The Duchess of Drury Lane

Twenty-Five




‘I really feel myself lost when in the world, and not fit to live out of my own family’

Kemble was gone and rehearsals began at last, for which I was truly thankful. We worked for some hours, then as we took a welcome break Atkinson brought forward an old man whom I’d seen watching from the wings.

‘Do you remember me, I wonder?’ he asked. ‘I was the one who dragged you on stage that first night when you ran away to hide in the dressing room.’

I stared at him in amazement. ‘Ryder? Can it really be you?’

‘It is to be sure. I’m astonished myself that I’m still alive, but filled with pride that I was the one to have instigated your career, Dolly. May I call you Dolly? I shall always think of you as such.’

‘Oh, Mr Ryder, what a pleasure it is to meet you again after all this time,’ I said, hugging the old man tight. ‘And to say thank you, for had you not dragged me back by force, who knows what would have happened to me.’ I smiled at him, feeling a rush of gratitude at this rare meeting. ‘You offered me a kindness I did not find at . . .’ I paused, not wishing to dwell on what happened to me at Smock Alley. ‘I did not find the like again until I reached Yorkshire.’

He gave me a knowing look. ‘I can well believe it. My grandchildren are tired of my bragging about how I discovered the famous Mrs Jordan,’ he added with a chuckle. ‘But you’ve changed beyond recognition since those early days, Dolly, a fine lady now indeed. The theatre, you’ll see, hasn’t changed at all.’ And we both laughed at that.

Echoes of my past came before me in a less pleasant manner when I was presented with bills amounting to £394 for debts contracted by two of my brothers! I examined them in dismay but agreed to give the matter all due consideration, dismissing the fellow who brought them as politely as I could.

‘I know the law and am not responsible for their debts,’ I vigorously protested to Lucy. ‘No one can force me to pay them.’

‘Yet it places you in a most awkward position, Mama, if you do not,’ she very sensibly pointed out.

‘I dare say you are right, but you see what a victim I have been all my life, since I was fourteen, to my ungrateful family.’

‘I could call upon Sir Jonah Barrington. He is kindness itself, and may well be able to advise.’

I took her wise advice, and he came at once, although his words brought little comfort. ‘It is a cruel thing your brothers have done to you, but I recommend you pay the sum immediately. Though the law may not enforce it, yet for your own sake you must submit. Whatever the cost it is not worth thinking of when compared with what those rascals could make you suffer. They would insult you both in private and in public.’

But when I continued to protest, Sir Jonah explained how Mrs Siddons once came to Ireland, and her brother Stephen managed to get himself arrested for a debt of £300 which she refused to pay. ‘The consequence was that she was grossly insulted on the first night she played, and was obliged to pay it before she could appear again.’

I quaked to think of it. ‘But I do not have such a sum.’

‘I have,’ he most generously replied. He took my hand and kissed it, as the true gentleman he was. ‘Allow me to settle this unpleasant business for you, as a friend.’

‘I accept only on the grounds that I will repay you as soon as I am able.’ I hated to be in debt, yet responsibilities to my family, the cost of the work on Bushy, and the Duke’s lifestyle seemed ever to overwhelm me.

He smiled. ‘Consider the matter done.’

I was in fact able to repay his generosity once Atkinson settled with me; nevertheless the sum had come as a huge blow.

‘Although I had some vague fears such a thing might happen when I came here,’ I confessed to Lucy. ‘You can see for yourself how my family continually endeavours to harass and use me. But let us bury all this in oblivion. I will never mention, nor if I can help it, think of the matter again. I conclude here on the second of July and shall set out on the third should the sea be afire.’

Many in Dublin must have been pleased to see me as the manager opened the doors early on the first night, nervous of an accident because of the crowds.

‘I don’t think I ever played The Country Girl so ill,’ I mourned to Lucy when it was done, but she dismissed my worries as nonsense.

‘You are being overly critical because of the long wait. The audience loved it.’

The next night I played Lady Teazle, and Widow Cheerly in The Soldier’s Daughter, after that Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing, with more of my repertoire following. ‘Yet there is hardly a night passes but there is a fight in the gallery,’ I complained.

