by Jean Plaidy
Dorothy said: ‘I do understand these things – and I don’t know how I can deserve your love and devotion to me.’
‘It’s simple,’ he replied. ‘Go on loving me. It’s all I ask. It’s all I command.’
So it was a perfect union, she thought – at least as near perfect as that between an actress and a Prince could be.
Yes, even her mother would be satisfied.
There was a feeling of expectancy among the Drury Lane Company.
Every ambitious young actress who thought she had a comic genius to compare with Dorothy Jordan’s but merely lacked opportunity and good luck was surreptitiously studying the Jordan parts and in many a little room in dingy lodgings near the theatre rehearsals of Wildair and Little Pickle went on.
The mistress of the King’s son could not possibly continue with her career as an actress.
She was referred to ironically as ‘Her Grace’.
‘Has Her Grace been in the theatre today?’
‘Oh, yes, she came with His Grace. They have been in Mr Sheridan’s office. If you meet her you must curtsey right down to the ground because you have to stoop lower for a jumped-up Duchess than a high-born one.’
‘I saw Her Grace’s carriage yesterday.’
‘Her Grace’s tailor is in the theatre. He wants to measure Her Grace for Little Pickle’s breeches.’
They were envious of her happiness with a Duke and at the same time delighted that there was a possibility of stepping into her shoes.
Sheridan shook his head over them. It was no use their clamouring to him to play Little Pickle. There was only one Little Pickle in the world and that was Dorothy Jordan.
He was not at all sure that he was going to lose his actress; he fervently hoped not.
He called at Petersham Lodge to see her when he knew the Duke was not there. He kissed her hand and congratulated her on her good looks.
‘This life suits you, my dear,’ he said.
She bade him be seated and sent for refreshment. He watched her in his inimicable way and she secretly wished that she could have complimented him on his healthy looks. There were darker shadows under his eyes and in spite of his rakish appearance she knew he was concerned. He was constantly on the edge of financial disaster and the rebuilding of Drury Lane with its delays and setbacks was giving him many a disturbed night – when he returned home from his carousals.
‘I have been wondering what your plans are… theatrically speaking, of course.’
‘I have not yet discussed them with the Duke.’
‘An actress like you, Dorothy, has a duty to the public.’
‘Don’t you think I have done my duty now, Sherry?’
He was Sherry to William and the Prince of Wales and so to her now. He was aware of the change in her manner towards him. It amused him and reminded him of her elevation. He was a friend now as well as her theatrical manager. All to the good, he thought.
‘To your public yes, but what of yourself and the girls?’
‘It is all taken care of.’
‘There is the future.’
‘What do you mean? It is the future I’m thinking of.’
‘How can one plan for the future? How can one know what will happen? I know you, Dorothy. Improvident spendthrift that I am, I know you – and all the better because you are so completely different from myself. You can command high salaries in the theatre… none higher, even our Sarah. Are you going to throw it away? Why don’t you go on working? If you don’t want the money yourself, you have a family. There are those three girls.’
She was thoughtful.
‘I talked in this way to another young actress. Mrs Robinson. I said to her: “Now the public wants you. It will pay to see you now . . . and go on paying, no matter what happens. But if you stay away for a year or so… five years perhaps… ten years… there is no coming back. Or perhaps I should say that it is rarely one can come back.” The public will go on being faithful as long as an actress remains faithful to it. You understand me.’
Of course Sherry was a cynic. He did not believe her romance with the Duke would last. Of course he would not. What a romantic young man he must have been when he eloped with the lovely Miss Linley and no doubt swore eternal devotion to her. They had believed he was going to be the greatest playwright of all time. He had written The Rivals and The School for Scandal among other plays… and then he had become a theatre manager, a politician and the friend of Princes. He had thrown everything away for the sake of gay company; he had drunk too much, spent too much, had too many passing affairs with women. So that he had besmirched his marriage, not developed his genius and lived in constant fear of the bailiffs. It was natural that Sherry should take a cynical view of life.
And yet… she thought of the money she had been earning; she thought of special Benefit nights. The Duke was the kindest and most gracious of men, but like all the royal brothers he had little understanding of money. He would give her all he had, but he was too generous, not business-like enough. She would have to be the one who looked to the girls’ futures. She wanted them all to make good marriages and she would have to make up for their illegitimacy with big dowries.
‘I believe you are right,’ she told Sheridan. ‘I will talk it over with the Duke.’
Sheridan left smiling to himself. Something told him that all the second-rate actresses who were busy studying Jordan roles were going to be disappointed because he was not going to lose his biggest draw after all.
The Duke made no secret of his devotion. When The Country Girl was put on at the Haymarket with another actress in Dorothy’s place, the lovers occupied a box together and their tender exchanges during the performance were noticed. In fact the majority of the audience took no notice of what was happening on the stage; their entire attention being focused on the box.
They went out together, walking arm in arm through the streets like any devoted couple.
