‘If that is true, then it is due to the support of my wonderful family,’ I replied, giving her a hug.
‘So long as you don’t start taking us for granted.’
‘As if I would.’ Our relationship was ever prickly.
Tom King continued to be a great support, but I saw little of Sheridan, save for when I signed the contract around Christmas time. He was not at all like dear old Wilkinson, who had been like a father to me. No doubt, as Secretary to the Treasury, or whatever Sheridan was, he had far more important things to do than trouble himself over a new actress. But he was businesslike and professional, and I made sure that I was the same with him. I was rapidly learning my worth, and to toughen that tender skin of mine and stand up for myself, as Wilkinson had often advised.
There was much gossip in the green room that Sheridan was involved in royal circles, and had assisted the Prince of Wales to marry his beloved Mrs Fitzherbert. The lady had fled to France in the summer of 1785, but Prince George had apparently persuaded her to return on the promise of marriage.
‘But what of the Royal Marriages Act?’ I asked Mama, who understood these matters better than I. ‘Has he persuaded the King to give permission for him to marry?’
We were resting at our lodgings, three-year-old Fanny happily combing my curls about her tiny fingers, trying to stick in clips here and there. Hester was making herself useful backstage at a rehearsal, Mama stitching a petticoat. ‘It is always best, where royalty is concerned, to ask no questions,’ she warned. ‘The Prince is denying such a marriage ever took place, and whether or not that is true, we must believe him.’
‘But if the rumour
is
true that Sheridan arranged the ceremony then it must be right, mustn’t it? Ouch, Fanny, don’t tug too hard, darling.’
‘Oops, sorry, Mama. Can I put lipstick on you now?’
‘If you like, but only a little.’
She hurried to fetch my box of make-up and I helped her to find the stick of carmine. She began to make little dabs at my lips and I tried not to laugh.
Mama was saying, ‘Fox denied in Parliament that such an event ever took place. It is said that the poor lady wept to hear it. Loving a prince must undoubtedly have its risks. As heir to the throne George is in need of a true wife, not an illegal one, and children to follow him. I doubt any offspring Mrs Fitzherbert could give him would be considered suitable.’
‘But what if he stands by her? Or if he remains childless?’ I asked, taking the stick of carmine from my daughter’s fat little hand before she smeared it all over my face.
Mama considered. ‘If he fails in that essential requirement, then I dare say it will one day fall to his brothers to follow him on the throne. And there are enough of them, so surely one could provide an heir. Let me see, after George there is Frederick, William, Edward, Ernest, Augustus and Adolphus. There are several princesses too, but they don’t really count.’
I had quite lost interest by this time, my attention back with the copy of
She Would and She Would Not
I held in my hand. While Mama chattered on trying to remember all the young princesses’ names, I was studying for the part of Hypolita, while Fanny was struggling to tie a bow in my hair. ‘Will you hear my lines, Mama?’ I asked, finally interrupting her.
‘Of course, dearest, and Fanny shall help, won’t you sweetheart?’
‘I am busy, Nana, helping Mama dress her hair. Isn’t she pretty?’
‘If I am then it’s thanks to you, my darling,’ I told her, giving my lovely little daughter a kiss. How blessed I was, I thought. And even princes had their problems.
The theatre was more often than not packed to the doors, so crowded that some people would be squashed almost to suffo-cation in the lower passages that led to the pit. Hats would be lost, shoes drop off as toes were trodden on, and several ladies suffered from torn gowns. And these people were all coming to see
me
perform. It was a startling thought, and not a little intimidating to walk out on stage before almost two thousand people. And an audience was not always generous, or welcoming.
The throng in the pit carried cat-calls in their pockets. These were a kind of whistle, and if the young bucks did not like what they saw on stage they would most certainly use them, a cacophony of sound that would daunt any actor. They’d also hiss at the prologue, or epilogue, if it was not to their taste. I’d seen them pelt actors with food, yet another activity they used to express their displeasure. Not so uncomfortable if it was a bread roll, less fun if an orange or chewed wad of tobacco were to hit you.
