The Duchess of Drury Lane (32 page)

‘There may be no royal blood in your veins, Dora, but there are buckets of warm generosity,’ and for some reason his eyes filled with tears.

When I went back on tour I wrote to emphasize this point. ‘But do give her a proper dress allowance. She must from circumstances cost you much more at present. Suppose you allow her the profits arising from the dairy and cheesing house towards the sum . . .’

I assumed that his current gloom must be connected with money, and I thought it my task to find a solution.

I returned in the late autumn to find the house empty of the Duke’s presence. Not even darling Sophy was at home, or Mary. William came only on Sundays, but then he would be bound to be away more, now that he was escorting our daughters out and about. Even so, he seemed different, almost as if he were avoiding me, which made my heart pulsate with fear and pain. And if I made the slightest suggestion that he might stay home more, he would roar like a bull, or sulk for days.

I did once say to him: ‘I believe when I am out of the gate at Bushy Park I am very soon forgot.’ And where once he would have taken me in his arms and kissed me, calling me his Little Pickle, he merely smiled and said nothing.

I must retire soon, I thought, or I would lose him entirely. Although if I did lose him, I should need employment, as the allowance that had been part of our initial agreement would not be sufficient to cover all my responsibilities, even if his debts allowed him to pay it in full.

Christmas that year was the most melancholy I could ever remember. Not a typically merry Bushy House Christmas at all. I was glad that Sophy was being taken out and about by her Papa, sometimes not getting home until five in the morning. But the thought of those who were absent spoiled it all. Where were my boys? Were they well? News of the King was no better and after a month at home spent largely with only Miss Sketchley and the little ones for company, I was glad for once to go back on tour, this time to Bath and Bristol, and the joys of a good house.

I missed my family, as always, but was happy to write to the Duke and inform him of my success.

‘From the applause and admiration one would think that I had but started in the profession instead of being near the end of the race . . . I can for an hour or two forget you all and the various anxieties that in general depress my spirits. I really think, and it is the opinion of several critics here that have known me from my first appearance in London, that I am a better actress at this moment than I ever was.’

Twenty-Seven

‘. . . a most injured woman’

I was seated in my dressing room at the Bath theatre when a note was brought to me. I stared at it, dumbfounded, hardly able to believe my eyes. I recognized George’s handwriting instantly, and was so overcome I could not bring myself to open it. The thought which at once came into my head was that it had been sent to me as his last letter, and I should prepare myself for the worst.

And then the door burst open and there he was before me, tall and strong, healthy and very much
alive
! Oh, and so good looking that all the girls in the dressing room began to giggle and cluster around. But I did not let them near, not until I had gathered him in my arms first.

‘Darling George, why did you not warn me you were coming? My heart is beating twenty to the dozen. I fear I may be about to have a heart attack from shock.’

He laughed. ‘Then sit down, Mama, quickly, before you collapse,’ and giving me a big bear hug in return he led me to a couch where we sat together grinning at each other like silly fools.

‘You seem in high spirits, and good health.’

‘I am indeed, and have been given leave although I must return to Portugal soon. General Stewart has told me he would rather have me than any other for his aide-de-camp.’

‘Oh George, it is excellent to know you are so well regarded. I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see you. You have made a mother very happy.’

The young girls in the dressing room were also looking very happy to have this handsome young soldier in their midst, and while I went on stage I laughingly left my son in their tender care.

The next day we went shopping and he bought a whole cargo of toys for his brothers and sisters. Then, while I sat and watched, he swam in the medicinal baths, a straw bonnet on his head, which made me laugh all the more. We had the most gloriously happy time together, and I tried not to lecture him too much about the dangers of smoking and drinking, gaming or falling into debt.

We discussed family matters, naturally, and he brought me news that Lucy was pregnant, but as she was still in Portugal, caught up the Peninsular war, she would have her baby before she could return to England. Henry, who had come so to detest the navy that his father had finally allowed him to leave, was now going to Marlow to prepare for the army instead.

