The Duchess of Drury Lane

Ten




‘How I do love to hear of a protégée’s triumph . . .’

In the New Year of 1786 I played Miss Hoyden in A Trip to Scarborough, and the King himself came to see me. I was overwhelmed, quite beside myself with shock and delight. George III might well be creating difficulties for his many sons and daughters in their respective marriages, but I felt deeply privileged that he should choose to see me. It was an absolute joy to perform before this grey-haired old man, or so he seemed to me, who was our monarch, and see him laughing and enjoying himself as I gave my very best performance.

I was also very slightly embarrassed.

The play, an abridged version of Sir John Vanbrugh’s The Relapse, possessed neither dignity nor culture. One character, a Sir Tunbelly Clumsy, was as gross as his name implies. I played the part of his daughter, the kind of wayward, petulant young lady who should never have left the nursery. I wore a blue frock with red flowers that was little more than a petticoat which kept slipping from my shoulders, my hair in disarray, a jaunty little cap atop my curls. But the audience loved it, and the King roared his approval.

‘You are doing well,’ the manager assured me. ‘But, as I have explained, the Lane prefers tragedy, so I think you should try your hand at that too. I’d like you to play Imogen in Cymbeline.’

My heart sank at the prospect, but I was far too new to argue. Gritting my teeth I managed a smile. ‘I will do it if I must, but could I at least follow it with a farce, perhaps The Romp?’

Fortunately, he agreed, and having given birth to her daughter, even the great Sarah Siddons herself came to watch the performance. She was not greatly impressed by my rendition of Imogen, for which I had to agree with her. I lacked that delicate dignity necessary for the part, let alone an air of tragedy. The reviews were no kinder, but loved The Romp, which saved my reputation.

‘Mrs Siddons did reportedly declare herself amused by my Priscilla Tomboy, which sounds faintly condescending,’ I told Mama.

‘The lady is unable to tolerate competition, Dolly. You both have something entirely different to offer, but sadly, she sees you as a rival to her success.’

I worked harder over the following months than ever I had in my life, learning many new plays with barely a day off. As Drury Lane was a busy theatre and Mrs Siddons took precedence, I did not perform every night, but often appeared in both play and farce on the same night. Fans queued at the stage door to catch a glimpse of me, which I found quite astonishing.

I was also called upon to sit for a portrait, which was an amazing experience. The artist was a John Hoppner, and he painted me as the Comic Muse. I wore a pale green, flimsy gown and had to twist my body a little, to look as if I were dancing. There were other figures about me, Euphrosyne, one of the three graces, and a satyr. It was great fun and the portrait was exhibited at the Royal Academy in May, which made me feel very humble.

But I had little time to adjust to my new fame. Spring had passed by in a blur, and I could but be thankful for my own energy. My first benefit came at the end of April, making me a profit of £200. Riches beyond my wildest dreams, that allowed us to improve our lodgings at Henrietta Street. More followed in the form of a purse containing £300 from the Whig Club in St James’s. Apparently I had amused the rich and they wished to show their appreciation. Mama was beside herself with delight. I was simply relieved that money was no longer a problem. Requests for assistance from my brothers were becoming a regular occurrence.

But whether I could maintain this success was yet to be proved.

‘Didn’t I say you would sweep on to the stage and conquer all? You seem to have London at your feet,’ said my sister, with just the slightest trace of envy in her voice.

‘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.