The Duchess of Drury Lane (28 page)

‘The day will come when Parliament will be obliged to clear our debts,’ was William’s response, carefully avoiding answering the question.

‘You take the words from my mouth. You could always choose to marry, then Pitt would be obliged to settle them as he did mine. Did I not once suggest the daughter of the Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel as a wife?’

My heart seemed to turn over and I pressed myself close against the door, anxious to hear my Billy’s reply.

‘I am perfectly satisfied with Mrs Jordan, and nothing has changed since then except that she has given me five more children.’

I closed my eyes on a breath of relief, a small smile playing at my lips. How this man did love me.

‘But she is not your wife, and never can be,’ the Prince gently reminded him. ‘Although I can see that having almost lost the love of your life, you may wish it to be otherwise.’

‘But would the King allow it? Would Parliament agree? Could I legitimize my children? I rather think George and Sophy are beginning to suffer from the irregularity of their parents’ position.’

‘So what do you intend to do about that?’ his brother softly enquired.

Silence followed this remark, lasting for some moments, and then the Duke said: ‘What think you of the recent proclamation of Napoleon as King of Italy? Will he attempt to invade Britain?’

Whereupon I hurried away, deeply puzzled and slightly unnerved. They said eavesdroppers never did hear good of themselves, yet the Duke had declared his love for me in no uncertain terms. But was that enough to keep me safe?

I was staring at him in a state somewhere between disappointment and shock. ‘Leave the stage? But you have never asked such a thing of me before, why would you do so now?’

‘With nine children I think it perhaps time you devoted your attention entirely to them. You have said yourself that other actresses have done so, Elizabeth Farren for instance. Mrs Siddons even has now retired.’

‘I shall believe that when I see it. Siddons has carried out her very last performance four times to my certain knowledge.’ I felt quite sick inside. How could I give up what made me who I am? Never again to experience the joy of stepping on stage, which was like home to me: not as Bushy is, but as vitally important to my wellbeing. And there were more practical considerations. William had given me no reason to suppose that he would grow tired of me but I must always keep in mind that I was not, and never could be, his wife, as that overheard conversation with the Prince illustrated only too clearly. Therefore, much as I loved my children, it was essential that I hold on to my independence and an income.

‘It is not seemly for a mother of so many children to work.’ His tone carried that note of stubborn authority which the Duke always adopted when he wanted his own way.

‘It is quite unfair of you to ask this of me, William. Did we not agree that if I retired the public would soon forget me?’ I said, feeling the need to remind him of our arrangement from the start.

‘The situation has changed.’

‘In what way?’

‘You are more famous now. You could return at any time to the stage and they would welcome you with open arms.’

‘I would be finished!’ I protested. Unfortunately, the Duke could be most desperately obstinate.

‘Are you refusing to obey me?’ he challenged, his temper quickly rising as it did on occasion.

‘A
wife
promises to obey, William. I am not a wife so have taken no such vow.’

A crimson flush crept up his throat and his jaw tightened. ‘Is that meant as some sort of criticism? Because if so . . .’

‘No, dearest Billy, it is not at all. I knew from the start how things would be, but you ask too great a sacrifice.’ Keeping my tone reasonable and a smile firmly fixed in place, I put out my hands, anxious to placate him. ‘As you know I have responsibilities that I cannot simply abandon. My girls, my public. You always said that my being absent during the week when performing in London was not a problem, nor even when I was on tour, because you were often attending the Lords or various committees and charities with which you’re involved.’

He scowled, looking rather like a sullen schoolboy caught out in a lie. ‘Perhaps I would now prefer you to be less in the public eye.’

I stifled a sigh, battling with the irritation that was growing inside. This request was like a bolt from the blue, totally unexpected, and I had no intention of giving up my career without a fight. ‘You have always expressed pride in my talent and fame, said you were delighted that I am adored by so many.’

