Goddess of the Green Room: (Georgian Series) (43 page)

His frustration whipped up his temper. He was saying things
he did not mean, unkind things which were untrue; and she had turned and hurried away.

They were reconciled afterwards but the question of money was between them. It hung over them and would not be dismissed.

He would find the money, he declared, if he had to go to the moneylender he would find it.

‘I must take more engagements,’ she said. ‘I shall work all through the season if I can get them.’

George was now fourteen and William had said he should join the Army as a Cornet.

‘He’s far too young,’ she argued.

‘Nonsense!’ retorted William. ‘I was sent to sea when I was thirteen. It did me no harm.’

So she lost her darling George, and not only did he become a soldier but one on active service. She was distracted when he was sent out to Spain to join Sir John Moore’s army. This made a further rift between herself and William, because she blamed him for sending George away at such an early age.

There was the continual round at the theatre. She had to go on stage and play parts like Miss Hoyden, for which she felt far too old and tired when all the time she was conscious of great anxieties. What was happening in the Alsop household? Would Dodee be happy? Would William be able to find the money? What when Lucy’s turn came? What of George – such a boy to be thrust into battle!

In May of that year there were riots among the weavers of Manchester. The military were called in to deal with them and two people were killed while several were wounded.

In September Covent Garden was burned down and the rumour was that the fire had been started on purpose. The roof collapsed and nineteen people were killed; the losses were tremendous and a shudder of horror ran through the theatrical world.

Dorothy was concerned about George, for young as he was he was engaged in the battle of Corunna where Sir John Moore the commander was killed. As news of the battle reached home she was frantic with anxiety and so was William until news came of George’s safety. This brought them close together again; and Dorothy was at least grateful for that.

That January there was another spectacular fire. It occurred in
St James’s Palace and this was declared to be very strange following on the burning of Covent Garden; and as that part of St James’s which suffered was the royal apartments, some significance was attached to this.

The Queen said: ‘It was done purposely. I always said people would not endure the Princes’ behaviour. Our sons will not do their duty. Just think – there is not one who is respectably married. At least the King and Queen of France were that. At least they had
legitimate
children.’

The Princesses were in a state of nervous anxiety. Amelia was growing steadily more and more feeble and the King asked every few minutes what the doctors had said about her and had to be told, untruthfully, that she was in good health. The tension in the royal household was mounting; it was very bad for the King.

At the beginning of February the New Sessions House at Westminster was burned down. There was clearly a dangerous arsonist at work. But was this the work of one person? Was it intended as a warning? The Queen was sure that it was. The King was becoming so vague that he was not sure of anything.

Then there was real panic in the royal family for the biggest scandal since the Delicate Investigation broke upon them.

The trouble had begun with the startling revelations that a woman named Mary Anne Clarke, who had been a mistress of the Duke of York, had been selling commissions in the Army – which his position as Commander-in-Chief of the Army gave her the opportunity of doing.

What would the royal brothers do next? The subject of the Duke and Mary Anne Clarke was discussed in every club and coffee house. The affair could not be hushed up. The truth must be brought to light. The profits may have gone into Mary Anne’s pocket, but how deeply was the Duke of York involved?

The publicity was enormous and when the case was heard in the House of Commons the Duke’s love letters – ill-spelt and naïve but intensely revealing – were read during the hearing. People were talking about the ‘Duke and Darling’ and quoting from letters; and although the Duke was acquitted of having been a party to the sale of commissions and it was judged that he was ignorant of what was going on, he could no longer hold his position of Commander-in-Chief.

George came home for a short leave – full of vitality and eager
to talk of his adventures as a soldier. General Stewart, whose aide George had been, called at Bushy and told the proud parents that George was going to be a fine brave soldier and that there was no one he would prefer as his aide de camp. William was delighted, but Dorothy was apprehensive, fearing that George would be leaving them soon; and she was right.

