My career seemed to be sailing along nicely, and then I discovered I was pregnant yet again. And still unmarried, which, despite my protests to Mama, was beginning, very slightly, to concern me.
By spring I was performing little as I felt unwell, suffering rather more with this pregnancy than previous ones. Nor was Tom King quite so supportive as he’d once been, his passion for all things tragic still his chief delight. Comedy to him was walking with a mincing step, whereas I happily dressed as a boy without shame or vanity, which rather shocked him and offended his sensibilities.
King’s real dispute was in fact with Sheridan. The manager would constantly complain that while always being in too much of a hurry to listen to his problems, Sheridan nevertheless had complete control.
‘I have no power to refuse or accept a play, to appoint or discharge an actor, nor even to buy a yard of copper lace to add to a coat.’
‘You could nevertheless support your actors a little more,’ I told him. ‘I have certainly felt somewhat ignored recently, yet my audiences are baying for me.’
‘Tragedy and Mrs Siddons are still our greatest draw,’ he obstinately insisted.
‘I bring them flocking every bit as much as she, so deserve equal pay, would you not say?’ I was becoming a tough negotiator and most certainly knew my own worth as an actress.
With Mrs Siddons determined to diminish my position, John Kemble often at odds with King, and the latter at odds with Sheridan, the Lane was not at present the happiest place in which to work. But I did my utmost to keep out of theatrical politics, as I had more personal problems to contend with.
The fact was that Richard and I were as unalike as we could possibly be. He was so logical, his legal mind planning every step as he climbed the ladder to success. While I, born with nothing, had a far less conservative outlook upon life, and preferred to take things one day at a time.
He also counted every penny, and whenever my somewhat wild elder brother, Francis, who was in the militia, wrote asking me for money, he would peevishly complain.
‘Why does he always come to you with his begging bowl? Why can he not live on his army pay?’
‘Because it is very small and he is a gentleman, or at least our father was, so he has that right. And I can afford to help him, Richard, so why should I not? He is my brother, and, rakehell or no, I love him.’
‘Do you not have enough with your other siblings to maintain?’ he snapped.
This was not the first time he’d made this accusation, as if I had no right to help my family, and it was beginning to irritate me. ‘You know full well that Nathaniel is no great charge upon my purse, since Cousin Blanche has largely funded him and brought him up as her own. He went to Brasenose College, Oxford and matriculated in October 1786. Now he is taking his BA. He is a clever boy and we are all very proud of him, so I do what I can to help. As for George, I have frequently asked for him to be engaged by the Drury Lane company, but Tom King refuses to admit him.’
‘It is not your place to secure his future. He is a grown man now and should take responsibility for his own life.’
‘George is a quiet, gentle soul, rather a retiring young man. If he pushed himself forward more then I accept he might well do better. His skills may be limited, but he has a superb voice and still dreams of a future in opera. Who knows if he will succeed, but he is my brother, so of course I must do what I can for him.’
‘And if he does not succeed, then he will continue to be a drain on your resources.’
I regarded him quite coldly. ‘
You
seem to expect your father to contribute to your own expenses from time to time, so why should
I
not be responsible for my family?’
‘That is different. I am my father’s heir. Your family depend upon your good will far too much.’
I could feel myself growing warm with anger, which unfortunately seemed to happen rather too frequently at present. ‘Is my family such a great nuisance to you? Would you prefer it if Mama and Hester moved out and took up residence elsewhere?’
‘I am not saying that at all,’ he protested, but there was the very slightest hesitation before he spoke. I was furious.
‘Hester is often given minor parts, and helps backstage. She is no drain on
your
purse, and what I do with mine is surely my business. I do, after all, contribute to the household expenses. Quite considerably. Otherwise how would we live so well?’
I had never before reminded Richard of this fact, but in this instance I deemed it necessary. I saw a flush creep up his jaw and pity rose in my heart. He was having a difficult time, struggling to make his way in the world, as well as battling against a disapproving father. ‘Can we stop this squabbling? I do so hate it when we are at odds. Can we at least be friends?’
