He shakes loose and goes on a bender. By the time Richard finds him again, several hours later, he can hardly stand and it takes two men to lift him into the carriage. He’s dimly aware of a crowd of people watching. He tries to throw Richard off, but liquor has leveled the playing field. It makes Edwin furious, because who asked? Who asked for Richard to involve himself?

Attempts are made to sober him up for his performance—coffee inside, cold water out. He stumbles through Hamlet. One critic says: “It is to be regretted that in his present weak and nervous state he should attempt to act at all.” The disappointing performance is politely blamed on ill health.

—

February 19th: A telegram arrives from Orlando Thompkins, a family friend and manager of the Boston Museum theater. It says that Mary is improving steadily.

Another telegram, later that night: Mary continues comfortable. Dr. M says there is no need for you to come.

Edwin has passed out in his bed at the Stoddards’. He wakes in the dark with a strange fancy. Someone has just blown a puff of air on his right cheek and then another on his left. Ghost kisses, he thinks. He rises onto one elbow, but he’s still not sober. The room revolves around him, the furniture moving past, tipping and whirling like a carousel. He hears a woman’s voice, soft but distinct and full of desperation. “Come to me, darling,” she says, “I am almost frozen.”

By morning, he remembers this only dimly. A strange dream, he thinks. He can’t quite call it to mind. It hovers at the edge of memory, but will come back to him fully later.

February 20th: Mary no worse. Dr. M says you should come tomorrow, arriving in the afternoon. Stay on through Sunday.

Edwin prepares to cancel his Saturday performance. But then doesn’t, because a second telegram arrives. Mary doing better. No need to worry.

He’s already on his fourth bottle of porter in anticipation of a dry weekend. That seems to have been unnecessary, but what’s done is done. He’ll see Mary soon, and he’ll stop drinking then. He hasn’t forgotten his promises. This is just one final indulgence.

More telegrams arrive while Edwin is onstage playing a boozy Richard III.

Half of them express an urgency. Mr. Booth must come at once.

The other half reassure Edwin that Mary is improving and there is no need for alarm.

These aren’t given to Edwin until the play has ended. By then, he’s missed the last train of the evening. He and Richard leave at eight the next morning. The train moves slowly, makes many stops. Whenever Edwin looks out he sees an apparition of Mary in her shroud, floating over the snowy towns and fields. Eight in the morning is almost exactly the time that Mary dies.