The next fire broke out in Drury Lane itself. It started in the coffee room on the first floor which led directly to the boxes; and as the safety curtain did not work all the highly inflammable material on the back-stage made a mighty conflagration when the walls crashed in and the crowds were in danger of being suffocated by the smoke.

Sheridan was at the House of Commons at the time, where the reflection from the fire could be seen through the windows. On the Surrey side of the river people could see the glow for miles; and from Westminster Bridge the effect was startling.

When it was known that it was the Drury Lane Theatre which was ablaze it was proposed that the House should adjourn since the tragedy so deeply concerned one of the House’s most distinguished members.

Sheridan would not allow this, although he himself left the House with a few friends and made his way to the burning building.

His theatre in flames! But what could he do to save it? He saw his financial difficulties increased, for the theatre was insured only to the extent of £35,000 which could not cover the entire loss.

Sheridan turned into the nearest coffee house and ordered a drink.

‘Mr Sheridan, how can you sit there so calmly?’ asked one of his friends.

To which Sheridan replied: ‘May not a man sit and drink at his own fireside?’

The remark was repeated with the pleasure that was taken in all Sheridan’s witticisms; but no one else could joke about this great calamity.

And when later there was a fire in Kensington Palace, happily soon put out, and the Prince of Wales received anonymous letters that more fires would follow, it was clear that there was some purpose behind these conflagrations.

Almost immediately afterwards there was a rumour that Hampton Court was ablaze. This proved to be false, but this was not the case in the Quadrangle of Christchurch College, where fire did £12,000 worth of damage.

‘There is mischief in the air,’ said the Queen, and it was the Queen who was becoming more and more influential at court. ‘We shall have to consider carefully what should be done.’

The fires stopped suddenly and soon everyone ceased to expect them. In September there was great excitement in the theatrical world because the new Covent Garden was about to be opened with
Macbeth
, and Kemble was to speak the address.

Carriages blocked the street and people jostled each other to get into the theatre; but when it was discovered that prices had been increased they were indignant; they had paid the prices and gained entry but they had no intention of accepting them for the future.

During the weeks that followed they crowded into the theatre for the purpose of creating what were known as the Old Prices Riots; and the fear that the new theatre would be wrecked if they persisted caused the management to relent and to declare that the boxes should remain at seven shillings and sixpence and the pit three shillings and sixpence and that there should be no more private boxes.

It was an uneasy year for Dorothy. William was ill again, suffering as he did from his periodic gout; he had developed asthma and this grew worse as the Queen harped on the damage he did the royal family by living openly with an actress. She pointed out the comments of that man Cobbett whom William knew wielded great influence.

He should abandon his mistress; or at least he could pension her off; and as for all those children, he would have to make provision for them, but that should not be an insuperable task.

He tried to explain that he regarded Dorothy as his wife.

‘An actress,’ retorted the Queen. ‘A woman who parades stages in men’s clothes for anyone to pay to go to see!’

‘She is the best and most generous woman in the world. I cannot tell you how often she has given me money.’

‘You should have been ashamed to take it. That’s another thing
I’ve heard about you. They say you keep her working to keep you. That’s a very unpleasant thing to be said of His Majesty’s son, I must say. You should put an end to that connection as soon as possible… and in view of all that is happening the sooner the better. Your sister Amelia is very ill. If anything should happen to her it would completely turn the King’s mind. And all these fires and that bullet at the theatre. Where do you think all this is leading? And you – making an exhibition of yourself with an actress!’

‘The people love her. They crowd to the theatre to see her.’

‘Yes, to see the actress who is keeping a royal Duke. You should think about this. You should think about us all.’

William went to Brighton for the birthday celebrations of the Prince of Wales while Dorothy, taking a rest from the theatre, was at Bushy with the family.

She was sitting on the lawns with the young children playing about her when Fanny arrived with Thomas Alsop.

They had driven over to see her, they said, because of the news.

‘What news?’ she wanted to know.

