The Duchess of Drury Lane (3 page)

‘Gladly. What a delight you are, Dolly.’

‘Dora. Dolly is the name my family use. My stage name is Dora, or Miss Francis.’

‘Ah!’ His eyes glinted as his gaze roamed over me, allowing it to linger on my breasts as men so often did. ‘Excellent choice,
Miss
Francis,’ and he flourished a bow as if I were a courtly lady. ‘We will foregather at one o’clock precisely in the props room where we might hope to find some peace and quiet.’

I took my sister Hester with me. ‘Do not,’ I instructed her, ‘on any account leave me alone with this man. I do not trust him an inch.’

‘You’re a fool even to agree to this,’ she said, in her usual scolding way.

Hester had no time for men, a prejudice presumably caused by a neglectful father. And in this instance she may well have been right, as I could see at once that Daly was displeased by her presence. Giving him no time to object I handed Hester the script, announcing that she would act as prompt. ‘Now we can concentrate on the action without worrying about forgetting our lines.’

He frowned at me, but then of a sudden put back his head and laughed out loud. ‘Keep your chaperone if you must, dearest Dora, for now. But I am not fooled by your maidenly blushes. I am fully aware that you find me irresistible.’

‘Shall we begin?’ I said, deliberately cool.

Hester sat in the corner, barely glancing at the script she held in her hand as she watched open-mouthed the ‘love scene’ performed before her eyes. I do not care to recall the number of times he insisted we go through it, far more than was strictly necessary. And on every occasion came ‘the kiss’.

‘No, it still isn’t quite right, you must sink into my arms, lean back when I hold you. Like this.’

‘Like some fainting virgin?’ I caustically remarked.

‘Exactly. Is that not what you are?’ His good eye fixed me with a challenging glint, but I managed to slide from his arms with some of my dignity still intact.

‘I think that’s enough for now, don’t you? I feel confident we know this scene well enough, and I’m in need of a rest before the first performance. Thank you for sparing the time to help me.’ I was invariably polite, although fearful of seeming to encourage him, and pointedly avoided joining in his banter. ‘Before we go, there is just one matter I wish to discuss with you.’ I cast a quick glance across at Hester, who instantly jumped up to start tidying away the props that we’d used, deliberately keeping herself busy as we had agreed. ‘I wondered if I might ask a small favour.’

‘Your wish is my command,’ he simpered, taking my hand, the moistness of his lips leaving an imprint of his lingering kiss long after I had gently withdrawn it.

I quickly explained about Lucy and the need for money to pay for a physician and medical care. ‘I wouldn’t ask otherwise, but we have no way of raising the necessary funds, so a small loan would be most appreciated. Well, not too small. Physicians are expensive and times have been hard for Mama recently. Twenty or thirty pounds perhaps?’ I timorously suggested, thinking of the creditors whose accounts we also needed to settle. ‘I will, of course, pay back every penny, perhaps in regular instalments if that would be agreeable?’

He smiled. ‘I am so sorry to hear of your sister’s illness, and only too happy to help. We can discuss the exact terms later.’

Perhaps, I thought, Richard Daly was not so bad after all. But I had no wish to repeat that ‘love scene’ save on stage.

To my great relief, by the following year of 1779 I learned that Daly was engaged to Jane Barsanti, a leading actress of note whom he was to marry, which meant he’d be unlikely to trouble me again, or so I thought. She was a widow, her former husband, Lyster, having died. I guessed he’d left her sufficient funds to add to her attractions, certainly so far as Richard Daly was concerned.

Once she was his wife, he offered to take the Smock Alley lease off Ryder’s hands. Our poor beleaguered manager clearly had mixed feelings on the matter. While still struggling to maintain both theatres Ryder was nevertheless aware that with money behind him, Daly would prove a powerful rival. He therefore put up little resistance.

‘I am sorry to see it go, but have done all I can think of to make it pay,’ Ryder mourned. ‘I’ve engaged at considerable expense the finest that the London stage has to offer in such actors as Mrs Abington, Sheridan and the Barrys, all to no avail. You are welcome to it, Daly.’