‘Will he be any happier?’ I wondered aloud, to which George had no ready answer.

‘We must hope so.’

He naturally asked after Papa and I urged him to pay a call. ‘More than likely you will find him at St James’s. Your father has been in town very nearly ever since you left us, with the exception of coming down on Sundays.’ And sometimes not even then, I thought.

Oh, but what a joy it was to have my son to myself for two whole days. He quite restored my spirits. After he had gone on his way, promising to write more regularly, as boys always do their mothers, I set off on my travels once again, this time heading for Worcester and Coventry. I was greatly looking forward to meeting the Duke en route at Maidenhead, where I would tell him all about this wonderful surprise visit from our son.

But on arrival I received word that William would be unable to meet me due to a prior engagement. My disappointment was keen. Where is it that he goes, I wondered, that is so much more important than spending time with me? I was sensing a distance growing between us and my heart ached with loneliness, his letters no longer filled with love as they were in those early days.

I shook off my disappointment as best I could, and instead spent a most happy night with dear Freddles, who was granted time out of school to be with his mother. He wanted to stay in my room at the inn, and I did not feel inclined to refuse so gallant an offer.

In Worcester I wrote to tell William of the latest excellent offer I’d received, which would regretfully keep me a little longer from home. ‘It would add £200 to my other profits. I know I am trespassing on your patience but trust you will forgive me.’

I did not, on this occasion, ask for his permission. I gave him a short account of my success, sent him money as always, and mentioned that as my lodgings were indifferent I was obliged to buy my meat and pastry from an inn.

I slept very ill in the weeks following, would rise early to take a long walk before I began rehearsals at ten. But as I did not have the company of either dear Lucy or the troublesome Fanny, I often felt out of spirits. ‘The servants are very attentive and kind to me, but servants are not friends or children,’ I wrote to the Duke.

There was a stubbornness settling around my heart as I felt an increasing need to protect myself, although I was not sure from what. My life seemed to be unravelling about me, spinning out of control. But my anxiety to enable myself to stay at home ultimately urged me to do as much as I could in the little time that was left to me before my retirement.

I seemed to be suffering from an ambiguity of emotions: I longed to be free of the travelling, the discomfort, the cold and the loneliness, and yet I relished every moment on stage. I was loved and applauded wherever I went, except by the one person whose opinion counted the most. Did he punish me with his neglect because of his disapproval of my touring, or was there some other factor at play, of which I was ignorant?

Sophy stood in the reception hall beside her father, together with his royal siblings, greeting guests as they arrived. It was the nineteenth of June, 1811, and the Prince of Wales was holding a great fête at Carlton House, ostensibly to welcome members of the French royal family to England, and to celebrate the King’s birthday. But since His Majesty was in such a state of madness that he was unaware he even had a birthday, let alone fit enough to celebrate it, the true purpose of the event was to mark the start of the regency.

Two thousand had been invited, several lines stretching through the hall and out into the gardens and Pall Mall beyond, where a stream of carriages blocked all other traffic. Matting had been spread upon the lawns to protect the ladies’ shoes. There were covered walkways, lined with painted trellises and decorated with flowers and mirrors, along which the guests could promenade. The band of the Scots Guards played beneath the Corinthian portico, entertaining them with appropriate music while they chatted and waited.

The Queen had chosen not to attend, as she considered it inappropriate to celebrate anything while the King was so ill. The Regent’s wife, Caroline of Brunswick, had not even been invited, nor was his fifteen-year-old daughter Charlotte present.

Sophy, to her great delight, had been fortunate enough to receive an invitation, the Prince of Wales even gifting her an elegant gown to wear upon this special occasion.

‘I wish Mama were here to see this,’ she whispered, as she watched the Princess Mary go by looking as beautiful as ever in an extravagant gown of radiant blue watered silk. ‘At least the princesses have been let out of the “nunnery”, as they call it, for the day,’ she said with a giggle, referring to the name they used for their cloistered state. ‘And there is Lady Hertford; is she not the Regent’s latest mistress? Mrs Fitzherbert does not seem to be present.’

