening. And when they were in their carriage as he took her back to the hotel, she gazed at him in the semi-darkness of the carriage and said, “I now understand why you have become such a social butterfly!”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” she continued. “I studied you all evening and I knew you were acting.”
He laughed lightly. “All correct social conduct requires some acting.”
“That is not what I mean!”
“What do you mean?”
“You are going to these parties and making friends with these people to betray them! You are actively seeking out information to pass on to your friends in the South!”
“Well?” he said quietly.
“You are in fact, a Southern spy!”
“Ugly words.”
“I know what I’m saying has to be true!”
Booth took her hands in his and quietly said, “Think what you like. And do not expect me to make any admissions.”
“But it has to be dangerous,” she warned him. “If they find out you could be shot or hanged.”
“That is only the fate of members of the secret service,” he assured her. “I’m not in any such service.”
“You are in fact if not in name,” she argued as the carriage rolled closer to her hotel through the dark, gas-lit streets.
“I warned you I would not admit anything,” he said once again. “And if you are wise you will not question me along these lines further.”
“I worry for you! You are risking your talent and the reputation! Does the South really mean all this much to you?”
“Yes,” he said in a low, intense voice. “I would give my life for the Confederate cause.”
“You well may!”
“Then I’ll have sacrificed no more than many a soldier in the field.”
“Will you return to the South?”
“If things are not settled by the time we finish in New York, I will,” he said. “I do not want Lincoln to be a king!”
“That will never be,” she said.
He suddenly became strangely upset and angrily replied, “No, never that! This man’s pedigree, his coarse low jokes, and anecdotes, his vulgar smiles and his frivolity are a disgrace to the office he holds. He walks in the footsteps of old John Brown but he is not fit to stand with that rugged old hero!”
“John!” she begged him. “Do not so distress yourself!”
“I cannot help it,” he ranted on. “John Brown was a man inspired! The greatest character of this century. This damned Lincoln is a Bonaparte in one great move, that is, by overturning this blind Republic and making himself king! This man’s reelection which will follow his success, I tell you, will be a reign!”
She managed to calm him down a little by the time they reached the entrance of her hotel. By talking of some of their theatre problems she changed his train of thought. But his overpowering emotion had frightened her. He had been almost maniacal in his intensity. She had seen him display such strong emotion on the stage but never in private. It left her worried.
At the hotel he was the charming gentleman again and bade her goodnight. She asked him to stay away from the more sordid saloons and he promised he would. She could only hope that he kept his word. There was no telling about him.
Long after she was in bed she thought of the tense moments in the carriage when he had ranted against the President. His hatred of Lincoln had become a dangerous obsession with him. And it was hard to say what sort of conspiracy he had mixed in. She was certain he was being the darling of the Washington social crowd to pick up important scraps of information for the enemy. It was a volatile situation and if he should suddenly be exposed or even suspected, he might be quickly placed under arrest.
As part of her plan to keep a close watch on Booth she left the expensive hotel where she’d been staying and moved to the more modest one in which he had a room. This pleased him but he made no pretense of not understanding what she was about.
He came to see her comfortable room and said, “Not as luxurious as the one you left.”
“No,” she said with a smile. “But it better suits me.”
“And you are paying for this one yourself.”
She blushed. “I should never have told you about Peter.”
“Why not?” he asked. “I do not hold it against you. I only blame him for missing a great chance to be your husband.”
“He asked me.”
“No doubt.”
“He was sincere,” she insisted. “But I knew somehow that neither of us truly cared enough for the other to marry.”
“And you were surely right,” the handsome, mustached actor said. He moved about getting the feel of the room and added, “This is a much more pleasant room than the other. You will enjoy it despite the lack of luxury.”
“It is more convenient as well,” she said.
“I must go take care of some business,” he said, picking up his hat and walking stick.
She stared at him. “Spy business?”
He smiled and shook his head. “You talk childish nonsense much of the time.”
“John!” she said urgently. “Take care!”
“But I always do,” he said airily.
“I mean it!” she insisted. “I could not bear to lose you.”
He came to her again, the tophat at a jaunty angle as he smiled down at her. “Are you worried that I will spoil your plans for the company?”
“I’m frantic with fear for you,” she told him.
He bent forward and gently kissed her on the lips. “You must not be. And when this madness is at an end, I will ask you the important question. And Fanny Cornish will become Fanny Booth!”
“That will never happen,” she told him.
“Don’t be too sure,” was his mocking reply.
And he went on his way leaving her still fearful for him. The charm which she had noted in him at their first meeting seemed to have vastly increased. She had always admired him as an actor. Now she admired him as a man. She could even forgive his spying. It was his conception of serving the cause in which he believed. In his own way he was as brave as any soldier in the front line of battle action.
The great danger was that he allowed his emotional nature to lead him into doing something truly mad. Some grandiose gesture which might think important to winning the war but which might end in disaster and his own death. He was hard to understand. She could only comfort herself by thinking that as long as he needed to keep himself a favorite of Washington society for his spying, he would not dare to do anything too rash.
The maid came and it brought a long letter from Phineas T. Barnum filled with compliments of the record business and excellent reviews the company was getting in Washington. He praised her for her selection of John Wilkes Booth as her co-star and for the way she was handling him.
Barnum wrote: “John is a difficult fellow. Not at all like Edwin or Junius Brutus, Jr. They have always had the most pleasant arrangements with management. But John has remained unstable and a rebel. Yet he has a superior talent. Perhaps, as you have written, he is the one with the most ability of all three. But I have in the past been afraid to risk much on him. This will be the New York opportunity he has so desired. His great chance. I hope he does nothing to cheat himself of it.”
She put the letter aside with the same feeling. Then she saw one from England with the address written in the cramped hand of the aged. She quickly tore the envelope open and discovered the letter was from the elderly actress, Hilda Asquith, who had been one of her best friends in London.
“I am playing a small part of a servant in a company headed by a young man of great talent called Henry Irving, though his real name is Brodribb and hardly suitable for the theatre. Your friends, Silas,
and all the rest speak of you often and miss you. I think you should know that Lord George Palmer has married Dora. So there is a new Lady Palmer. Those who have seen her claim that her health is poor and she looks much too pale. Perhaps that is why he decided to marry her.
“Because he is fearful she may have a health breakdown. She has stayed by him and been a fine foster-mother to his children. So it is to be hoped that she will recover and they will have a happy life together. Surely, they both deserve it. From your letter I would guess that you and the man, Peter Cortez, might marry. He sounds a pleasant sort although you claim he cannot match David as an actor.
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