‘That may be so,’ he conceded. ‘Nevertheless, for the moment at least, I would prefer it if you gave up the stage. It would be more fitting.’

‘But we desperately need the money I earn,’ I cried. The moment I said these words I regretted them, but could not snatch them back.

‘Hang it, I have an income now of eighteen thousand pounds a year,’ he roared. ‘I need no help from you!’

‘Well, you’ve had plenty in the past,’ I snapped right back.

We gazed upon each other in complete horror. This was, without question, the worst quarrel we’d ever had. It was quite dreadful. We did not often disagree, largely because I was careful never to overstep the mark, or to expect more than I was entitled to. But the Duke had always been subject to sudden fits of rage. They would rise fast and furious, although as quickly vanish, never lasting long for he was generally the kindest of men. And we always made up afterwards most delightfully.

Now the silence between us was profound as he simmered with rage.

I wanted to ask how we would afford to maintain Bushy, to pay school fees and servants’ wages, live as well as we did if I were to stop working. His allowance, though substantial, never went as far as he would like, not when all the social activities and responsibilities expected of a royal prince were taken into account. And he could never resist being led into gambling debts by the Prince of Wales. Yet my influence was severely limited by my lack of status.

Having reminded myself of this fact, I gracefully gave in. ‘Very well, I shall do as you ask and take a break. It is clearly important to you and I ask nothing more from life than to please you.’ I was trembling, close to tears as we hugged and made up, but not for the world would I risk losing him.

Twenty-Four

‘I dreamed of everyone at Bushy, my heart crying out to be home’

Following this request, or rather demand, I informed Drury Lane that I was taking a sabbatical and resisted all attempts by Bannister, my leading man, to entice me back with new plays. Throughout that spring and summer of 1806 I no longer needed to dash off in the carriage every day for rehearsals. Nor did I need the expense of the house in Somerset Street, which I let go. And instead of fussing over costumes and make-up I was able to relax in a simple gown and fichu. We lived a modest, quiet life, so quiet I would sometimes joke that we could be dead and buried without anyone knowing we had even been ill.

The poor Duke grieved over the death of his friend Nelson and attended his funeral in January. But then we were beset with family problems. George was sent home from Great Marlow, the military college, in February in disgrace for not paying proper attention to his studies. His misery wrung out my heart, but I feared the reason for such neglect on his part may well have a deeper cause. I said as much to William, suspecting he thought the same.

‘Do you think he was bullied or ridiculed because of me?’

‘Nonsense,’ he said, although his eyes did not meet mine. ‘The boy is clearly bored with lessons and seeks adventure, as his father did before him.’

He was certainly a high-spirited, intelligent boy, and not insensitive to the world around him. In our hearts we both knew that George’s unhappiness was due to the irregularity of his parents’ relationship, his illegitimacy, rather than ineptitude with his studies. But neither the Duke nor I made any further comment on the subject, either to George himself or to each other. Where was the point, since a situation that could not be cured must be endured?

Worse news came in March when we learned that the Duke’s son William had been drowned at sea when the
Blenheim
became caught up in a cyclone and foundered off Madagascar. How we grieved for that fine boy. I had loved him as if he were my own, and he was but seventeen. What a terrible waste of a young life. The poor Duke was utterly heartbroken. Nothing meant more to him than his dear children.

But happy relations between our two selves were thankfully restored and by August he was sufficiently recovered to celebrate his forty-first birthday in fine style. We held it in the new dining room, which everyone admired, as they did the newly painted clouds on the ceiling of the hall, the bronze pilasters and lamps suspended from an eagle. The grounds, where music was played, were open to the public, and in the evening four of the Duke’s brothers came. The Prince of Wales himself led me to the head of the table where I was to preside over dinner. I was deeply flattered, and foolish enough to believe that abandoning my career was beginning to pay off, so that I might be fully welcomed into the royal family after all.

