Vintage Love

by Clarissa Ross

  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!”

  Chapter Eight

  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?”

  “Lady Grace Smedley,” Sir Alan said. “You know she has been most generous in her patronage of our theatre.”

  “Of course,” she said. “What is the affair?”

  “I know you will not approve,” he said, apologetically.

  She at once stood up. “I trust it is not anything to do with honoring Lord Cardigan! Surely London has had enough of that lunacy! Charles Palmer was in the charge with him and he claims it was a senseless slaughter!”

  The distinguished actor sighed. “I’m afraid it is an affair in Lord Cardigan’s honor. Lady Smedley is holding it in her home and she has requested that we attend following the performance on Friday night.”

  Fanny said, “Soon the facts will out and the country will know the truth about that man! And what fools they have made of themselves!”

  “I quite agree, Fanny,” Sir Alan said wearily. “Yet I do not wish to offend Lady Smedley since her support is so important to the theatre.”

  Fanny’s pert face showed grim resignation. “You want me to attend?”

  “I plead with you to join me there for at least a little while,” the actor said. “We need not remain long since we’ll be arriving late in any case.”

  She hesitated, thinking about the problems they had been having lately. She could not help but sympathize with the man who had made her career possible and carried the burden of the company. So she said, “Very well, I’ll go. But do not expect me to pay any compliments to the guest of honor.”

  Sir Alan smiled a thin smile of relief. “I do not ask that. Just that you appear with me so Lady Smedley will know we are not ungrateful for all she has done for the People’s Theatre.”

  Fanny found herself in the crowded ballroom of the mansion in Lionel Square the following Friday night. She wore a yellow silk gown that bared her white shoulders and bosom. On the chill February night she had draped a heavy cloak over it to protect her against the cold. On Sir Alan’s arm she was introduced to the vapid Lord Cardigan.

  Fanny did no more than acknowledge the introduction. She was happy there were others in line so that she and Sir Alan were able to move on quickly. Then they mingled with the other guests at the glittering soirée which represented the cream of London society. A string quartet played at one end of the huge ballroom with its painted ceiling of blue clouds and cherubic figures. Under the crystal chandeliers the elegantly clad men and women chatted.

  Sir Alan was, as usual, at once surrounded by a number of elderly female admirers. Fanny, her auburn hair coiled in the latest fashion, stood back to let these women surround her co-star, while she watched with a cynical smile on her lovely face.

  A voice spoke in her ear, “Knowing your views of our military hero I’m surprised to find you here.” It was the dandy, Simon Frith, elegant in blue frock coat and ruffled white shirt.

  She gave him a rueful glance. “I’m here on the orders of my superior.”

  “Sir Alan?”

  “Yes. Lady Smedley is one of our loyal patrons.”

  Simon nodded. “You theatre folk do have to consider that, don’t you?” He glanced around. “In any case you’ll find many of your friends here.”

  “Will I?”

  “Yes,” he said. “In fact, one of them is coming towards us now. And if you don’t mind I’ll move on. I’ve had a slight difference with the fellow” Simon smirked at her and vanished in the crowd almost instantly.


  At the same moment Fanny found Viscount George Palmer standing before her. His sudden appearance left her speechless as she studied him. He looked much older than she remembered him and his handsome face wore a drawn expression.

  His serious eyes met hers and he took her hand and kissed it. “Fanny,” he said. “After all these years!”

  She nodded and found her voice at last. “So much time has passed!”

  “You have grown into true beauty,” he said, his eyes never leaving her.

  “It is good to see you again.”

  “I have often attended the theatre,” George went on. “Your talent has improved along with your looks.”

  “You are too generous!”

  “It is true,” George said soberly. “Charles told me of his meeting with you before he left for the Crimea.”

  “Yes. It was good to see him again,” she said. “We had only a brief time together.”

  “Who did you come here with?”

  “Sir Alan,” she said. “Is your wife here?”

  George’s lip curled in scorn. “I went to her bedroom to get her and she was already too sodden with drink to be able to leave the room. I instructed her maid to help her undress and came here alone. I have to do much of that these days.”

  “I’m sorry,” Fanny whispered.

  “I was wrong and weak,” the handsome Viscount said. “I ought never to have married Virginia. I was so disconsolate when you ran off. It was father’s idea.”

  Her smile was sad. “You were always too much the romantic! There was no future for us!”

  “You listened to Father! And Father was wrong! He had no right to interfere!”

  Fanny said, “His judgement was better than you think. I had to make a place for myself. We were far from being equal in those days.”

  “It is different now,” George pointed out.

  “Now you are married to Virginia,” she reminded him.

  “It is no marriage!” he said angrily.

  “Perhaps she will reform as she grows older, conquer her weakness for drink and make you a proper wife.”

  “I do not see it,” George said. “If it were not for Dora my children would be brought up by servants. Dora has kindly taken over my household for me.”

  Fanny gave him a knowing look. “Dora has always cared for you deeply.”

  “I know,” the weary-looking George said. “And I greatly admire her. But I do not love her. I have always loved only you!”

  She lifted her fan to silence him. “You must not say such things.”

  George took her by the arm and said, “Let us find a place where we may have more privacy.”

  Fearful of allowing herself to be with him alone and yet unable to resist him, she let him lead her across the crowded room to a winding flight of stairs. They ascended the stairs to a balcony which surrounded a large part of the ballroom and gave a view of it. He led her along the balcony until they came to a deserted area and drawing her behind a draped column which would hide them from anyone in the ballroom below he took her in his arms.

  Fanny had often considered what she would do when and if this moment came. Since meeting Charles she had thought much of his brother who had once been her lover. And she had rehearsed how she would act if they met and she found herself in his embrace. She had promised herself to draw away from him and repulse his advances.