‘He does not mean it,’ my mother whispered. ‘Poor Ryder fears Daly will bankrupt him, for it is true what he says, Dublin cannot sustain two theatres.’

Perhaps Mama was right in her surmise as Ryder made a sudden decision to put on a comic opera, as if in a last valiant effort to survive.

‘I intend to stage
The Duenna
, but we’ll switch all the characters, making men play the ladies’ parts, and vice versa. It will be a completely transvestite performance and we’ll call it
The Governess
. It will be a travesty and a delight.’

I was given a leading role, dressing as a man in the character of Lopez, and although I say it myself, I, like the show, was a great success. The audience loved it, and my part in it. Perhaps I radiated more charm than usual; my laughter certainly bubbled up straight from the heart, so much did I enjoy myself. I love playing these comic roles and dressing up as a boy. Certainly the men enjoyed a rare view of my legs in breeches. Whatever the reason, I attracted attention other than that of a satisfied audience. Richard Daly himself returned to see me perform, and apparently liked what he saw.

He cornered me, as was his wont, when I came off stage, but on this occasion followed me to the dressing room. I stood holding the door, deliberately not permitting him entrance. He smiled in that squinting, devil-may-care way he had. ‘You’re wasted here, Dora dear.’

‘I disagree. Thomas Ryder was the first to offer me a trial as a green girl, and is generous in giving me excellent parts. I have no complaints.’

‘And does he pay you well? Do you have the three guineas a week he promised?’

I looked away, not wishing to admit that despite his best efforts Ryder had been unable to keep his promise on wages. ‘We are hoping for good houses all week for this comic opera,’ I stoutly remarked, in the manager’s defence.

Daly sadly shook his head, making a little tutting sound. ‘It will not be enough, Dora. Crow Street is on its way out. You are a good actress, and I would welcome you at Smock Alley at any time. I intend to engage Sarah Siddons, John Kemble and other star names for future productions, and you could be part of that success.’

He pestered me time and again in the weeks and months following, which put me in a terrible quandary. My darling sister Lucy had sadly died, despite all our care of her, so there had also been the funeral to pay for. Ever since her death, Mama had slipped into a decline, and rarely ventured out of bed. I was deeply concerned over her state of health. Losing a husband and a child in one year had all been too much for her. I certainly needed to earn more money, painfully aware that I was falling behind with my repayments on the loan Daly had made me.

Yet I felt a loyalty to Ryder as he’d been the one to take me on and give me my first chance.

‘I can’t just walk away,’ I would say, still hesitant to commit, and wary of throwing in my lot with Daly.

Finally, he issued an ultimatum. ‘This is your last chance. You must decide now or find some other way to repay the loan.’

And so I went to tell Ryder about the offer, wishing to be open and honest with him. He gave me a measured, rather sad look. Then after a long moment of silence, came his reply.

‘Take the offer, Dora. Daly is right, the doors of Crow Street will be closed for ever by the end of the year. Sadly, I don’t have a rich wife to back my enthusiasms. I wish you every success in your career, and am glad to have been a part of its inception, but there is no future for you here. You must go to the Smock Alley.’

Only when I heard these words did I realize how very much I had longed for a different reply. There was something about Richard Daly that sent shivers down my spine, but I had no choice. I must accept his offer, or my family would starve.

Three

‘I won’t kiss him, I would spit in his face first’

1780

It was soon apparent that Daly revelled in his new position of power, and the company trod delicately around him, obeying his every word for fear of losing their place. He had not the care or respect for women usually found in an Irish gentleman, and it was not uncommon to see some weeping female leaving with her carpet bag via the stage door. Or, for that matter, an actor storming off in a fury. Daly certainly meant to keep us all on our mettle. And he continued to wait in the wings, watching me closely.

I began with the role of Priscilla Tomboy in Bickerstaffe’s
The Romp
. It was a naughty part, some might call it very slightly vulgar, but I did my best to give her a warm heart and good humour.

‘I would as lief marry the old-clothes man . . .’ I said to Young Cockney, bringing a roar of laughter from the audience. ‘. . . I won’t kiss him, I would spit in his face first.’

Words I could easily have said about Daly, remembering that earlier rehearsal.