In the press the Duke was called ‘Pickle’s infatuated lover’. He sent for Romney to paint her. The artist had already done a portrait of her as The Country Girl but the Duke wanted a new one of her.
The excitement and pleasure of those few months were marred only by the envy of her fellow-actors and the frequent unjust comments in the press. But Dorothy decided to ignore them. They could not touch her now.
She had broached the matter of her continuing to play at the theatre and William considered it gravely.
‘And what do you wish, my love?’
‘I think I should do it. It may not be possible to resume later if I want to. And I would like to make sure of a good dowry for all three girls.’
‘You know you can leave these matters to me.’
‘You are the most generous man in the world, but you are a Prince and must live like a Prince. I have heard talk of the debts of the Prince of Wales.’
‘My God,’ cried William, whose life at sea had addicted him to strong oaths which he attempted to curb in Dorothy’s presence. ‘His debts are astronomical. Why, it was because of them that there was all that trouble in the House when Fox denied he was married to Mrs Fitz. and she nearly left him because of it. Yes, George is in debt… up to his ears now.’
‘And you too?’ asked Dorothy.
‘Well, to tell you the truth, my love, I haven’t given the matter much thought.’
That made her smile. ‘You have answered for me. I will go on acting providing you have no objection.’
‘I want to do everything you wish.’
‘You mean you will leave this decision to me?’
He took her hand and kissed it – a courteous gallant gesture. How different from brutal Daly, from indifferent Richard Ford.
‘Then I shall go on,’ she said. ‘And I shall try and save money so that in case you should be financially embarrassed when the girls come of age they will be sure of their dowry.’
‘You are a wonderful woman,’ said William.
So to Sheridan’s delight Dorothy agreed to appear
again. The crowds packed the Haymarket to see her, and on the first night of her appearance after the brief lapse during which the papers were filled with accounts of her love-affair with the Duke, so great was the crowd trying to get into the Haymarket that a man was trampled to death and one woman was badly injured.
The Duke was present every night she played. He went back-stage and sat in her dressing room. He watched her all the time she was playing and scowled at any man who deigned to glance at her.
The public was amused. He seemed mightily pleased to see her perform. Was it because he was anxious to share in the profits? Everyone knew that the royal brothers were in perpetual debt.
The latest rhyme ran:
‘As Jordan’s high and mighty squire
Her playhouse profits deigns to skim;
Some folks audaciously enquire:
If he keeps her or she keeps him.’
Dorothy did not care; nor did William; they told themselves that they must expect these spiteful shafts. People were jealous because they had found what everyone was seeking: perfect happiness.
When Dorothy called to see the children she found Hester in a state of excitement.
‘Richard has been here,’ she said. ‘He says that he does not see why he should be kept from his own children.’
‘So he is back from France,’ replied Dorothy. ‘And having done nothing for his children he has now decided he wants to see them.’
‘Dodee at least. Lucy has forgotten him. But Dodee hasn’t.’
‘And you are suggesting that I should allow them to visit him?’
‘He is their father,’ Hester reminded her.
‘I am sure the Duke would not hear of it.’
‘But the Duke is not their father.’
Dorothy flew into a rage.
‘Listen, Hester, Richard had every opportunity of giving my girls a name. This he refused to do in spite of all his promises to me in the first place. I should never have agreed to live with him if he had not promised to marry me. And he failed me. He lied to me and betrayed me. I have finished with him. I am happy now and I am determined to remain so. I am not going to allow him to poison me in the minds of my children.’
‘He would never do that, Doll. He feels kindly towards you in spite of the fact that you have left him.’
‘You speak reproachfully.’
‘Oh, no. I wouldn’t presume to do that. But you did regard him as your husband and you have left him for the Duke.’
‘Oh, not you too, Hester! Isn’t it enough with the press! They are my children. I am providing for them. I want nothing more of Richard Ford.’
‘I think you are being a little hard.’
‘Hard! You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I do. I am bringing up the children.’
‘Well, Hester, if you feel so critical of me and of the Duke perhaps I had better find someone else to look after them.’
Hester looked stunned and Dorothy’s anger subsided as quickly as it had arisen.
‘Oh, Hester, I didn’t mean that. Don’t let us be at cross purposes for heaven’s sake. The future of Dodee and Lucy… and Fan, means so much to me. I have to give them a good start in life. I want them to have all the advantages that we didn’t have.’
‘We had our mother with us all the time.’
‘They will have you and me, too. Both of us, Hester – to love them and care for them.’
Hester said somewhat mollified: ‘It is such a complicated household. One never knows what is going to happen next.’
‘Oh, why didn’t Richard stay in France. It would have been so much more comfortable if he had.’
‘I don’t think it would have been very comfortable for him. He said that the country is in a fearful state of revolution. No one is safe. He thinks that soon they’ll murder the King and Queen.’
Dorothy shuddered. ‘God forbid that such things should ever happen here.’
