2.5 Ticking Away: Purple and Fine Linen by May Edginton (1926)

In the last post I expressed that my surprise at how long it took to find an author like Joseph Hergesheimer; in today’s post I am frustrated that only now—in the fifteenth post—have we come to the first story written by a woman.  

“Purple and Fine Linen” was written by May Edginton, a British writer whose work Hollywood frequently adapted. Stars like Mary Pickford, Norma Talmadge, Joel McCrea and Jean Arthur moved across the screen in the various cinematic translations of Edginton’s work which began in 1912 with the short Double Cross and ended in 1936 with The Manhattan Adventure. More than a dozen films had their story sourced from Edginton’s work. Accomplished directors like Frank Borzage worked on one film while Alfred Hitchcock was the art director for Dangerous Virtue, which began as a play by Edginton. 

Unexpectedly but disturbingly it is hard to find information on Edington other than the most basic notations: she lived from 1883 to 1957. This lack of information is despite what appears to be prominent success across literature and cinema. After all, she was featured in magazines like Collier’s and the Saturday Evening Post and her stories were often serialized in journals both in the States (I.e. Newsy, The Baltimore Sun) and across the pond.

Three Hours directed by James Flood starring Corrine Griffith (First National, 1927)

“Purple and Fine Linen” first appeared in Colliers in 1926. Here is another story that Overton would have edited during his time for the weekly periodical. The familiarity with the tale makes it an especially odd choice to include in the “Romance” volume. This is, in the end, a horrific story that would fit more in line with the schematics of The Twilight Zone or Alfred Hitchcock Presents.

The tale begins with the description of the unnamed protagonist: “The woman with the black hair, that had a kind of blue bloom upon it like the bloom of grapes, watched everyone who went by.” Like previous authors, Edginton withholds the names of many of the figures, creating suspense as the story goes along. Within the chaotic haze of unnamed of characters, the plot moves forward with concrete and clear narration.

When we meet the “woman with the black hair” (later described as the former Lady Malvern), she is begging for money on the street. Skillfully she grasps those that move around here since “she was used to summing up men at a glance and taking her chances.”  A rather gruff man (“The Australian”) is startled by the woman’s beauty and fumbles his fingers through his pockets to pull out a coin. He is frustrated by the experience of being solicited on the street by those he does not know. In his world where each individual exists as their own being. He is “Big and burly” and as Edington writes, “masterfully he went on.”

Another story by Edginton featured in Red Book Magazine (September 1919)

The man is not so masterful as he soon realizes he has been pick pocketed. Turning back he sees the woman and follows behind her while in a cab. Rather than bothering her right away he decides to watch how she will go through much of her day. The man haunts and watches as she goes to a  store and gets an evening dress. As has been the case with so many tales, from the “Dummy-Chucker” to “The Beauty Spot,” clothes become an important signifier of where one stands in the world. They have generally been of note as symbols for transformations. To describe clothes has been to reveal something unexpected about a certain character.

After some time the Australian corners the woman who agrees to go to jail. She has one request: three hours. Once those hours pass, she will visit a house. Given this, she will be satisfied to turn herself in for stealing. After some hesitation the Australian agrees though he repeatedly reminds her she will be his “prisoner.” The agreement is on the condition that “the woman with black hair” will never leave his sight.

I am sure there are many romantic comedies that have used a set up like this to stage a love story. In that world over the three hours the man and woman would grow to attracted to one another. They would find common grounds among uncommon circumstances and love would develop in the midst of what is ultimately a scenario of captivity. Evington hints at that possibility but her prose moves away from an idealized description of this situation.

This does not mean the two don’t talk. In the three hours the woman eventually explains to the man what is at stake in her visit to this house. She was at one point married in the past. Unhappy with her life she left her husband (Lord Malvern) to be with another man whom she eventually left. She then lived in Europe. Though she has not been with her husband for 17 years, she has written to him every year hoping she may visit their child. Lord Malvern has never returned her letters. Until now.

Malvern agreed to let the “woman with the black hair” see her child, but only for five minutes, and only tonight. That is why she needs the three hours. This is wretched set of circumstances and they evince the misogynistic rigidity of certain legal and social codes. Malvern is a “revegenful man” but his former wife is convinced he has finally let go of some of his spite.

The story concludes with The Australian arriving with the former Lady Malvern to the home. As he promised he never lets her out of his sight. When Lord Malvern sees them he stares at the Australian (now revealed to be named Mr. Frampton). Edginton’s narration communicates thought through glances as “Malvern’s look inquired Frampton’s status. New husband, new lover? said the look. It was cold as ice and unbearably insulting. The Australian swallowed it reluctantly.”

Malvern is a vessel for the system which has forsaken Edginton’s protagonist. This becomes all the clearer as the former Lady Malvern goes to see her daughter and a series of screams is heard. Frampton doesn’t know who is screaming, but it is revealed that her daughter is dead and that she “lay on a bier, candles around her; flowers; her hands crossed on her breast. Her mouth half smiled; she had been a pretty chid, and in death was lovely.” Malvern was a vengeful man. He remained that way.

Advertisement for forthcoming story by Edginton in the Saturday Evening Post (from The Hartford Courant, June 16 1927)

The woman is aghast in horror. Malvern, dripping with an almost extravagant evil explains that he received his ex-wife’s letter the day their daughter died. And so, in his vicious manner, decided that he would finally let her visit. After the surreal moment of death, Frampton punches Malvern and leaves with the mother. Outside Frampton begins to explain to the woman that her time is up, when he is overcome by the villainy in the world and decides that the two should go explore the “new world” out there. The seed of love is planted. Frampton and the former Lady Malvern leave together and the story ends on Frampton’s promise.

This is disgusting. It is also entirely unresolved. The faux happy ending feels peculiar. It is unwarranted and yet necessarily unfinished. What is Edington’s task here and how does the title, a reflection on the cultural significance of clothes, signal a different resolution? Is this ultimately a tale of social and familial death?

When the story was taken up by First National Pictures, the title was changed to Three Hours. This is a less dour and cutting appellation. The AFI synopsis of the hard-to-see film suggests a simpler ending: “She finds consolation in the love of [Frampton].” But Edginton’s short story ends in a haze of distrust and distress—there is no sign of reconciliation with Frampton. She has little voice, murmuring in the car as they get into it “Ah, yes. I forget. I am your prisoner.” With the ending we are left with only his words to the driver, “Let’s go.”

I understand the title, “Purple and Fine Linen” to reflect the protagonist’s impossible place in a world that is uninterested in her except as an object of sexual desire. To change the title to “Three Hours” is to re-anchor the film and suggest that in that time the former Lady Malvern comes to some stable recognition or place of understanding. The new titled implies: in three hours all will change!

What Edginton reveals, however, is that behind those three hours are years of letters, pain, and violence. For over a decade the protagonist has been shut out from her daughter’s life. The three hours of the story are a time of hope, and that hope is crushed in the most upsetting of ways. There is no resolution in this short story—it merely ends. And that ending is anything but “consolation.”