And in due course Dorothy retired from the stage to give birth to her child. It was a healthy girl and she called her Frances.
Mrs Smith had been working hard during Dorothy’s absence – both in the theatre and out. The company had gone to Hull where Dorothy would play her first part since her confinement. ‘Return of Mrs Jordan after a six weeks’ absence,’ ran the play bills, but Mrs Smith was determined that her rival was to have a cool reception.
Through friends in Hull she made the acquaintance of some of the leading citizens, and in the seclusion of their houses to which the famous actress was asked as a welcome guest she spoke of ‘that creature Jordan. A loose woman if ever there was one.’ She did not think that gentlemen of Hull would wish their wives and daughters to see her perform if they knew the whole story. It was nauseating. The creature had been absent to give birth to a bastard – father unknown. Such was their Mrs Jordan!
The ladies were duly shocked and declared their intention of staying away from The Fair Penitent in which Mrs Jordan was playing the part she had made famous – that of Callista.
Some, however, were determined to make their disapproval known.
Dorothy, who during her enforced absence had been longing to return to the stage, was immediately aware of the attitude of her audience. They were hostile. She had never before played before such a house.
They seemed to have come to the theatre for anything but to see the play and when they should have been spellbound they chatted and laughed together. What has happened? wondered Dorothy. Can it be that I have lost the gift of holding an audience?
The play was a disaster. When she died they applauded derisively. She caught sight of Mrs Smith’s delighted face in the wings and guessed she had helped to bring about this fiasco. Could she have carried her enmity to this degree? Yes, because people had crowded into the theatre to see Dorothy in those roles which Mrs Smith had reckoned to be entirely hers.
Mortified, she changed into her simple gown and mob cap. Greenwood Laddie had never failed to charm them, yet it did on that night, and her voice could not be heard above the hissing and boos.
The curtain came down. It was disaster. For the first time Dorothy Jordan had failed to please an audience.
There was a knock on the door. It was one of the male actors.
‘Oh,’ he stammered. ‘I thought I’d look in.’
‘Why?’ demanded Dorothy.
‘Tonight… You shouldn’t let it worry you. You know who’s responsible, don’t you? It’s that confounded jealous woman. I could wring her neck.’
He was moderately good-looking and a moderately good actor. She had always liked George Inchbald. He had shown her little acts of kindness often but tonight she felt drawn towards him because after her recent humiliation she was in need of comfort.
‘You don’t want to take any notice of it, Dorothy. It was arranged… deliberately.’
‘Do you think so, George?’
‘I know it. Why, she has been talking of nothing else for days. I’ve heard all the whispering in corners.’
‘How can she be so malicious?’
‘Because you’re a better actress than she is and because she’s jealous.’
She knew it, but it was comforting to hear George say it.
‘Ignore it,’ advised George. ‘Go on playing as though you don’t notice it.’
‘Don’t notice what happened tonight!’
‘Well, go on playing then. She can’t go on turning them against you. They come to see a play well played and nobody can play better than you.’
‘Oh, George…’ She held out her hand and he took it suddenly and kissed it.
She felt then that something good had come out of this unhappy night.
George Inchbald was right. That night had been an isolated incident. The citizens of Hull wanted to see Dorothy Jordan in her parts and when she wore male attire no one was going to boo her off the stage. They liked to hear her sing; and in fact preferred her performances to those of Mrs Smith.
Tate Wilkinson sighed over the tantrums of his company and deplored the fall in takings which had resulted from the absences from the stage of his two chief female players; but there was no doubt that Dorothy was a draw and all Mrs Smith’s malice could not alter that.
As for Dorothy she was more light-hearted than she had been for a long time. Every morning when she awoke she remembered that Daly no longer had any power to harm her; that in itself was the greatest blessing she could think of. Young Frances was well and Grace enjoyed looking after her. Hester was playing small parts and growing into a tolerably good actress. There was an occasional part for Francis, the eldest of the boys. At last she was no longer worried about money; and she had given the clothes her baby had worn to a hospital for the use of some poor mother. In her desire to show her gratitude for her changed position she added several layettes to the one she had used and gave these too, for she would never forget her fears when she had believed herself to be in debt to Richard Daly. It was a sort of thanks offering for deliverance.
So she was light-hearted and George Inchbald was an attractive young man. They fell in love.
Grace was pleased; there was nothing she wanted so much as to see her daughter settled with a man to look after her and help shoulder responsibilities. She could have hoped that Dorothy might have made a brilliant match but as she said to Hester, it was not marriage rich men were after; and she thought Dorothy ought to be married. Little Frances wanted a father, and George Inchbald would do well enough.
George’s stepmother, Mrs Elizabeth Inchbald, a novelist, playwright and herself an actress, believed that it would be a good match for she had a high opinion of Dorothy and thought her singing and speaking voices charming, though, she had pointed out, she had a faint Irish accent but that would disappear in time. So there would be no difficulty between the families.
Marriage, thought Dorothy. Yes, she did want it. Sometimes she asked herself, Was it George she wanted as much as marriage? She longed for her mother to be satisfied; she wanted no more anxiety, and she was still smarting under the rumours Mrs Smith had spread of the immoral life she led.
Dorothy wanted respectability and she saw it in George Inchbald.
Gentleman Smith came again to the theatre, bringing with him an air of elegance from London. He talked knowledgeably of what was going on there. Names like Sarah Siddons and Richard Sheridan crept into the conversation. He spoke knowingly of the affair between the Prince of Wales and Mrs Robinson which had ended in such a burst of scandal. The whole of the company could not hear enough of gay London society and there was not one member of the company who did not hope that Gentleman Smith would go back to London and report that he – or she – deserved to play in Drury Lane or Covent Garden.
But everyone knew that Gentleman Smith was more interested in Mrs Jordan than in anyone else.
‘She has the quality,’ he had been heard to say. ‘It’s indefinable… but it’s there.’
The envy of the women players was as evident as ever, but as Dorothy’s position grew stronger it had less effect on her.
George Inchbald would call at the lodgings and talk for hours to the whole family of what would happen if Dorothy was invited to play in London. It would make all the difference, he said. To continue to play in the provinces was death to an actor or actress. There was no chance really; and they had to be noticed before they were too old.
‘He is on the point of proposing,’ said Grace after he had left. ‘He thinks you’re going to London, Dorothy, and he’s afraid that he’s going to lose you.’