‘It is a savage sort of place,’ Lucy agreed, as eager for the engagement to be over as was I.

Each morning I was beset with people, as if I were holding a levee. It was all Thomas could do to attend the door.

‘Why do they come?’ I asked in despair.

‘It is quite the fashion, Mama,’ Lucy said. ‘They wish to enquire how you are after playing.’

‘Most obliging of them, but I would fare better were I not so hounded and allowed time to breakfast in private. It is most tiresome.’

By ten each morning I was in rehearsal, with two long plays to get through for me to play in that night. These lasted till three o’clock, after which I would rest a little, then dress at my lodgings before being taken to the house in a chair, Thomas running alongside. On the first occasion I settled myself inside and drew the curtains, as usual, but the wretches in the street told Thomas that if I closed myself in next time they would throw stones into the chair.

‘I will not, cannot abide to have them gawping at me, or seeing what I am wearing for the performance and intruding upon my privacy in that manner,’ I protested when he told me.

‘Perhaps a veil, madam, and a cloak would serve instead?’ Thomas suggested, ever considerate. ‘We want no trouble.’

I was obliged to agree with him and the second morning settled for wearing a large loose gown over my dress, and a muslin veil over my face so that I could leave the curtains undrawn. This apparently satisfied the public curiosity, as they cheered and actually declared that they liked me.

‘You’re a good-natured lady, to be sure, and not proud like some we could mention,’ they cried.

They meant Kemble, who had caused offence because some man had presented him with a bill he did not consider correct and he’d responded by calling him an Irish rogue. He’d suffered a poor benefit as a consequence.

The work was hard and the days long, and it would be past midnight before I was done and free to return to our lodgings for supper and bed. Sadly, however, the profits from this part of the tour were proving to be a disappointment, despite my sacrifice of privacy.

‘We were too sanguine with regard to the profits of this engagement,’ I wrote to the Duke. ‘Apparently this is the wrong time of year, the weather insufferably hot for much of the time, which puts people off from attending. I do not think I shall make above £1,200.’

I promised, however, to send him some money in the next letter, as always.

As if all this were not bad enough, the constant commotion in the theatre was a severe drain upon my energy. ‘But no matter how weak from exhaustion I am, I must go on or they will pull the house down.’

Lucy laughed, thinking I exaggerated. ‘You have met with nothing but kindness and attention in private, and tumults of applause in public, Mama.’

‘I will admit the houses, for Dublin, are good, and nothing could be more flattering than the reception I meet with every night. But there is a rather vulgar song very expressive of my feelings on those occasions: without your cash your kissing won’t do. I shame to say that, Lucy, even to think it. And I fear at any moment they might change their view of me and throw bottles at my head!’

She gave her charming little smile, attempting to soothe me. ‘I’m sure that would never happen. They adore you.’

‘You may not have noticed, dear, but there is a continual warfare between the higher and lower ranks which they carry even into the theatre. If the boxes attempt to applaud, it is a signal for the galleries to hiss. It is quite shocking.’

‘You are simply overtired, and must rest more.’

‘I cannot sleep for thinking of home, of Bushy and the dear children.’ And my Billy, I thought, wondering where he was and what he was about while I sweated here. ‘I would not go through this again if I were to reap thousands. I must therefore in future cut my coat according to my cloth, and after this remain with my family. I will not lose so much of them again. What can pay one for such a sacrifice? Not anything in this world.’

‘I suspect your feelings against Ireland, Mama, were formed long since, as a result of the bad experiences of your youth. Let us relax and enjoy ourselves as best we can. Social invitations are pouring in and we can surely accept some. We are to dine with Sir Jonah Barrington on Friday, which will surely cheer you.’

Barrington claimed to have first seen me on the Irish stage years ago in my youth, but I have no recollection of having met him before this week. He was, however, kindness itself, and most charming. He told me how he longed to send his young son, Edward, to England to school, if only he knew of a good one, and were fit enough to take him.