Fortunately, my own performances generally proceeded without such attacks, which was a great relief and a huge joy to me. There were other risks to be wary of though. One night the audience was growing restive at the delay in starting, and some fool threw a lighted candle on to the stage, thereby almost setting fire to the curtains.
‘We take our lives in our hands simply by going on,’ Hester grumbled.
‘At least the aristocracy are no longer allowed to sit on stage. Can you imagine having them almost within touching distance.’
She giggled. ‘Or looking down the neck of your gown.’
‘It makes me shudder to think of it.’
Then just as I was about to go on stage one night, she gave me a startling piece of news. ‘Would you believe, Inchbald is in the audience.’
‘George?’
She nodded, her eyes alight with mischief. ‘He sent up his card. Go on, Doll. Show him what you can do. Give it your all tonight.’
I laughed, but perhaps my performance did go particularly well that evening as he came to my dressing room afterwards, full of praise.
‘My dearest Dora, what a delight to see you again.’ He pecked a kiss on each cheek, then held me by the shoulders to study me more closely. ‘And you are still beautiful. Oh, how I have missed you.’
‘I very much doubt that. You will have been far too busy working, I should imagine, even to remember me.’
‘I have never forgotten you. How could I when you are so lovely?’
‘Are you still walking around Yorkshire?’
He looked rueful. ‘I am indeed, but feel I have lost a pearl beyond price in losing you. A thousand times I have asked myself why I ever allowed you to slip through my hands.’
‘The past is the past, George, and we cannot alter it.’
He grasped my hands in his. ‘But I still adore you. Can we not be friends again, take up where we left off?’
‘No, we cannot. We left off, as you put it, because you were reluctant to commit to a poor young actress already burdened with a child. It is too late now to change your mind, now that I am a rich one. And I still have that child.’ I freed myself from his hold and returned to my dressing table, where I began to unpin my hair.
He stood bereft, arms hanging limp at his sides, a look of utter bemusement upon his face. ‘But you love me, and I love you. I came here especially to make you a proposal of marriage. Are you turning me down?’
I smiled up at him. ‘I’m afraid I am.’ And if I took some quiet satisfaction from seeing his disappointment at losing out on my new riches, I tried not to show it. ‘You are always welcome to call, George, and to the use of a knife and fork at my home if you are ever again in London, but nothing more. Whatever we had is long over.’
He walked out of the door in a daze, presumably back to Yorkshire and obscurity.
Following my successful benefit I was granted the last two weeks of the season off, and Mama, Hester and I packed our bags and headed north for a short tour. I did a few nights in Manchester, then on to Liverpool and Birmingham, after which we took the post to Leeds. I simply could not resist. We sat watching the performance with the rest of the audience, which was sadly sparse, the house being half empty. I was interested to see that it was Mrs Robinson, one of Mrs Smith’s cronies, who was disporting herself as Horatio in
The Roman Father
, and would later play Widow Brady in the farce of
The Irish Widow.
Having noticed our presence in the box, a ripple of applause passed through the audience, and I saw her glance across at me. I gently inclined my head by way of acknowledgement.
‘This is fun,’ Hester whispered, and I couldn’t help but giggle.
‘Mrs Robinson, and the dreadful Mrs Smith, fully expected me to return within twelve months, and so I have.’
‘In triumph,’ finished Mama, looking very pleased with herself.
I dare say it was very wicked of me, but it felt wonderful to come back and flaunt my success before those who had so persecuted me. Afterwards, dressed in the finest gown the London fashion houses could offer, I went backstage to see my old friends. Hester came with me, looking equally elegant, as was Mama. Fanny, for once, was not with us as she was being minded by our landlady, although she’d made a great fuss about wanting to come.
Wilkinson was eagerly waiting for us and gave me a hug in welcome. ‘My dear Dora, I have followed your success with eager interest. How I do love to hear of a protégée’s triumph.’
I thanked him warmly but did not ask for an engagement, and as Mrs Smith and her coven of witches stood by glowering, it was Wilkinson who was soliciting me. ‘I beg you to find time in what must be a very busy schedule to perform for us again here in Leeds. Perhaps next summer, when Drury Lane closes for the season?’
