Goddess of the Green Room: (Georgian Series) (23 page)

‘She knows and you know that I have very good cause for my grievance.’

‘Listen, my dear, as soon as…’

‘As soon as it’s possible we’ll be married. You’ve been saying that for how long… ever since…’

‘Ever since we met and I fell in love with you and knew I couldn’t live without you.’

‘Providing it was not in wedlock.’

‘Oh, Dorothy, where is the difference?’

‘If there is no difference why do you hold out against it?’

‘You know my father…’

‘I know you. You are spineless, gutless… and I’m sorry you’re the father of my children.’

‘Two of them,’ said Richard. ‘Don’t forget you already had one before we met.’

She could have wept with rage and frustration; and this was no mood in which to go on the stage and play the debonair Harry Wildair.

‘Oh, go away,’ she said. ‘I’ll be late for the theatre.’

‘I’ll take you,’ he said.

‘Thanks, I can do without company.’

She stalked out of the room. She had been a fool, she told herself. She should never have agreed to live with him. She had loved him once, madly, passionately; and now that had altered slightly, but she still had an affection for him. He was weak, but perhaps she was fond of him for that very reason. Perhaps he had presented such a contrast to the brutal, bestial Daly.

She was unhappy. At the pinnacle of success she lacked what she most wanted: the warm cosy security of marriage. She was well aware why Grace had always wanted it for her.

If Richard would marry her; if she could feel that she was in truth his wife and the children were legitimized she would be happy. She would be able to face the jibes of the very respectable Sarah Siddons who never failed to remind her that not only was she superior to Dorothy Jordan on the stage but in her private life.

Life was niggardly; it offered freely with one hand and held back with the other.

Kemble was anxiously waiting for her when she reached the theatre.

‘I feared this was going to be one of those nights when you were too indisposed to act,’ he said with sarcasm.

‘I am in good health,’ she retorted.

‘I know that. But I still thought…’

She cut him short. ‘What’s the fuss about?’

‘You’re a little late.’

‘I’ll be on the stage in time, don’t worry.’

‘I hope so. We have a royal visitor.’

‘Oh?’

‘His Highness the Duke of Clarence.’

Dorothy felt disappointed; she had hoped for the Prince of Wales. On the nights he came it was a real gala evening.

She went into her dressing room; and while she was dressed she was thinking of Richard, his weakness and his obstinacy and her feelings towards him were so mixed that she found it difficult to analyse them.

From the moment she came on stage she was aware of the young man in the balcony box; he led the laughter when she played for
laughs; he leaned forward to get a closer look at her; he applauded vociferously at the end of
The Constant Couple
and in accordance with custom she turned and curtsied especially for him. She was accustomed to appreciation but there was something more than usually ardent in the young man’s manner. Such enjoyment as he expressed and from a royal visitor was stimulating and she looked forward more than usual to playing Pickle.

It was a silly little farce really and yet played by her it never failed to amuse the house. It was an excellent idea to do it after the play so that the audiences went home laughing. It was something that had to be seen by the fashionable world; they called it a trifle, but if anyone had not seen Mrs Jordan as Pickle they were out of touch with London life.

Both Kemble and Sheridan knew that it would have been little use putting anyone else in the part. It had been written for Dorothy and only Dorothy had that special gift for clowning with a certain youthful abandon which alone could make the part possible.

The farce consisted in fact of one practical joke following on another which were all played by Little Pickle, the schoolboy hero. Dorothy’s small, neat and shapely figure was entirely suited to the costume which showed off her femininity to perfection and the very sight of her appearing on the stage in the Pickle costume set the audience cheering.

The Duke of Clarence leaned over his box and laughed at Dorothy’s antics until the tears ran down his cheeks.

He was heard to say: ‘George said I must see it, and, by God, he was right.’

Dorothy took her calls, made her obeisance to the royal visitor and retired to her dressing room, all depression gone. She had forgotten her anxieties for the girls and her quarrels with Richard.