She was afraid suddenly. She thought of the King and Queen of France with their family being subjected to humiliation; she could well picture the mob roused to anger. She had seen a hostile audience which was not pleased with the play that was being presented to it; a pale shadow of course of what was going on across the Channel; but she knew the fury of mob violence. And to think that what was happening to the French royal family could happen to the English one. She was part of that family now. It was strange but it was true. She could not bear to think of William in danger, of contemplating losing him.
She was loving a man as she had thought she never would; she would not have believed that she had so much affection to give. Everything must go right now. Nothing must spoil this. She had waited so long for happiness and suffered so much, but if she could remain as happy as she was now everything would have been worthwhile. Richard Ford must not be allowed to disturb her.
‘So he has come back,’ she mused, ‘and discovered that he has some feeling for his children after all. Well, Mr Richard Ford has made his discovery just a little too late; and I suspect that he has made it now that he knows he will not be expected to support them.’
Hester lifted her shoulders.
‘I only want to do as you wish,’ she said. ‘And I do think of the welfare of the children.’
‘I know you do, my dear Hester. But all will be well with them. I merely want them brought up in quiet, peace and respectability; and I want to work hard so that when they come of age I can give them a good dowry. Dodee and Lucy are babies yet, but Fan is not so young.’ A shadow passed across Dorothy’s face. ‘And how has Fan been behaving?’
‘She has her tantrums.’
‘I’ll go and see her now. I expect she knows I’m here.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Hester, ‘there is very little Madam doesn’t know.’
Fanny was just a little like her father and when Dorothy caught that likeness as she did now and then, it always depressed her faintly; it repelled her; she could not help but remember him, with his lecherous face close to hers, demanding submission.
For the very reason that Fanny reminded her of him made her feel that she must be especially kind to her eldest daughter.
In the nursery she found Fanny dressed up in one of her own Harry Wildair costumes. It was quite a good fit for Fanny was almost as tall as her mother.
She was acting for the little girls who were seated on stools watching her.
She stopped when Dorothy entered.
‘So you are playing Wildair, eh?’
‘Oh, yes, Mamma. I wish I had a proper audience… not just silly Dodee and sillier Lucy.’
‘My darlings!’ Dorothy knelt and embraced three-year-old Dodee and two-year-old Lucy.
‘Mamma going to stay?’ Dodee wanted to know.
‘Yes, Mamma is going to stay for a while.’
‘Then you’ll go away,’ said Fanny. ‘I wish I could come and live with you. Shall I?’
‘One day, perhaps.’
‘Now!’ pouted Fanny; and Dodee took up the cry.
‘Now I am here,’ said Dorothy. ‘And I will play Little Pickle for you, shall I, and you shall all be my audience?’
Playing Pickle was the greatest fun and even Fanny lost her sullen looks, for Dorothy thought up all sorts of ridiculous tricks Pickle could play in the nursery and soon the children were shrieking with the same rollicking laughter that she was accustomed to hearing in the theatre.
‘When I’m big,’ announced Fanny, ‘I’m going to be an actress.’
‘Me too,’ added Dodee.
‘Perhaps you will, my darling.’
‘I’m going to marry a Duke,’ said Fanny.
And Dorothy asked herself: What do they hear?
Hester came and took the younger children away and when Fanny was left alone with her she took her mother’s hand, examined the diamond which the Duke of Clarence had recently put there and said that she wanted to live in a grander house than this and instead of having Aunt Hester to look after her she wanted to be
with her mother and the Duke.
‘My dear, you couldn’t do that. You must live here and I will come and see you sometimes.’
‘Where is our father? He came here the other day. He wanted to see Dodee and Lucy… not me.’
‘Well, you see, darling, they are his and you have another father as I told you long ago.’
‘I know he was your first husband, and Dodee’s and Lucy’s papa was your second.’
Dorothy did not answer. There were going to be complications as the children grew up. If Richard had married her it would have been so much easier. Not that she regretted that now that she was in love with William and had her new life. She could face the complications.
She decided then that the children should no longer be known as Ford; they should all be Jordans.
Fanny said good-bye to her with great reluctance; she was petulant and inclined to sulk. They would have trouble with Fanny if they were not careful. When she reached Petersham Lodge she found the Duke at home eagerly awaiting her.
He embraced her with fervour as though they had been separated for a month. He was always afraid, he said, when she was out of his sight.
He had been to see Adam again, he told her. ‘An anonymous book is being sold in which you are mentioned… scandalously.’
‘In what connection?’ she asked faintly.
‘In connection with the Irish manager Daly. It’s supposed to be written by Elizabeth Billington, the singer. She declares she knows nothing of it and is taking proceedings against the publishers. I have authorized Adam to buy up all the copies he can find and if necessary I shall take action against the publisher.’
‘You are so careful of me,’ she said.
‘My darling, it is my pleasure to protect you from these… these villains.’
‘I wish they would stop persecuting me,’ she said. ‘I wish they would let me be happy.’
‘I’ll not let them stop that.’
She felt tired and tears came to her eyes.