  But she had not counted on the intensity of her own feelings! Once she felt his lips on hers and their bodies close together she was overwhelmed by the memory of their passion. Trembling, she discovered herself responding to him with ardor to match his own. Her behaviour shocked her even as she knew she could not control it.

  “Dear Fanny!” George breathed in her ear and held her tight to him.

  “This is wrong! We mustn’t!” she protested in dismay.

  “It cannot be wrong that we love each other,” he rebuked her. “I refuse to believe that!”

  “It’s too late!”

  “Not for us to be together,” George said. “I have a flat I often use when things become too dreadful at home. We can go there now!”

  “No, George!”

  “I beg you,” he said huskily. “I’m completely lost. If you turn from me I swear there is nothing left. I shall take my life!”

  “Do not talk so wildly!”

  He stared at her, his face grim. “I mean it! It is not wild talk!”

  “George!” she sobbed, resting her head on his chest.

  “Is there someone else?”

  “No!”

  “Then we must help each other,” he said. “You prepare to leave and I’ll tell Sir Alan that I’ll take the responsibility of seeing you home.”

  She closed her eyes and gave a deep sigh. “Even though we know our love is genuine this can only lead to trouble! I’m sure of it!”

  “Being together once more, if only for a little, will be a touch of Paradise for both of us,” the young Viscount assured her.

  They went back downstairs and while she crossed to the ladies’ cloakroom to get her things, George sought out Sir Alan and let him know he was taking Fanny home in his carriage. Fanny knew Sir Alan would not be surprised at this since he realized she did not wish to remain long at the soirée.

  Within a short time they were in George’s carriage on their way across town. She insisted that the driver take a message to Hilda Asquith at her apartment, so the older woman would not worry about her not returning. She simply wrote a brief note saying she was spending the night with a friend.

  The flat which George had rented was not far from the Houses of Parliament. As Fanny left the carriage and mounted the outside steps with their light covering of snow, she was trembling, not from the cold but from the knowledge that she and George were embarking on a path which they would find it hard to depart from, even though it might well lead to their destruction.

  This knowledge was confirmed a little while later as they made love on blankets before the blazing fireplace. It seemed their desire would never be satiated, and when the glorious climax came for them, they lay for a long while in each other’s arms, light of the flames flickering on their naked bodies. Fanny gazed at the expression of content on her lover’s face and knew that she could not desert him again.

  It was on that winter’s night that their romance was resumed. It went on throughout the year. Fanny confessed the truth to no one but Hilda Asquith, so the elderly actress would not be concerned at her being absent from their flat on certain nights.

  The old woman was troubled for her. “I do not like it,” she said. “He cannot marry you. And sooner or later your affair will come to light and you will be disgraced.”

  Fanny shrugged. “I know all that, Hilda. I realized it from the start. But I love him!”

  “He has a wife!”

  “You can hardly call her that.”

  Hilda’s lined face showed distress. “Better you had married David Cornish. I’m sure he loved you as much as any man could.”

  “Please,” Fanny begged. “Don’t bring David into this. It is difficult enough as it is.”

  The war in the Crimea was coming to a slow, unhappy end. Charles wrote that he hoped to be sent back soon to England. Then the old Marquis died suddenly and George was at once the inheritor of the title and his father’s seat in the House of Lords. Fanny begged him to give up their affair, fearful of what a revelation of it might do to his political career.

  George was stubborn in his resistance to the idea. He told her solemnly, “I would rather face any sort of disgrace than lose you!”

  So her furtive visits to his flat continued. Several times when she was leaving the house to get in the carriage to take her home she thought she saw a black-clad male figure standing partly-hidden in an alley across the street.

  She mentioned this to George but he did not take her warning seriously. She said, “I think it may be a detective spying on us. Someone your wife has hired.”

  “Nonsense,” George argued. “Virgi
nia is in such a sodden state these days she would never be able to think out or organize such an action against us.”

  “Are you so sure?” she worried.

  He took her in his arms. “You must not think about such things,” he said, silencing her by pressing his lips on hers.

  Still, she continued to see the same figure watching from the alley on several other occasions. Once she asked the driver to turn the carriage around so she could get a closer glimpse of the mystery man in the alley. But when the carriage went close by the alley entrance the figure moved back into the shadows to remain just as obscure as ever.

  In October there was another outburst of theatre rivalry. Tobias Wall again hired thugs to annoy the People’s Theatre patrons. They also plagued old Silas Hodder at the stage door. He complained of this to Fanny and warned her to be cautious in arriving at the theatre.

  “Never leave your carriage if any of those ruffians are around,” her good friend said.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she agreed. “Hilda is usually with me. If I see any figures lurking by the stage door we’ll go around to the front entrance of the theatre.”

  “That would be wise,” Silas said. And then he added, “I have another question to ask you. Are you acquainted with a minister? There has been a man in clerical garb appearing at the stage door lately. I do not like his appearance. He has a strange gleam in his eyes.”

  It was natural that she should at once think of George’s brother. She had not seen the Reverend Kenneth Palmer in years, though she knew he continued to preside over a small church in the London area. All at once she began to wonder if his might be the mysterious figure in the alley watching her leave George’s flat, as well as haunting the stage door. Knowing his history of mental instability it was not a pleasant thought.

  She longed to discuss this possibility with George but he was suddenly plunged into a grim argument in the House of Lords about the conduct of the Crimean War. As a chief critic of the party in power he had a great responsibility and so she did not dare to add to his worries by telling of her fears concerning his brother. Whether the Reverend Kenneth knew about them or not, it was unlikely that he’d try to expose them, since this would bring disgrace on the family. She counted on this and planned to tell George about her concern as soon as the parliamentary crisis was over.