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Toward noon Virginia told her special day nurse she
wanted to talk to her. Her first words were, "Arbuckle did it. Don't let him get away with it." She was distraught and the nurse begged her to quiet down. She lay back and went to sleep.
The night nurse was Vera Cumberland. Virginia was worse that night. An infection had set in and she had a 101.6° fever. But she insisted she wanted to talk.
"I don't remember much," she said weakly, "but he did it. If I get well, I want the whole matter dropped. But," she added, "if I'm in the hospital a long time I want him to pay all expenses." She evidently did not consider the possibility that she might die.
"Poor thing," Vera Cumberland told another nurse, "she's covered with nicks and bruises. Even her knees are bruised."
Late Wednesday afternoon Virginia grew weaker, but still she wanted to talk. She spoke to Miss Cumberland. "Isn't it a pity," she said, "that I've led such a quiet life in Hollywood and had to get mixed up in such a party." A tear rolled down her cheek. "Honestly I didn't want to go to the party. I would have rather . . ." She didn't finish the sentence. She dropped off to sleep again brought on by the heavy sedation.
Friday a medical consultation was held. It was the consensus that Virginia couldn't be saved. Peritonitis had set in. Her pulse was becoming more rapid and Buttery. Her breathing was shallow. Maude, who had stayed at the St. Francis to be with Virginia, was called and told how serious the situation was. Maude was under sedation.
"Are there any relatives or close friends you should call?" she was asked.
Maude remembered Virginia's aunt had a heart condition and she was afraid to call her. But Maude did have a close friend whom she had heard Virginia mention. Maude volunteered to call her and then came immediately to Wakefield.
With Maude and her friend at the bedside on Fri
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