‘I would be glad to help,’ I offered, feeling the need to repay the favour Sir Jonah had done me by loaning me the money to pay my brothers’ debts. ‘The school my sons attended would, I am sure, be glad to take him.’

‘That would be most generous of you. The boy has hopes for the navy.’

‘Then the Duke could put in a word for him.’

From then on Sir Jonah Barrington became my champion, for which I was most grateful. Later my gratitude paled slightly when I found myself responsible for the boy’s school fees. But then how many times has my generosity been my undoing?

The manager came to me one day to say that Charles Lennox, the Fourth Duke of Richmond, had requested a command performance. ‘His Grace makes this plea as he is so delighted with your acting, Mrs Jordan, and may well ask for a second.’

I, of course, conceded to the summons, accustomed as I was to more royal commands.

The performance finished early for once, at about ten o’clock. Lucy was at the Barringtons’, now being most friendly with Lady Barrington, and I sat waiting for Atkinson, as he usually came at that hour to settle the weekly account.

But instead of the manager, a Mr Parkhurst from Dublin Castle was announced, which at first surprised me, until I realized he might wish to discuss a possible reprise of the command. He at once embarked upon a praise of my performance that evening, and I quickly got to my feet to thank him. I let him chatter on for some minutes as he seemed a little nervous. Some people find addressing famous actresses somewhat overwhelming, which rather made me smile that, well past forty though I might be, I could still have this effect upon people.

After a little while I thought it best to interrupt politely as he was growing far too effusive. ‘If this is to be a request for a second command, it should rightly be put to Mr Atkinson, the manager.’

He looked momentarily startled, but then flushed bright red, apologizing for not having come to the point. After another slight hesitation he at last proceeded to explain. ‘I bring you the Duke’s compliments, Mrs Jordan. He regrets that his situation prevents his doing himself the pleasure of calling upon you, but he should consider himself much flattered and extremely happy if you would allow him to call on you alone, at half past twelve this night.’

I stared at the young man for some moments in a complete state of shock. Could I have heard correctly? Was I actually being propositioned by the Duke of Richmond? Was this how I was perceived, as a piece of merchandise available to anyone who asked to partake of a taste? This was far worse than all the slings and arrows I had suffered at the hands of the press. I felt slightly giddy, as if my head were swimming, and an image of my dear children flashed before my eyes. I could not even find voice to speak. I put a hand to my head, certain I was about to faint, when the door opened and Atkinson burst in. He seemed to take in the situation at a glance and rushed to my side.

‘Mrs Jordan, what is the matter? You look quite ill!’ he said, turning to glare at Parkhurst, implying he was the cause.

I shook my head, too upset to speak, and sped from the room close to tears.

Atkinson came to my dressing room later, in a state of distress almost as great as my own. ‘I bring a thousand apologies from Parkhurst. He is greatly shocked to have caused you such distress, and would not for the world have willingly upset you, but he could not refuse to bring the message.’

‘I lay no blame upon Mr Parkhurst.’

‘He will be relieved to hear that, Mrs Jordan. May I ask that this unfortunate matter be kept between ourselves? I would not wish His Grace the Duke of Clarence to think that you had been treated here with anything but the highest respect.’

I felt quite sorry for the poor man. Atkinson was clearly frightened out of his senses for fear the Duke should lay the blame upon him.

‘Of course, I shall make no mention of it,’ I agreed, wishing to appease him. ‘These matters are far better not discussed, I always think, as they can grow into a veritable scandal in a breath.’

‘I am most appreciative,’ he murmured, most humbly. ‘I wish only for your stay to be pleasant. I shall not have a moment’s rest until I am certain of your safe arrival in Holyhead.’

Amen to that, I thought.

When he had gone, bowing as if I truly were a duchess as he backed out of the room, I turned to find Lucy’s bright questioning eyes upon me and, once I had told her all, we both burst out laughing. If I had not laughed, I would have cried to think how badly my reputation was regarded, despite living a sober life with the one man I loved for what felt like a lifetime.

But I wasted no time, writing at once to the Duke to explain how deeply I had been offended even though I had learned to laugh about it since. Better I inform him than he hear of it from the scandalmongers.