He at once took me into his arms. ‘Of course, my darling. I must be in a grumpy mood today, perhaps because of the stress of our difficult situation with another new baby on the way.’
I might have said the solution to that was in his own hands, but felt I had said enough for one day.
That summer of 1788 we went to Cheltenham, where I performed again for the King. On this occasion I played Hypolita in
She Would and She Would Not
, and in
The Romp
, my naughty part. Frederick, the King’s favourite son, was also in the audience. None of the other princes came although the second son, William, presently in the West Indies, did come to see me in
Richard Coeur de Lion
. I thought him rather handsome, as are all the Hanoverian brothers. They do have something of a reputation for a rackety lifestyle, but I was deeply flattered by the royal interest, never quite growing used to seeing royalty in their box.
His Majesty even sent a gift to my benefit in the form of an elegant gold locket, set with fine pearls. In the centre was a beautiful painting of the Comic Muse by Sir Joshua Reynolds. I would treasure it always.
My own dear family was with me at Cheltenham, Richard too, of course, as he hated me to be out of his sight for too long. My little ones, Fanny and baby Dodee, were enjoying some country air away from the hothouse of London. And brother George came on a visit and even trod the boards with me, which was a rare treat. We took lodgings close to the theatre and it was a most delightful summer.
John Bannister, my leading man, and I, seemed to be as popular as ever with audiences, whether playing sentimental lovers or comically at odds as misunderstood characters in disguise. It was a hugely successful tour.
I even gave a command performance, but, for once, out of respect for the King, did not play the breeches part in
The Poor Soldier
, opting instead for the heroine in a skirt. I considered this a more appropriate role, since I was pregnant. By chance I also played Mistress Ford in
The Merry Wives of Windsor
, which raised yet more hilarity and embarrassment in the press.
I can take a joke as well as anyone but was growing mightily tired of being the subject of such caustic wit. I longed for this baby to be born in wedlock, and one afternoon said as much to my beloved. ‘Dearest Richard, have you spoken to your father recently? I fear this disapproval of his is lasting far longer than I had foreseen.’
‘I cannot cross him at this stage, Dora my love. He is trying to sell what remains of his shares in Drury Lane, and I have no idea what his intentions are once he has achieved that. He may well retire, or he may not. But I certainly have no wish to risk being disinherited.’
‘I’m sure he would do no such thing. I have borne you a daughter. What if this child were to be a boy, would you not wish him be legitimate? Would not your father?’
‘We do not discuss such issues.’
‘But why don’t you? These are
your
children after all. We cannot go on being the subject of constant amusement and vilification in the press. They are saying that I refused to perform unless the management agreed to my being known as Mrs Ford, which is utterly ridiculous. I was forced to write and refute the lie, to explain that I was suffering a period of ill health.’
Tom King too had been far from tolerant of my absences, but then what does a sixty-year-old man know about pregnancy? Or any man, for that matter? Certainly my own husband, or would-be-husband, seemed strangely indifferent to legitimizing his children, which hurt me deeply.
‘Why would I change my stage name?’ I challenged him. ‘It is my
real
name I wish to change and legitimize.’
‘But everyone loves you, dearest, and understands our situation perfectly,’ he consoled me, stroking my cheek. ‘You are well received in the right circles. See how your friend Lady Lumm accepts you as my wife. She is well aware of the true nature of our alliance, and the difficulties of our situation, yet still sends invitations for you to attend her routs and parties.’
I stifled a sigh of impatience. ‘Not everyone is as tolerant as Lady Lumm. She is, after all, the wife of my father’s oldest friend who not only brought his dead body back to Ireland, but erected a headstone to his memory. Others are less forgiving of my position, and I am beginning to grow weary of waiting, Richard. I do wonder if your father ever will be reconciled to my presence in your life.’
‘Of course he will, my love. It is simply a matter of time.’