The audience loved it, and by association, me. I am sure it was no more than that, but I was delighted by my reception. Daly too was well pleased, pecked me a kiss on each cheek and gave me a warm hug of approbation. His reaction was such that an idea suddenly came to me in the glow of the moment.

‘I wonder, may I have a benefit? If the audience likes me and we manage to fill the house, it would help with the repayment of my debt.’

He gave me his squint-eyed look. ‘There is absolutely no hurry to pay that off, Dora. Have I harassed you about it in any way?’

‘No,’ I admitted, unwilling to say how it unnerved me when he sometimes refused to accept the meagre sum I was able to offer him each week by way of repayment, as if money were of no account to him. ‘It is most kind of you to be so generous, and so patient, but I would welcome the opportunity of a benefit.’ Since all the profits from such an event went directly to the actor concerned, I saw it as an excellent way to resolve our financial difficulties. Mama might rally then if the debt were paid off and we had more cash for the family each week.

He winked at me, and playfully chucked my chin. ‘You are worrying unduly, dear girl, but if that is what you wish then I will arrange one for you.’

For the first time, even though I hated this habit he had of seeking any excuse to touch me, I responded to the gesture with a beaming smile. ‘Oh, thank you, sir. I shall be forever grateful.’

‘I’m sure you will. An expression of gratitude is always pleasant, if directed in the correct manner. And there is really no need for you to call me sir. Richard will do fine.’

‘Thank you, er, Richard . . . sir.’

He rumpled my curls and went off laughing, but the glow of satisfaction I felt inside did not diminish and I ran to our lodgings with wings on my heels to share my good news. ‘We will soon settle this debt,’ I promised Mama, and the thought of a benefit inspired her sufficiently to rouse her from her bed to help me learn the lines.

Daly chose the play, one I’d never heard of, and a tragedy rather than the comedy I would have favoured, which was disappointing. But I was so excited, so keen to do well that I rehearsed and studied for long hours, with Mama’s help. She also guided my choice through a selection of songs, including ‘Melton Oysters’, one of my favourites, which I would do at the end.

The night of the benefit arrived and despite some nervous flutters in my stomach, I was filled with excitement, eager to begin, constantly peeping through the curtains to check on the audience.

Sadly, there was barely a soul in the place save for the young bucks in the pit. I was not as popular as I had imagined, which seemed a salutary warning not to believe what one reads about oneself in the press, however good the reviews.

I performed the tragedy as best I could, considering the paucity of the audience and no sound of the laughter I was so used to, but it was heartbreakingly difficult. I rallied sufficiently at the end to sing ‘Melton Oysters’, as agreed. My voice was not trained but had a sweetness to it, and the song allowed me to lift the mood a little.

There was a clever, likely lass,

Just come to town from Glo’ster,

And she did get her livelihood

By crying Melton Oysters.

This was much better received, but not enough to save me.

‘I’m sorry, Dora, but there will be no money for you,’ Daly coolly informed me. ‘The expenses of the production far outweigh what we have taken at the door.’

I was deeply disappointed and hugely embarrassed.

‘Do not blame yourself, child, this is no fault of yours,’ Mama soothed as I sobbed in her arms backstage. ‘It was a poor choice of play. Tragedy is not your forte, and there was precious little in the way of publicity for it.’

Well used to her ranting and railing against Daly, I paid little attention. Who else could I blame but myself? Having pinned my hopes on a large enough sum of money to pay off our debt, to me the failure of my benefit was a huge blow. The £50 he’d so generously insisted I borrow had seemed like a fortune at the time, but was now all gone in doctor’s fees, funeral expenses, grocery bills and the cost of footwear and clothing for my siblings, not to mention costumes for myself for each production. Were I being paid £5 a week, as was John Kemble, there would have been no problem, but there was little change from my twenty shillings by the time our landlady had been paid, and the family fed.

‘You sang your little songs most charmingly, dear, and there will be other opportunities, I’m sure.’ As Mama dried my eyes and tenderly consoled me we became aware of a growing noise in the pit. As custom dictated, the manager had gone out on stage to inform the audience of the result of their munificence in attending the benefit. The young Irish bucks were far from happy to hear that no profit at all had been garnered, and there came a huge roar of disapproval.