Fates and Traitors by Jennifer Chiaverini Page B

genius, industry, intemperance, everything he was, everything that made him what he was. He was her Byron, and she his devoted muse. Come what may, nothing would ever change that.

    D azed and sick at heart, Mary Ann returned to the parlor and sank down upon the sofa. For more than twenty-five years, a vast ocean and a thick tangle of lies had separated her from her husband’s wife, but now Adelaide had come to Baltimore. Lightheaded, Mary Ann felt heat rising in her cheeks even as her hands grew icy cold. She clasped them together in her lap, but that did not cease their trembling.
    She was unaware Junius had followed her until he sat beside her on the sofa. “My son Richard has come to America too, and has been here more than a year,” he said.
    â€œWhy did he come?”
    â€œPerhaps because he hadn’t seen his father in ten years, not since my last visit to England.”
    â€œOf course. Forgive me—a foolish question.” How old would Richard be now—twenty-seven? Twenty-eight? A man grown, surely curious about his long-absent, famous father, and determined to forge the neglected bond that should have been his birthright.
    â€œHe may have come because—” Junius hesitated. “The truth is, I haven’t sent Adelaide any money in quite some time. I suspect she sent Richard here to confirm that I’m still working, still earning.”
    â€œOh, Junius—” Mary Ann left it there. It would accomplish nothing to scold him for neglecting Adelaide’s payments. The damage was done.
    When Richard arrived in America, Junius told her, he had been stunned by a new acquaintance’s accusation that he could not possibly be the legitimate son of the great tragedian Junius Brutus Booth, for everyone knew that the celebrated tragedian had a beautiful wife and a thriving brood of children in Maryland. Aghast, Richard had settled in Baltimore, where he had quickly discovered his father’s secret and had written to his mother urging her to come to America and prove his legitimacy. Adelaide had been in the city five months, watching the house on Exeter Street, gathering evidence, doing nothing to distract Junius from earning money until she could confront him.
    â€œWith the manager looking on and the entire cast and crew listening at the keyhole, I could not deny her charges,” Junius said. “Nevertheless, I ordered her to return to London. She refused, and she declared that she would not leave America until it was proven in court that she is my true wife and Richard my legitimate son, entitled to all the rights thereof. I could not suffer her another moment, and as I stormed off, she shrilled after me that I should expect to hear from her attorney.”
    â€œWe’ll have to tell the children.” Mary Ann rose, wringing her hands, dreading what must come next. “They must hear it from us, not on the streets.”
    June was away on tour, but Rosalie was in her bedchamber and the four youngest were playing outside. Mary Ann knew she would never forget the children’s stunned, pained, bewildered expressions when she and Junius gathered them together and told them, as gently as they could, that their parents were not married, that another woman was their father’s wife, and that she had come to demand what she felt he owed her.
    Asia’s eyes narrowed as she absorbed the news, and Mary Ann could see her shrewd mind at work. “You married that other lady and had a son,” she queried her father, “and then five years later you eloped with Mother?”
    â€œIt was closer to six years,” said Junius, as if each word were an effort, “but yes, daughter, that is so.”
    Asia frowned. “So
her
six years mean everything, and Mother’s twenty-six years with you mean nothing?”
    â€œAccording to the law, yes.”
    Asia tossed her head to show exactly what she thought of the law.
    Soon thereafter,