Now I was cross. ‘But we do not
have
time. This baby will not wait. The consummation of the nuptials was never supposed to be more than six months from the time we set up home together, which is
eighteen
months ago now! This is a bad business, Richard, a bad business indeed. I deserve better.’ And on that note I walked away from him in something of a huff.
Mama, of course, was outraged by his recalcitrance. ‘Why do you put up with it, Dolly? What if he never does marry you, what then?’
‘I would certainly not tolerate such treatment,’ my sister declared, getting on her high horse as she so liked to do. ‘It is outrageous. The fellow is in danger of turning into a scoundrel.’
My loyalty to Richard prevented me from answering this charge. ‘I am more concerned that the manager is edging me off the stage in favour of the over-sentimental Miss Farren, or the pretty nimbleness of Maria Crouch. I feel I am being neglected.’
‘Only by Tom King, not by your adoring public, Dolly.’
‘Crowds still gather at the stage door,’ Hester reminded me. ‘They are fascinated to catch a glimpse of you stepping into your carriage, or alighting for the next show.’
‘They marvel at your success. Everyone loves you, Dolly, save for Richard Ford,’ my mother added, rather caustically.
I sighed. ‘He does love me, Mama.’
‘In his way, perhaps, but if he does not love you enough to make you his wife, then better you were alone, instead of producing yet more fatherless children.’
I was beginning to agree with her on that score. The shine on our romance had certainly dulled, my happiness blunted by disappointment. But I nurtured a small spark of hope in my breast that it might still be salvaged. Perhaps when he held his own son in his arms, he would come to the point.
Our son was born in October 1788. He was given no time at all as he died before ever I had the chance to name him, but I loved him dearly all the same. My single state continued and I was back on stage by late November.
Thirteen
‘Little Pickle’
Spending the summer taking the waters in Cheltenham sadly did not save the King from a return of his malady. Soon the rumours were flying that he had fallen into a fever which had turned into madness. It was said that he wept constantly, talked continuously, and at times even barked like a dog, poor man. The desperate state of our monarch was on everyone’s lips. The Prince of Wales was to be made regent and Parliament was in a state of flux. Fox hastily returned from the Continent to take charge. Sheridan too was often called upon to attend Carlton House as he remained close friends with the Prince of Wales.
By February of the following year His Majesty was showing some signs of recovery and the nation rejoiced as the royal family attended a service of thanksgiving. There were command performances, firework displays and soon the royal boxes were full again, the King smiling down upon us as before. Mrs Siddons even appeared dressed as Britannia at a celebratory ball at Brooks’s.
The arguments at the Lane, however, had grown increasingly bitter. Tom King had stepped down and Kemble appointed as manager. I was now on thirty guineas a week, the equal of Siddons, although I had needed to threaten to leave and go to Covent Garden before Sheridan had stepped in to settle the matter.
And I was yet again pregnant, with still no sign of a wedding ring.
I was thankful to escape and go on tour as usual that summer, performing at Leeds, Harrogate and Edinburgh. But it was here that Mama suddenly suffered a seizure and within hours, was dead. It was so shockingly swift that I could hardly take in that she was gone from me. She was but in her mid-fifties, and had not enjoyed an easy life, having been shabbily treated by a much-loved husband and largely abandoned by her family. It was some consolation to me that in recent years she’d witnessed my success and not had any further concerns over money. Her last years had at least been comfortable.
The manager at the Edinburgh theatre protested when I took time off, but I was too overwhelmed by grief to act. Hester too was in tears, as was little Fanny, who had adored her nana. It was a sad time for us all, and I did not take kindly to the fellow’s resolve to withhold payment, nor his open criticism of me in the press.
If I have learned nothing else in life, I know how to stand up for myself. I wrote a most spirited defence, pointing out that I am never anything but a consummate professional. But surely one should be allowed a little time to grieve for a much-loved mother? I received many letters of sympathy in response.
I also wrote a few couplets in Mama’s memory, words from the heart, which an Edinburgh newspaper duly published.