Sheridan was at the door, smiling, slightly intoxicated. He could not take his drink as his cronies could. He was neglecting the theatre less nowadays and not leaving so much of the business to Kemble. He had had great hopes of political fame when the Regency Bill was being discussed, for a Regent Prince of Wales would have been a great fillip to his fortunes. As it was that avenue was closed temporarily, and the concerns of the theatre were once more a matter of urgency to him.

‘His Highness the Duke of Clarence wishes you to be presented.’

Dorothy grimaced. ‘I was hoping for an early night.’

Sheridan laughed. ‘His Highness is most excited. He’s been babbling to me about your performance. Now he wants to babble to you.’

‘I suppose I must.’

‘My dear, are you mad? Of course you must. We have to treat our royal patrons royally.’

Sheridan was smiling secretly. It was obvious that the young Duke’s admiration was great; and he had something of a reputation for his affairs with the ladies – not quite as great as that of the Prince of Wales or the Duke of York, but coming along very nicely. And a royal romance in the theatre was always good for business. Sheridan’s thoughts went automatically to Mrs Perdita Robinson. Dorothy was more of a business woman, with her eye to the cash. She had to be with all the hangers-on whom she kept about her – the children and Ford, who would never make a fortune, he was sure. No, Dorothy would not be as foolish as Mrs Robinson.

But His Highness was waiting.

‘I’ll bring him to your dressing room,’ said Sheridan. ‘He’s very impatient.’

He was standing in the doorway – smiling, young and rather charming with the unmistakable Hanoverian stamp on his features. Not as handsome as the Prince of Wales, not as tall as the Prince nor the Duke of York, but of medium height. There was a certain innocence about him which was appealing.

‘Your Highness,’ said Dorothy with a sweeping curtsey which she had perfected through many parts, ‘this is such an honour.’

‘No,’ he said, advancing and taking her hand, ‘the honour is all mine.’

‘Your Highness is gracious as well as kind.’

‘I was so enchanted by your performance. I never laughed so much as I did at your Pickle. Those tricks… reminded me of my days as midshipman. We were up to all sorts of pranks. I must tell you about them some time.’

Some time! So there were to be other times? Dorothy felt a twinge of alarm. These royal profligate brothers believed that actresses were fair game for a brief adventure. She would have to disillusion the young man quickly.

She guessed him to be about twenty-five; she herself was twenty-eight. But the brothers had always liked women older than themselves. Oh, yes, she would have to be very careful with Master Clarence and the best way of doing this was to disillusion him as soon as possible.

‘May I sit down?’

‘If there is anywhere suitable,’ she replied.

He laughed at that. Sheridan said he would send for a chair for His Royal Highness.

‘Don’t worry, Sherry. This stool will suit me very well, providing it is near enough to Mrs Jordan.’

Sheridan laughed. ‘If Your Highness will excuse me, I have theatre business.’

‘Certainly, certainly.’

Sheridan went out and they were alone.

‘I felt I had to tell you how much I enjoyed your performance.’

‘Your Highness did that in your box. I was most gratified. It was a wonderful house and that was due to Your Highness’s pleasure and appreciation.’

‘No, no. It was the beauty and genius on the stage.’

He was eyeing her with pleasure.

‘Stab me,’ he said, ‘you look no more than a schoolboy though I never saw such a pretty one.’

She smiled faintly and said: ‘It is surprising for I am the mother of three children.’

‘Then you are even more wonderful than I had thought possible.’

‘Your Highness would be surprised if you saw me in my home in the heart of my family. Mr Ford and I are a very domesticated couple.’

‘You are not only the most beautiful woman I ever saw, you are a good and virtuous one too.’ His eyes were softly sentimental. ‘You must know how I admire you.’

‘I do not think I am worthy of so much of Your Highness’s attention.’

‘That’s not true,’ he said. ‘It is I who am not worthy to ask it. I knew as soon as I saw you that you were no ordinary actress. I want you to know that as soon as you came on the stage I was aware of this.’

She laughed; it was the merry sort of laughter she used in her
tomboy parts. It was difficult, she thought, for an actress to get away from her parts. One played them off stage as well as on and these little theatrical gestures had often proved very useful in a difficult situation.