But yet again I was attacked by the press. William Cobbett branded my children bastards, accused me of vice and immorality, and their father of being guilty of a crime both in law and religion. He claimed the whole birthday celebration to be a lie on my part, as the royal family were far too pious and moral to involve themselves in such an occasion. By this he meant
be seen in my company
!

It near broke my heart to see William’s reaction. ‘How dare the fellow defile us in that way,’ he roared, more angry than I had ever seen him. I certainly felt that my sacrifice had been in vain.

I did enjoy having more time to spend with my children, and in March 1807 Amelia was born; as I was by then forty-five, I sincerely hoped she would be my last child. There were yet again builders working at Bushy and for a while I feared my bedroom would not be ready in time. The Duke was away, as he so often was, and I wrote a mild complaint of the stress I was under.

‘I really don’t know how to manage the bricklayers.’

Fortunately he returned at once, and assured me the room would be ready by March.

‘Good, as that is when I shall need it,’ was my patient response. But by the time little Mely was six months old I knew I needed to earn some money, that the question of my returning to work could be ignored no longer.

I approached the Duke with caution, casually mentioning a pressing tax bill as I put forward my request. ‘In addition, dearest, my older girls are coming up to a time in their lives when they are likely to marry and will require dowries. I must do right by them, make sure they marry well and are properly set up. And you know full well that I have no wish to be a burden to you.’

Perhaps because of all the trauma we had suffered, he made no objections.

Drury Lane welcomed me back, if at reduced fees, with jubilant applause and packed houses despite my long absence. Sheridan seemed relieved to see me, perhaps because his debts were greater than ever. This time I took a house in Mortimer Street where I was able to have the children with me, although we naturally returned to Bushy each weekend.

Oh, but it was good to be back on stage, to feel again that moment of pure exhilaration when an audience falls about with laughter at something I have said or done, or simply at the expression on my face. It is always an honour and a pleasure to bring people such delight.

The Duke was able to gain young George a commission in the 10th Hussars as a cornet, which made the boy proud to carry the colours of his regiment. He faithfully promised his father that he would mend his ways. William himself took him to Portsmouth to see him embark with his regiment for Portugal, as his own father had once taken him. I could hardly bear even to think of my fourteen-year-old son at war, yet like all mothers I must learn to let him go.

As for dear Henry, I had been obliged to swallow my fears and make no protest as he went as a midshipman at the tender age of eleven with Admiral Keats to the Baltic.

The poor Duke, however, was still suffering from a severe lack of purpose. And having supplied the nation with three recruits already in William, George and Henry, and with three more boys to follow, he begged yet again to be given a command at sea. This time he had every hope of having his wish fulfilled.

He wrote to me from Portsmouth to explain his coming absence in one of the many letters he sent me while I was in London.

Through your excellence and kindness in private life I am the happiest man possible and look forward only to a temporary separation to make that happiness more complete from having provided for our dear children. My love and best and tenderest wishes attend you all at Bushy . . . Adieu till we meet and ever believe me, dearest Dora, Yours most affectionately . . .

I fully sympathized with this need in him, for all it filled me with terror at the thought of his actually going, but of course nothing of the sort actually happened. The Duke’s request, as always, was refused.

His brother the Duke of York was then involved in a most dreadful scandal where his mistress, Mary Anne Clarke, was found to be using his position as commander-in-chief to sell commissions. The scandalmongers once again did their worst and then like hungry wolves turned upon us, accusing the Duke of having seduced one of my older girls.

‘So far as I am aware neither one of my daughters is pregnant, and they look upon the Duke as a father figure, not a lover,’ was my sharp response to anyone who repeated these cruel and infamous reports to me. But, much as we might try to ignore them, they were deeply hurtful and offensive. Were we never to be left in peace?

‘The Duke is an example for half the fathers and husbands in the world,’ I protested, which is most certainly true.

And then, to add insult to injury, Drury Lane burned down in February of 1809. I was mortified. What ill luck to have enjoyed but a few short months back on stage, only to lose it again.