Hadn’t she heard that there had been a battle at Talavera?

‘Talavera,’ she cried. ‘That is where George is.’

‘Yes, Mamma,’ said Fanny. ‘There were five thousand killed.’

‘Oh, God!’ she whispered.

‘George will be all right,’ said Fanny. ‘George would always be all right.’

‘I must know.’

‘Where is the Duke?’ Fanny asked.

‘At Brighton. It’s the Prince’s birthday. He has gone to help him celebrate.’

‘He’s with the royal family more than he used to be,’ commented Fanny, a little maliciously. She had always felt that she with Dodee and Lucy were slighted compared with the FitzClarence children – herself especially.

‘I wonder if he has heard,’ said Dorothy. ‘If so he will come at once.’

‘Perhaps the celebrations will be too exciting to miss.’

Dorothy did not answer.

‘Mamma, are you ill?’

‘I feel my old pain… here.’ She touched her chest.

‘You should be resting. Let me help you to your room. Then I’ll stay awhile and play with the babies.’

Dorothy lay in her room. She had been awake all through the night.

They shouldn’t have let him go. He was only a boy. Henry was training to be a sailor. They were too young to be sent from their homes. She should have refused to allow it. After all they were her children.

She rose from her bed and paced up and down and sat at her window looking out across the gardens.

Five thousand dead! So many. And among them one young boy?

It was five o’clock in the morning when she heard the sound of carriage wheels.

Her heart began to beat madly. It was William, she knew. He had driven all the way from Brighton and had come as soon as he had heard the news, for he would know how she was feeling.

She ran down to meet him. He looked tired and haggard, but he was smiling.

Surely he could not look like that if George were dead?

‘William!’ she cried. ‘I heard…’

‘I knew you would,’ he said. ‘That’s why I came right away. He’s safe, Dora. There’s no need to fret. He’s been slightly wounded – his leg grazed by a shell splinter, but he’s safe. He’ll be home to see you soon and tell you all about it.’

She was sobbing with relief.

‘Oh, William, my good, good William. I knew you would come.’

Another scandal occurred in the royal family – and this was the greatest of all.

The Duke of Cumberland’s valet was found murdered in the Duke’s apartment at St James’s in most mysterious circumstances. The popular theory was that the valet had found the Duke in bed with his wife, had attacked him and then either been murdered by the Duke or committed suicide.

This was the greatest scandal of all. The Prince of Wales might
be guilty of profligacy, Frederick of dishonesty – and all of the Princes of immorality; but this was the first one who had been involved in murder. Of course the Duke was exonerated but the general opinion was that there was one law for a duke who committed murder and another for ordinary men.

‘Such terrible scandals,’ groaned the King. ‘I never knew the like. What does it mean, eh, what? What will become of us all?’

The Queen sent for William to discuss the affair.

‘I do urge you to show some sense,’ she said, and added ominously: ‘Before it is too late.’

Dodee had married and an arrangement had been made that William should pay the dowry – borrowed from Dorothy – by instalments. He found the position humiliating but he saw no way out of it. He was deeply in debt – more so than he had ever been. When he confided this to his eldest brother the Prince advised him to forget about it, but it was not easy. William knew the reckoning must come.

Meanwhile Dorothy had undertaken extensive tours to bring in more money. For some time Fanny had been talking wistfully about a chance to go on the stage; she had always wanted to act, and married life, she confided to her mother, was not all she had hoped it would be. She would welcome the opportunity of being separated from Mr Alsop for a while and would Mamma consider taking her with her when she went on tour?

‘Think, dearest Mamma, I should be company for you and it would give me the chance I never had.’

Dorothy considered this and finally agreed to take Fanny with her.

It turned out to be not such a bad arrangement for Fanny proved herself to be a tolerable actress. She would never be great and she was not pretty enough nor was her personality charming enough for her to succeed to any great extent with audiences, but she could manage a small part and Dorothy was delighted to see her momentarily satisfied.