‘I would be delighted to play for you next week if you prefer, so long as we can agree a favourable fee, perhaps a share of the profits after house expenses?’ I said, and we both laughed, each of us remembering that first meeting when I, so bedraggled and hungry and four months gone with Fanny, had not even the courage to audition for a part.
We decided on
The Country Girl
, my current favourite and new to Leeds. Also
The Romp
, which was loved by the audience even if I was growing a little weary of it. My old admirer the son of the Duke of Norfolk was in the audience, together with a crowd of his friends. Wilkinson was astonished and delighted that the House was packed to overflowing before the curtains were even drawn. Another slap in the face to the three witches, who clearly couldn’t achieve one that was more than half full.
Best of all, our trip north meant that we were reunited with my dear brother, and George accompanied us on to Edinburgh, enjoying spending some time with his family. There I met with only moderate success as the Scots do rather prefer their dour tragedy to farce, but it was fun, and good to have the opportunity to introduce myself to a new audience. Then we were heading south again, eager to start rehearsals for the next season at Drury Lane.
Eleven
‘. . . the perfect gentleman’
My fame seemed to be rapidly spreading. Artists would try to draw me while I was on stage. I could see them scribbling madly, which was very slightly off-putting. Romney, so popular in court circles that he normally charged eighty guineas, painted me later that year for no fee at all. He caught me quite delightfully, I think, in a pose I used as Peggy in
The Country Girl
.
Everywhere I went in London there were prints of my portraits, sketches and engravings. Sheet music of the songs I sang could be found for sale in the shops, and people even offered to write songs for me. Others wished to make my hats and gowns, and flowers and gifts were constantly delivered to my dressing room. It was all quite overwhelming. I was also beginning to receive invitations to rather grand social functions. I must have passed muster at the first one I attended, or at least managed not to make a complete fool of myself, as I was then asked to further events.
I loved every moment of my new fame, more than willing to work hard, never stopping to consider whether I was tired.
Nor did I regret dismissing George Inchbald from my life. He’d rather avoided me while I was visiting Leeds, tending to sulk in a corner whenever I was around. But I do not believe in looking back, only in living for the day. I certainly had no intention of pining for that selfish young man. One morning I was hurrying to a rehearsal when I bumped into Sheridan.
‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ I said, stepping back quickly.
‘Ah, Mrs Jordan, may I present Mr Richard Ford.’
I glanced at the smiling young man by his side, and graciously offered him my hand. He was slim and rather elegant, with a boyish face, dark hair and eyes. His touch was gentle as he took my hand in his, making no attempt to kiss it but treating it with a delicate respect. My heart gave a little flip, almost of recognition.
‘I seem to know your face. Have we met you before, I wonder?’ I asked, feeling slightly flustered.
‘I’m quite certain that I would have remembered, although I have seen you on stage, Mrs Jordan. It is a great pleasure to meet you in person, as I so loved you as Peggy in
The Country Girl
.’
‘Thank you. It is most kind of you to say so.’ I recalled that I had seen him about the theatre from time to time, although not with the young bucks who hovered about the green room, or the stage door, hoping for a glimpse of one of the actresses.
Sheridan explained. ‘Richard is the son of my co-proprietor, Dr James Ford of Albemarle Street, part owner of the Drury Lane, and obstetrician to Queen Charlotte.’
‘Ah, and are you too a doctor?’ I was sufficiently intrigued by the young man to wish to linger and engage him in conversation.
He gave a little chuckle. ‘I’m sure that would have pleased my father, but no. I am training for the bar, and hope one day to go into Parliament.’
I was impressed. More importantly I knew at once that I was attracted to him, and rather thought from the look in his eyes that he might be equally taken with me. He half turned, about to leave, but then again quietly addressed me. ‘Perhaps we may talk more next time.’
‘I should be charmed.’
As I watched him walk away I thought what a quiet, most pleasant young man he seemed to be, well educated and rather serious. And on greater acquaintance he proved to be so. He took to calling to see me regularly at the Lane, always charming and ever polite. He was the perfect gentleman, steady, and, unlike Sheridan, not a heavy drinker or womanizer. He was that rare creature, a man with good prospects and no debts or vices.