Her father ignored her comments, seeming distracted, but Sophy had heard from the gossip-mongers that the Regent’s long-term mistress had refused her own invitation when she’d learned she was not to be permitted to sit at the top table with the Prince.

‘Why wasn’t Mama invited? She does not go on tour to Yorkshire until the end of July.’ Sophy was having difficulty coming to terms not only with royal etiquette but the many puzzling rules of society. Not least the status of her own parent.

‘Hush, child. You ask too many questions.’

She could see that he was longing to escape from this tiresome business of meeting and greeting, and that his eyes were searching the crowd, as if looking for someone.

The most honoured guests, numbering about two hundred, were seated at a long table which filled almost the entire length of the gothic conservatory. This room, designed by Thomas Hopper, was lit by lanterns and an illuminated crown with the letters GR that hung above the Regent’s mahogany chair. Sophy was deeply impressed by its regal splendour.

Behind the Prince’s cushioned seat were numerous tables covered with crimson drapery, upon which was set a display of exquisitely wrought silver-gilt plate, tripods, epergnes, dishes and other ornaments, all filled with a wonderful array of food. Down the centre of the table a canal had been constructed on a raised plinth, its banks covered with green moss and aquatic flowers. Water flowed along it from a silver fountain, and gold and silver fish swam within. Never had she seen the like in her life before.

Her uncle, the forty-eight-year-old Prince Regent, well corseted and smartly attired in his new field marshal’s uniform with the star of the Order of the Garter on his chest, an honour he had granted himself, sat at the head of the table above the fountain. The Duchesse d’Angoulême sat on the Regent’s right, the Duchess of York on his left. She had prised all these details out of her father earlier, but he was again ignoring her, his attention elsewhere.

He settled himself on the seat allotted to him, and even as he began a conversation with the Comte d’Artois, his gaze was roaming the length of the two-hundred-foot table. Sophy wondered who he might be looking for, then saw his gaze fix upon a certain young lady.

A few delicate enquiries of her neighbour and Sophy discovered her identity. She was Catherine Tylney-Long, the daughter of Lady Catherine Sydney Windsor and Sir James Tylney-Long, Seventh Baronet of Draycot, who had recently come into possession of a large fortune. Seated beside her aunt and chaperon, Lady de Crespigny, she was attracting considerable attention, which Sophy didn’t wonder at. Some claimed her annual income to be in the region of £40,000, others said it was but £25,000, but who would quibble over such a sum?

She was delicately formed, charmingly elegant, a veritable beauty indeed, but younger than her father by twenty years or more, so why would he be interested in her? Not that age appeared to be any bar to old men, who seemed rather to like young women. Colonel Hawker had not balked at carrying off Lucy. It made Sophy shudder to suspect that her father might be thinking along similar lines. Did not Papa love Mama? Sophy frowned, thinking things through as she covertly watched him.

She had heard the Prince of Wales constantly advise her father that the only way to settle his debts was through marriage. Sophy disliked such conversations between them with a passion, but always made a point of keeping quiet so that the royal brothers would not realize she was listening. And she was intelligent enough to understand the implications. Apparently there was also increasing pressure from the Queen for her sons to produce more legitimate heirs, of which the royal family were in sore need.

‘Men die in war, women in the lying-in chamber,’ was Her Majesty’s caustic response whenever her father reminded her that Charlotte was a healthy young woman.

And everything would change now with the regency. Permission to override the Royal Marriages Act would easily be obtained. Marriage to such a woman would resolve all her father’s financial difficulties. What then would happen to Mama?

It was the most sumptuous feast Sophy had ever seen. The Regent’s servants in their dark blue livery trimmed with gold lace, patiently and graciously served hot and cold soups, roasts, venison, game, cheese, jellies, custards and puddings to the guests upon silver plate. There was iced champagne and fine wines, and fruits including peaches, grapes and pineapples.