‘So kind,’ she said languidly. ‘So kind.’

‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘where is your residence?’

‘In Somerset Street, Portman Square. It is not really near enough to the theatre. But I have a tiny place in Richmond. The children are often there. I think the air at Richmond is particularly beneficial.’

‘The air of Richmond is excellent,’ he said delightedly. ‘I have a place there. So we are near neighbours.’

‘I am more often in London,’ she reminded him. ‘Except of course when I play in Richmond.’

‘Yes, yes,’ he cried delightedly. ‘This is all so interesting.’

‘I am surprised Your Highness finds it so.’

‘But everything concerning you is of the utmost interest to me.’

‘That surprises me even more; but you will find your interest is misplaced. I am only interesting – at least I hope I am – on the stage. Outside that I am an ordinary mother and… wife.’

‘It is so… charming,’ he said. ‘And I long to know more of your interesting life. Could we have supper together?’

‘Your Highness is so gracious it seems churlish to refuse but…’

‘But?’ There was no hint of arrogance, only bitter disappointment.

‘My family is expecting me. I know Your Highness will understand.’

‘You would be anxious if you came, you would be thinking of them?’

‘I fear so – and no fit companion for such a gay young Prince as yourself.’

‘I shall be far from gay without you.’

‘So Your Highness excuses me.’

‘My dear Mrs Jordan, my
dearest
Mrs Jordan, I want you to know right from the start that your will must always be mine.’

He had charm, she had to admit it. She had heard that the Prince of Wales was the same; when
he
pursued a woman he subdued all arrogance and was the humble lover. The young brother
evidently took his cue from the elder; but even if the humility was assumed, it made for smooth communication.

‘If Your Highness would excuse me… I must be leaving now.’

It was unheard of, she guessed – an actress to dismiss a Prince after refusing to sup with him. He must be furious beneath that charming grace. At least it would show him right from the start that she could not accept his advances. And she need not fear that he could harm her career. She was too firmly established with the theatre-going public for that.

‘Perhaps you would allow me to take you home. My carriage is waiting.’

‘Your Highness is insistent on showing me kindness which I do not deserve. Mr Ford is doubtless in the theatre having come to take me back to our home.’

He bowed. ‘Then I can only thank you for allowing me these few moments of pleasure.’

He did escort her to the Green Room where she was pleased to see Richard was waiting.

The Duke bowed and she curtsied. Then he left her and she went to Richard who was watching in some surprise.

‘We had the Duke of Clarence in the house tonight,’ she said. ‘He came back-stage to compliment me on my performance.’

‘Good,’ said Richard.

She went out with him to her carriage and she thought angrily: I played the virtuous matron to the young man tonight; and Richard could so easily give me the satisfaction of being exactly that in reality.

Was she a promiscuous woman? She most certainly was not! Yet she had three illegitimate children. One forced on her by Daly; the others the result of her union with Richard who had sworn he would marry her.

She felt angry with this man to whom she was ready to be the devoted wife, whom she had loved whole-heartedly and whom she now helped to keep in a comfortable if not completely luxurious manner.

And yet he would not do this one thing for her which he knew she craved.

He was cowardly and selfish; and for some reason her encounter with the Duke of Clarence had made this more apparent.

At least, she promised herself, she would have no more overtures from that young gentleman.

In that she was mistaken, for the next night the Duke was again in the balcony box and it was clear that he had come for the sole purpose of watching Mrs Jordan.

He came each night and afterwards back-stage. They talked as they had on the first occasion and then she would tell him that Mr Ford was waiting to take her home. He will soon be tired, she told herself. He is no doubt accustomed to easy conquests. But he did not get tired; he greeted her always with adoring looks and made no complaint that she refused to have supper with him. She could not be unaffected by his attentions and was aware that her performances were even more vivacious than before. She even wondered whether she was playing more to please the young man in the balcony box than the whole of the house.

One night, after the show, he said to her: ‘Do you find me not persistent?’

‘The most persistent playgoer in the house, I believe.’